November Snow Globe

My head is heavy from getting ready.
My throat burns from swallowing my coffee ten sips at a time.

I'm waiting for you.

The minutes tick by.
My leg quivers.

I'm still waiting.

I wonder if you'll ever show up at all. No, you'll be here.

I pass on the menu five times. Six if you count the mistaken waiter.

A pride of employees stand in the empty kitchen doorway. I occasionally catch glances of them.
Stop looking at me.

I check my watch again.

The empty seat across the way stares at me.
Its over inflated red marble plastic covering mocks their cheap choices.

The lights on the salad bar go out.

Maybe you got sick.
Maybe you woke up really late.

Maybe your body is messed up thanks to daylight savings time.
Maybe thanks to global warming a fire hydrant exploded and got you an accident.

Maybe you just didn't want to talk.

Did I sound too nervous on the phone?
Did I sound too quirky on the street?
Did I look too messy in the office?
Did I look too standard for fun?

The waiters start dealing out bills to everyone.

It's far too late.
It's closing time.

I order a last round of beer just to pump me up for the road.

I make a mental checklist.

Tissues?
Ice Cream?
Chick flick?

Yeah, I was set for tonight.

I guess I'll have to use those things for myself.

I get everything set to go.
I get up from the booth.

More and more bills get handed out in the corner.

I'm on the way out.

I bumped into the waiters, making them drop their load.
They scramble for loose ends.

The door opens and I knock shoulders with a small girl.

We apologized and continued.

I stopped and turned around.

It's you.

I smile.