The Meeting

Lisa sipped her wine. Three months of chatting with “NoteTaker145,” aka “Bobby,” about Star Wars and martial arts and how new music sucks and old TV rocks had led to this moment. She glanced at her left-wristwatch, shifting in the plush leather chair. Guillermo, six feet of adolescent epic masculinity, refilled her wine glass and asked if she was ready to order for the fifteenth time. Lisa waved him off again. Raise that boy’s tip another ten percent. A guitar started up somewhere off in the hazy darkness. Great, Lisa thought, mood music for sitting alone. She nibbled at the lasagna fritta she had hoped to share with her date. A blonde waterfall cascading over a backless dress caught the light from the table lamp. Gina whirled on the arm of her latest man-toy.

“Lisa! Whoever expected to see you here?” She waved using only as much of her hand as she could while still seeming cordial. The guitar strumming grew a little louder.

“Hi, Gina. Just waiting for my date.” Lisa crossed and uncrossed her legs several times over the course of her greeting. The man-toy adjusted his cheap toupee.

“Is he late? Ya know a man’s trying to blow you off when he shows up la-“

“Honey, you’re not here to talk to Lisa.” Gina interrupted, grabbing the bundle of overinflated man-meat and steering him away. “See you later, darling!” She shoved him along back toward their table out in the gloom. Lisa returned to her glass, swirling it around hoping to conjure the frozen image she’d seen so many times during their conversations, his shock of black hair standing on end over eyes the color of the last moments of sunset. His features glimmered into her vision. The lilted tones of virtuoso guitar seemed louder than before.

“Hi! You’re here! I’d been wondering when you’d show up!” she gushed.

“Um, ma’am? I thought you might want to order this time around,” said Guillermo, reaching for his pad and pen. Lisa’s face fell to its usual halfway-cynical expression.

“Ugh. Fine, sure.” As he wandered off with pad holding order and brain holding “MORE WINE!” Lisa kept waiting for the familiar warmth on her forehead, but it seemed her lightweight alcohol tolerance had decided to grow a pair at the worst possible time: when she wanted a buzz. She glared at her glass. Not until the third bar of Freebird did she notice the guitar in the darkness to her left. A shock of black hair parted the shadows with its own midnight quality as the table lamp rebounded off glowing orbs the color of sunset.

“Now what would a lady of such refined taste be doing sitting alone on such a wonderful night?” strummed across the table following the dulcet tones. Lisa didn’t even look up from her glass.

“Waiting for the latest in true love innovation. The product was supposed to be delivered at 7. It’s now...” She glanced at her bare right wrist. “…too damn late to wait anymore. If he doesn’t show in five seconds, I’ll just have to hope to God I still have liquor at home.” Her head began to droop toward the table.

“Well I hope it gets here soon. I’d hate to see what happens when a judo black belt loses control.” Lisa popped up.

“Judo-wha?” He grinned at her. “…Bobby?” She jumped a few inches out of her seat. By the time she achieved re-entry, she had gained a glowing expression. “Well, where have you been?! I’ve been waiting for two hours!”

“Well if you knew how to read a watch, you wouldn’t have been waiting for so long!” he thundered back, his grin widening as he took her hand.

“Me?! You’re the one who dropped out of high school to start a heavy metal band! Now look where you are.” She pulled him closer.

“You know what? I don’t think this is going to work. We’re too different.” He slid closer, letting the guitar slip off his shoulder to clatter to the floor. Their noses touched.

“Yeah, we just can’t be together.” Their lips met, the first of many meetings for months and years and decades to come.