When Words Become Obsolete

They were sitting across from each other eating their fancy meals - a large dish of angel hair pasta with shrimp for her, and chicken fettuccine alfredo for him, a plate of garlic bread sitting in the middle of the small table in the corner of the dimly lit restaurant. No other individuals in the restaurant knew, or particularly cared, that this was their fifty-ninth Valentine’s Day spent at this table, and no waiters or waitresses worked here long enough to keep this tab on them. 

This was their fifty-ninth night spent at the small booth in the corner of the restaurant. Fifty nine years ago they were on their first Valentine’s Day date, age sixteen, eating the exact meals that they have in front of them now. Though fifty-nine years ago, at age sixteen, they were talkative. Speaking in hurried voices, soaking in each and every word that the other one said, as if they just couldn’t quite get enough of each other. This first love, the rush of it all, was blissful, so fifty nine years ago at this table the man leaned slightly too close and whispered “I love you” for the first time, in a murmur and under his breath. Her reaction was delayed, but she heard him, even if for a moment he was afraid she had missed it. Her red painted nails tapped the table nervously as her light eyes locked with his dark ones and she whispered: “You do?” 

“I do,” he had replied to her fifty-nine years ago. Then, for a horrible, painful moment, she did not say it back. She didn’t even smile. Though this was only fleeting as a wide grin, filled with pure adoration, was pasted on her face not three seconds later. 

And she said it back. She said it then, and five more times before standing and leaving that table. 

Ten years after this, forty-nine years ago from this night in the present, their chatter wasn’t muted - not one bit. However, it wasn’t the same as the hurried voices they had spoken in when they were sixteen. Now twenty-six, sitting in the same booth as they had been on their very first Valentine’s Day date, they were comfortable with each other and in their relationship. He still looked at her and saw the girl he had confided in loving those ten years ago, and she could still pick apart his face and find the boy that had anxiously whispered his love.

Their conversation was diluted, more mature and understanding, but not lacking the illuminating and exhilarating feeling that bubbled in their stomachs in each other’s company. No, that was still ever so present. On a high of this feeling, the woman pulled her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and whispered, “Marry me.” 

The man looked bewildered, and for a dreadful moment she regretted her words. She stumbled to take them back, apologizing in a panic and a frenzy, but he only laughed gently and reached into his pocket, revealing a ring in his palm. 

“Do you always need the spotlight?” He joked, moving from the chair to the floor, kneeling and facing her, his beautiful soon to be fiance. 

Her eyes were welling with tears before he had the opportunity to ask, but still he managed. “Marry me. Say yes to spending our lives together in the same place that I realized I loved you, where I realized I would love you forever.”

It was hard for her to sputter out a coherent response, but when she managed it was an astounding string of  the words “Yes” and “Of course” and “I love you”. As if it was a movie scene, a clip taken from a romance novel or the end of a romantic comedy, everyone clapped and applauded as they cried and laughed and hugged. This reaction was followed by him pulling her into a deep kiss. Most would have flinched at this show of public affection during their dinner, but no one really seemed to mind because, once they pulled apart from each other, it wasn’t hard to see why they couldn’t contain their excitement. Between the two of them was nothing but pure love. 

“Congratulations!” The waiter, who had been their waiter for the past three Valentine’s Days, exclaimed while dropping a bottle of champagne between them. “On me. Consider it your first wedding gift!” 

The couple, the one filled with infinite amounts of love and affection and adoration, drank the night away. A few times they noticed other patrons glancing over at them, though they pretended to not see their gleaming smiles, maybe some a tad envious of their love. No, this couple pretended as if they did not notice a single glance, and instead focused only on each other, and the subtle diamond on her ring finger. They were the only people in the world on this night, and no one could infiltrate this. 

Though tonight was not their first year here; it was not even their tenth. No, this was their fifty-ninth night sitting at this very booth - the booth in the far corner, dimly lit and directly under an air vent. They ate in silence, the same meals they had eaten when they became more than just high school lovers, the same table they sat in when they talked hurriedly, soaking each other in. 

It wasn’t that they sat in a resentful silence, or that they no longer loved each other or their marriage, or even that they had nothing to talk about. The silence that had been growing like a looming shadow, a dark storm cloud hovering over them, had been approaching since their first date that had unmatchable enthusiasm. It was inevitable and too prominent to ignore, almost like a form of being burnt out. On date nights like this one, now at seventy years old, they often sat in silence. 

Many patrons around them, the waiters and waitresses that had been serving them since this overarching silence conquered them a few years ago, would think that they are just an unhappy couple having a forced night out. Only the two of them know the truth: it’s not a forced night, and they are anything but unhappy. They are older, and lacking the same eager discussion that they used to possess, though they are not unhappy. At this booth they are reminded of everything they love about each other. Now with a thin layer of gray hair combed over a balding head, he still sees her as the girl with strawberry blonde hair and a perfect smile. Her, with white hair and creases on the sides of her eyes, can still only see the boy that grinned and cried when she said yes to his proposal. 

They are undeniably happy. Despite onlookers and bystanders not being able to identify this from their quick ignorant glimpses at the small table, this couple can see it in each other. Everytime they make eye contact, share a smile, order their familiar meals, take a bite of each other’s dishes, they can see the abundant happiness that young, first loves can only dream of having and keeping. Regardless of their silence, their history is towering over them, and sitting in this booth only reminds them of how great they love each other. Words became truly obsolete, and that is alright.