Old Men and their ways

The house was quiet. There was a time when that quiet was unbearable with the weight of what was missing, and the memories of the past added to my pain. But as with all things, I got used to it. Shuffling around the house doing my daily chores was calming in a way. At least it broke the quiet that lurked around every corner waiting for me to let my guard down. Take a shower, put on clothes, eat, wait for the nurse, exercise, eat, take a shower, go to sleep. That is my life, every day the same routine. I swear if you look hard enough you can see the path I take through the house every day in the carpet. There are some hallways I avoid, not because of any bumps or steps that could fell an old man like me, but because of the faces on the wall that stare at me, forever smiling, laughing about jokes long gone. I can’t see them and be reminded of what I have lost, especially today.

Every time I look at the mirror for a brief second, I expect to see a young man with a full head of hair, muscles that don’t quit and a confident look on his face knowing that the world is his and everyone else just lives in it. That second over, I see an old man, bald, weak, and broken. This old man copies everything I do in the mirror and in his eyes, I can see that he mocks me. He knows the truth and no matter how hard I want to believe otherwise, I turn around and the old man in the mirror turns with me because that’s who I am. I don’t have time to wallow in my self-pity right now. My reservation is in four hours and it will take me two just to get ready and another hour to get there. I know I shouldn’t do this. It won’t be the same. Last year…. I don’t even want to think about it. But I have been going to this restaurant for years. Ever since I worked there, and I realized Rachel was the love of my life.

I was a bus boy and my uncle was the owner of the restaurant. At that time, I wasn’t much of a confident man, more of a shy “please God don’t pick me for the basketball team because I know I’ll suck” kind of a guy. My uncle gave me a job so that I could, in his words, “Stop being such a pansy and get out of the house”, kind and generous soul that he was. After school, I would come over to the restaurant to bus tables. I’m sure in his mind he thought that I would make friends or meet new people in this job. If so, he should have made me a waiter, because as a bus boy I was as invisible as a light on the wall. Everyone knew there was light in the room but as long as the light was on nobody cared where it was coming from. So I would clear the tables, and make way for the stars of the show, the waiters. The only time anyone would say anything to me was when they wanted their tables cleaned again. Oh, what a glamourous life that was.

I put up with all of that because on Fridays, the cool kids came to the restaurant. The cheerleaders and the jocks filled up most of the tables and for a few moments when I would snake through the tables, I would feel as though I was part of their world as I listened to their laughter and talk of the day fill the air. I could breathe it in and be one of them. The illusion crashed and burned, of course, the second I walked into the kitchen and the acrid smell of wet dishes and cooking food burned my nose yet again. My week would especially be worth it when I saw her, Rachel Underwood. She was a cheerleader, and to the rest of the elites she was one of them, a perfect specimen that lived only to cheer and be arm candy for a jock. I knew better, I have known her since kindergarten and while the jocks saw her as arm candy,. I saw her kind side, her warmth, her bloodlust whenever we played board games and she crushed us all.

At that time, I only considered her a friend, a great friend. When we started high school, she developed into a beautiful woman and her cheerleading career soared, we hung out together less and less in school. But we still made it a point to hang out after school together. Then we went off to college and I saw her even less. She made excuse after excuse, until the only time I saw her was when she came by the restaurant or if I saw her at church. Except I would see her and her boyfriend, Levi Donaldson, the BMOC. Everywhere she went, he went with her. At the time everyone only saw the love they both had for each other. Nobody saw how she would limp every now and then or how, when he held her in public he sometimes squeezed her a little too hard. Nobody saw it until it was too late to say anything, myself included, because even though we weren’t as close as we used to be, the times I did see her or got to talk to her, I only saw my best friend as she was all those years ago.

At this point I was managing the restaurant and my uncle got to sit back and make money while I did the hard work for him. His checks cleared so I didn’t mind, and he only came into the restaurant once a month to pick up his own checks so it was a win-win all around. Fridays were no longer a day of basking in the glow of the popular kids, instead it became a day of laboring long hours and making sure stock met demand. Seeing Rachel and Levi walk through the door shocked me a little, but then I went back to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Rachel as she walked to her table. She looked so small, like a child scared of what her parent might do to punish her. Her big sunglasses should had been a red flag but I didn’t see it. Either way, something in me said that I myself needed to take their order, so I did. When I walked over to their table. Levi was loud and brash as he normally was while Rachel was still shrinking down, desperate to be as small as possible. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t concerned even though alarm bells were going off.

I asked for Rachel’s order first and she whispered that she wanted Beef Bourguignon with a glass of merlot. The words were barely out when Levi roared at her supposed stupidity and picked for her a fish dish with a chardonnay and the same for him. As I was walking away, I heard him tell her that she didn’t need to gain any more weight, that she was fat enough as it was. I heard a slap! I didn’t see it. It could have been something else. It could have been a high-five. It could have been someone at another table. I knew what happened, but at this point I didn’t know what to do. I kept looking back at them, worried what might happen next. Levi didn’t wait for the wine he had already ordered but instead ordered several bottles of beer and drank those. His obnoxious laughter was filling all of the restaurant, disturbing other customers who were beginning to stare. I was about to march over to him and tell him to quit it when he slapped her across the face.

I don’t remember what they were talking about and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that her sunglasses fell off and I saw that both of her eyes were black. My world stopped. Those eyes that I have seen shine with such love and light, were dull and sullen, surrounded by deep purple bruising. I don’t remember much after that. I know my staff pulled me off him and the police were called. Before she left in the ambulance, I took her and held her close. The way her sobs broke was so deep and heartbreaking that I wanted to cry with her. The next week she came back to the restaurant as we were closing and told me everything. How he basically held her hostage, how he broke her and made her believe that she deserved his anger. This time I let my tears flow, as I held her again. Then I asked her to wait. I went into the kitchen and a few minutes later I came out with Beef Bourguignon and a glass of Merlot.

She would say that our first date was a year later, but to me, our first date was that night. Because she was no longer my best friend from childhood from that night on. She was a woman who needed someone who could understand her and help her be the best she could be. I soon found out that it was clearly the other way around. She helped me in ways that I didn’t know I needed. My uncle sold me the restaurant and, with her help, I took it national. I lost weight, we had four amazing children. We had forty-six wonderful years together, until last year, when she was taken from me. Just another number in a pandemic. The restaurant that we helped build together was bleeding money and some locations had to close. If it hadn’t been for my children, I don’t think I could have survived another year without her by my side.

I don’t want to go! I don’t want to be in that restaurant ever again. Every square inch of that restaurant is filled with memories of her. But my children insist that I need to keep up the tradition so that I can remember the good things and the happy memories that I have of her. Pulling up to the restaurant, I see a lot of balloons and it confuses me for a moment. Until I see my kids, and the staff that I have worked with since the beginning. Tears freely flow down my cheeks. This day I need people who love me the most and they came for me. I must be in shock because my legs refuse to move. My oldest must have guessed because he comes to the car, opens the door wide and says “Welcome to your wedding anniversary dad”! I think I’ll order Beef Bourguignon with a glass of merlot.