Fifty Years
“It’s our fiftieth, table for one.”
He sat down and smiled kindly at the waiter who brought him the menu, nodding in thanks. His beverage arrived, the appetizer was on a dish on the table, and an entree was placed in front of him. It was all a blur. Everything was a dream, as it always was on this day, year after year. After year. He looked out at the others dining: the happy couples, clinking wine glasses and sharing soft kisses. He smiled. It was a woeful smile, a smile that tells of memories lost in translation and the days we all wish to return to.
A glass fell. The shatter was a time machine, and he was surrounded with nostalgia, lingering in the air so thick you could feel it. The day it flatlined. She had asked for a glass of water. Shock. The glass slipping from his fingers. The sound of shattering haunted him. She never got to drink the water.
He was different now. There were round glasses perched upon his nose. His hair had greyed, and his eyes had become wise, hinting of experience. Life experience. Experience in things that no one should have to go through. He missed her smile, her laugh, her presence. He brought his hand to his pocket. It was still there. The ring. He remembered going down on one knee on the linoleum hospital floor. He wanted her to know. To know, before she left.
“It’s our fiftieth, table for one.”
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To Leave Comments - Please SignIn with GoogleWelcome to Voice.Club Katie. Such a sad tale. Love how you begin and end with the same words!
Hello, Katie. Welcome to the voice club. Your story is so poignant. And the repetition of the words in the first paragraph in the latter is very catchy and very effective. I love it. Well done.