Letters from the Heart
#10 of Heart
Hey, Mikey,
I have to laugh just thinking about it. Maybe you don't find it as amusing as I do. I know the memory makes you smile, but now, even as I write, I can't stop myself from chuckling. You know what I'm talking about, right? The day we met. It's because of that day I'm writing this by hand. There's already an envelope, addressed and stamped, sitting on the table beside me. I hope you appreciate it.
My first day in the city. I know it's not a very big city, but it was big enough for a small town girl. It also wasn't really my first day. The sun was setting when I pulled off the highway. I remember because I almost couldn't read the sign for the restaurant because the light was right in my eyes. I'd never heard of Smitty's before. My town didn't have one, and I never travelled much. Normally, I would have driven around to find a familiar place, but I was still tired from the going away party last night and the long drive, so I was willing to eat anywhere. Do you believe in fate? How different would I be now had I gone somewhere else that evening? It doesn't matter, I guess. I didn't go somewhere else. I walked through the door and into your life.
I often wonder what you thought of me when you first came to my table to ask what I wanted to drink. I must have appeared shy. I've always been grateful for my reddish-orange fur. It can hide my blush most of the time. I asked for a margarita and you asked for my ID. You sly dog. In one move you got my name and age without even asking. While you were looking at my driver's licence, though, I was looking at you. You were wearing the standard black pants and white dress shirt, and the name tag read "Michael." That almost made me pay no attention to you. I don't think I ever told you, but I had a boyfriend in high school named Michael. He wasn't a wolf, though. He was an asshole a fox, like me. He seemed like a great guy. At least until I found out he was using me to make someone else jealous. Worse, the "someone else" was a guy. I have nothing against gays--you know that--but he wasn't remotely interested in any female. God, I was mad.
You looked different, though. You had a smile. Yes, I know, all waiters smile. But yours was different. It was somehow genuine, yet sad. That's what drew me in at first. I wanted to know how you could be so happy and yet sad at the same time. I would think that I was dreaming, but I've seen you smile since. Sometimes the sadness is there, and sometimes you're just happy. I wish I could see your smile right now.
When you handed me back my ID, you said something like, "Don't get many Cassandras around here." It was weird hearing my full name. Did I ever tell you that? I've gone by nicknames for so long that I sometimes forget I was named Cassandra. It made the shift from small town to big city much more apparent for me. I remember smiling and blushing some more, but I didn't know what to say. You went off to get my drink as I perused the menu. I can still remember exactly what I ordered when you came back. Heaven only knows why, but I wanted breakfast food. I got the Strawberry Dream Waffle. It's funny. I probably wouldn't remember if that wasn't the night I met you.
The reason I remember is because when you brought it to me, you started making small talk. You asked if I had visited the city often. I was so confused until I remembered you had seen my licence. When I told you it was my first time, your grin grew, and you said "Welcome to the city" with so much warmth. It made me chuckle. It still does. You can be so cute sometimes.
After that, nothing out of the ordinary happened. You asked how the food was, refilled my water glass. I paid you at the till, and you walked off, probably to clean the table. The place wasn't busy that late in the evening. I remember thinking that I didn't want to go to my residence yet, so I went to the lounge side of Smitty's. I was about halfway through my first drink when you walked in. Well, second, if you count the margarita. You were still dressed in your dressy clothes, but the name tag was gone. So was your smile when you went to order a drink. I remember thinking that I wanted that smile to come back. It was, and is, infectious, your smile, and I wanted to see it again. I felt unusually bold, so I walked over to your table and said, "Mind if I join you?"
You looked so surprised. It was comical. Sorry, my pen jiggled because I was laughing again. I can still see the look on your face. Once you got over your shock, you said, "Not at all." I was thinking that most people would say, "Sure" or "Go ahead." Then you followed it up with "Please do." I was impressed by your manners, I must admit.
We chatted for quite a while. I learned you were a city boy who worked full time, and you learned I was there for university. I told you I would be in residence on campus, and you told me you lived in a "sardine can" of an apartment. I asked you about what attractions and recreational stuff were in town, and you mentioned the park, the art gallery, and the museum. You must have listed some other things, too, but those are the three I remember. You asked about my program. I told you I was just taking some general classes until I figured out what I wanted to do.
I don't remember what time it was when you looked out the window and said, "I should head home. Don't want the walk to be too cold." It had been an unseasonably cool fall, and you were only wearing your work clothes and didn't have so much as a sweater to go over top. I'm still not sure why you were so reluctant to accept my offer to drive you. It can't have been just because I was a relative stranger. Even after we got to know each other, you didn't like to ask for rides from me, or anyone else, for that matter. I persuaded you, though--the first of many times. I can see your scowl when you read that, but I can't help but smile. Sorry.
You were right. It wasn't far, but it was on the way to the university anyway, so why would I care? After you thanked me, I said the cheesy "Don't forget to write" line. But you just said, "I will. Ever since email, no one takes time for the personal touch anymore." I don't know why, but that stuck with me. As a matter of fact, when I sat down to write this, I couldn't help but think of that night, which is why I wrote all this. I hope you enjoy the personal touch.
I'm sorry. This is rambling and long and unrelated. I would start over, but I want to share that evening with you again. I hope it still makes you smile. Unfortunately, I didn't just write to fondly reminisce.
I need to ask you a favour.