Wednesday Night

I sit at the bar and I think, "What my web site needs is some pictures. Maybe photos of some of the Applebee's ladies. I'm writing about them, why not put some photos of them on the site? Sort of a "Women of Applebee's" section. Great idea, huh?

Ok, step one: get some photos. All I have to do is talk to each gal and explain that I've got this little site on which I write about the people I see at Applebee's and do you have a photo I can scan into the site and I'll give you back the photo.

"No way," is Terry's answer, but the way she says it you can tell what she means is "No freakin' way, pervert." Ok, Terry, no problem. I'm just asking.

"I'll see if I have a nice photo," is Carolyn's answer. She smiles a nice smile and quickly walks away. Translation: "No freakin' way, pervert."

I ask two more waitresses and their answers are basically the same: "Are naked pictures ok?"

Sure. Naked pictures are fine, I tell them. In the back of my mind I wonder how long it will take my ISP to kick me off their server when they find photos of naked women on my site. What does the word "nanosecond" mean to you? But alas, I do believe these ladies are trying to have a little fun with me. Well, one of them, anyway.

I don't care. I'm only here to make the offer. It's not my job to make it fly. That would be a job for Fate.

Put your face on the Internet, absolutely no cost. Be seen by millions. Well, hundreds at least. Okay, three people, definitely.

It's Wednesday evening. I sit at the end of the bar and survey the room. Quite an assortment of customers this evening. To the left a man sits at a table quietly alone. To the right eight people sit around a table in a jovial party mood. Other tables hold two, three, four customers. Down the bar a young woman—in her early twenties, I'm guessing—sits with several people. About every thirty seconds she looks directly at me, makes eye contact, then looks away. What's that about?

Bridgette comes in and sits beside me long enough to drink two glasses of wine. She's on her way to Kimmie's going-away party and she's almost crying. She's going to miss Kimmie. Darlene tries to console her, "Raleigh is only two hours away, Bridgette." But of course, this isn't new information to Bridgette and it doesn't help.

"You know you'll never see her again," I say. I refuse to pretend. I've said goodbye enough times to know there's no point in pretending.

Darlene looks at me with wide-eyed disbelief, but with a sort of amused expression on her face just the same. Bridgette says "That's terrible," but she's not really fazed. She knows the score. People come into your life. Some you like, some you love, and some you don't connect with. At some point, they move on and out of your life. If you love them, cherish the time you had with them, cherish the connection you had with them. Circumstances are temporary, but love is real. Your soul will be richer for having known it. And one day you will connect with that person again.

Oh yes, you will. I promise you that.