Thanksgiving
Faith Jeanne Ratnayake
I placed the pink napkin in my lap. She was absorbed in a handsome
couple at a corner table. They were attractive and vivacious. The
restaurant was exclusive, the people elegant.
My wife is pretty, not classically beautiful, not glamorous or
sparkly, but she attracts people. I admit I am jealous when we go out;
after five years, I still do not know why she chose me.
The waiter coughed. My mind went blank. Why were we here? Oh, our
Anniversary. My wife still stared, mesmerized by the couple. I spoke
sharply. She turned, frowning. The large shiny menu cards were lavishly
illustrated. No prices.
She leaned forward. We conferred discreetly on which dishes would
probably not be too pricey. I lacked the presence to ask.
The waiter flipped his notepad and asked, would we like wine. Yes, I
said. White. She frowned. You know red is best for our cholesterol; and
I prefer red. I shot back: it all tastes like red ink. She and the
waiter smiled. White, then, please, she said. I asked, is it by the
glass, or.... Try it by the glass first, he said.
As we sipped our wine, I tried some conversation. We don’t entertain
much, after I left the Bank to do social service. She never questioned
my decision, just quietly returned to work. We don’t have children, not
yet.
She asked about the relief work. We do our best, I explained:
difficulties, delays, paperwork, lethargy. But she was looking at the
beautiful people. The man, laughing heartily; eyes showering sparks of
love upon the girl, who shone in their glow.
They look so happy, she murmured. So, we are happy too, I countered,
hurt. I suppose, she said, not looking up. My fingers drummed the table.
The waiter twice asked to set my plate. The food was delicious, and we
brightened. I raised my glass, saying, a bit too loud, Happy
Anniversary. Happy Anniversary, she echoed softly.
The waiter smiled and went away. We ate, talking quietly. I am a
quiet, private person. My wife is an extrovert. I like a peaceful night
in; she likes to visit and go places. We can’t afford it much now.
There was a sudden stir as the beautiful couple rose to leave. All
conversation stopped, midair. The man, smartly dressed, and the girl in
red lace, were very handsome. Their love was obvious, transparent. It
took them a long time to walk to the glass swing doors. She held his arm
proudly. He walked with difficulty. One leg, badly wasted, dragged on
the plush carpet.
My wife looked at me, open mouthed. She gripped my arm. Then the
waiter came bearing a bottle of red wine. Compliments of the management,
for your Anniversary, he beamed. Conversations resumed; people smiled at
us.
We left quietly. I steered my wife gently down the steps and across
to our car. We sat for a while, looking at the moon, and holding hands. |
