Our World

The aura of the restaurant was immaculate, with soft jazz gracing our ears and delicious aromas tingling our senses. And with quick service too. A waiter comes over with a glass of water, placing it in front of me.

“Oh, one for my wife too, please,” I request.

A puzzled look crosses the waiter’s face, glancing at the beautiful woman across from me. For a moment, he hesitates. Nevertheless, the waiter bows his head in acknowledgment and scurries off. A soft smile takes up my wife’s face, wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes, displaying the pieces of happiness throughout the years.

“Thank you, baby. I am parched from all the walking we did earlier,” her angelic voice tickling my heart.

“I bet,” I quickly check my watch. “5 miles! I think we’ve outdone ourselves, love,” I reply, reaching for her hand.

A few moments pass, and the waiter returns with another glass filled to the brim. He swallows roughly, before placing it beside our clasped hands. His eyes shift between us for a brief second. Then, as quickly as before, the waiter shuffles away. Perhaps affection makes him uncomfortable. Perhaps he is divorced. What a shame. I snap out of my thoughts, shifting my focus back onto what matters most.

“Did you hear about Bill and Jane? Annie told me that Bill met some skanky airplane hostess and ran off. Jane was crushed! The poor woman was sobbing for hours. We should probably send over something… flowers? Cake? What do you think?”

I grimace, a frown creasing my forehead.

“I’d go with cake. There’s nothing good ol’ chocolate can’t fix,” I exclaim.

She stares at me with adoration, leaning forward to plant a kiss. I grin under the touch of her pink lips against mine. As she retreats, I gaze at her beauty in pure bliss.

“I’m so glad I met you. Nothing can ever ruin this, ruin us.”

I nod in agreement, too stunned by her magnetic stare to form words.

“Hello, my name is Alaric and I will be your server today. What would you like, sir?” The same waiter from before questions.

“I’ll go with a filet mignon, medium-rare. A side of fries as well, please,” I say.

The waiter scribbles on the tiny notepad in his hands. He seems as if about to take his exit, but then comes to a halt. His gaze shifts toward my wife, a quavering smile on his lips. “A-and for you, ma’am?”

My wife slides an easy smile, arching forward in her chair.

“A platter of Mediterranean shrimp kabobs is all,” she declares.

The waiter stares blankly as if still waiting for a comprehensible reply. I frown.

“She said Mediterranean shrimp kabobs. Is that not available?” I question.

The waiter blinks as if startled.

“No, no. I’ll be sure to bring the food out quickly.”

With that, he gives a small bow and scurries away just as earlier. I chuckle a bit.

“What a peculiar man,” I tell my love.

She giggles in response, her eyes lighting up in humor.

The rest of the evening flies by, time only a figment of our imagination. Not before long, we pay the bill and head towards the exit. We pass by our waiter, and I smile as my wife gives a polite little wave. I follow her suit. The waiter smiles, although as if forced. We retire from the restaurant, carrying with us full stomachs and happy hearts, leaving behind a perhaps broken-hearted waiter.

The sun dips into the tranquility of waves rolling ashore, a beautiful glowing orb of light. I glance to my left, admiring the sun of my solar system. Her eyes glimmer with the remnants of golden rays, drops of happiness within warm, mahogany irises. A smile rests on her face, and as if sensing my stare, she turns toward me. Her lips pull up even more, forming twin dimples. Unable to help myself, I pull her into my arms and bring my chin into the nook of her neck. She giggles in response, shifting her head to plant a kiss on my cheek. A fuzzy feeling runs through my body, giving me a sense of shivers. I grin, leaning even further into the curtain of dark hair, arms tightening around her frame. Shrieks of laughter echo around us, shouts from angry parents running after their children. But all I hear is the rhythm of her heart, of her breathing. 

We talk for hours, sharing laughs and cheeky comments. And with every second that passes, I find myself falling deeper and deeper into her eyes, her lips, her hair, her smile, her heart. Into it all. I admire the way she speaks, the way she excitedly rattles on about today’s gossip or the latest celebrity break-up. Every now and then, I’ll pop in with an exclamation of my own, or perhaps a casual prompter, just to keep listening to the sound of her velvet voice flowing through my ears.

“Oh! And then she slapped him and told him to go to Hell. And honestly, good for her! That idiot deserved it, don’t you agree?” She exclaims.

“Yes, completely. What an arse,” I comment.

“Exactly! An arse is right. I mean, after he decided to pack up his bags and go, he didn’t look back. Not once! And all for what? Some 20-year-old in the city? They have kids! And now he refuses to pay child support. I can’t even imagine what Abby is going through right now. Oh! And-”

I listen as she talks, every word emphasized, every gesture animated. The moon slowly creeps upon us, casting a silhouette on the sand beside me. People begin to leave, packing up their beach umbrellas and rolling up towels. We ignore them, not sparing a glance for anyone, lost in our own world of ecstasy.

*   *   *   *   *

“Mommy, what is that man doing?” A little girl exclaims, pointing in the direction of a man with his arm hanging in the air, talking and laughing into the space beside him.

Her mother glances in the direction to which the girl refers. The sight of a crazed man unfolds itself, talking to himself in such an off-putting manner.

“I don’t know, honey. And we shouldn’t stay to find out. There are some lost people in this world, who take dangerous pills that make them do weird things.”

A little distraught, the mother quickly drags her daughter away.

*   *   *   *   *

It had been 8 years since his wife died.