by Kirsten Burgess
He sits by himself at a table for two. The
uniformed waiter returns to
his side and asks, "Would you like to go ahead and order,
sir?" The
man has, after all, been waiting since seven o'clock--almost half
an
hour. "No, thank you," the man smiles. "I'll wait
for her a while longer.
How about some more coffee?" "Certainly, sir." The
man sits, his clear
blue eyes gazing straight through the flowered centerpiece. He
fingers
his napkin, allowing the sounds of light chatter, tinkling
silverware,
and mellow music to fill his mind. He is dressed in asport coat
and
tie. His dark brown hair is neatly combed, but one stray lock
insists
on dropping to his forehead. The scent of his cologne adds to his
clean-cut image. He is dressed up enough to make a companion feel
important, respected, loved. Yet he is not so formal as to make
one
uncomfortable. It seems that he has taken every precaution to
make
others feel at ease with him. Still, he sits alone. The waiter
returns to fill the man's coffee cup. "Is there anything
else I can
get for you, sir?" "No, thank you." The waiter
remains standing at
the table. Something tugs at his curiosity. "I don't mean to
pry,
but..." His voice trails off. This line of conversation
could jeopardize
his tip. "Go ahead," the man encourages. He is strong,
yet sensitive,
inviting conversation. "Why do you bother waiting for
her?" the waiter
finally blurts out. This man has been at the restaurant other
evenings
, always patiently alone. Says the man quietly, "Because she
needs me.
" "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Well,
sir, no offense, but assuming that she
needs you, she sure isn't acting much like it. She's stood you up
three times just this week." The man winces, and looks down
at the
table. "Yes, I know." "Then why do you still come
here and wait?"
"Cassie said that she would be here." "She's said
that before,"
the waiter protests. "I wouldn't put up with it. Why do
you?" Now
the man looks up, smiles at the waiter, and says simply,
"Because I
love her." The waiter walks away, wondering how one could
love a girl
who stands him up three times a week. The man must be crazy, he
decides.
Across the room, he turns to look at the man again. The man
slowly pours
cream into his coffee. He twirls his spoon between his fingers a
few times
before stirring sweetener into his cup. After staring for a
moment into
the liquid, the man brings the cup to his mouth and sips,
silently watching
those around him. He doesn't look crazy, the waiter admits. Maybe
the girl
has qualities that I don't know about. Or maybe the man's love is
stronger
than most. The waiter shakes himself out of his musings to take
an order
from a party of five. The man watches the waiter, and wonders if
he's ever
been stood up. The man has, many times. But he still can't get
used to it.
Each time, it hurts. He's looked forward to this evening all day.
He has many
things, exciting things, to tell Cassie. But, more importantly,
he wants
to hear Cassie's voice. He wants her to tell him all about her
day, her
triumphs, her defeats....anything, really. He has tried so many
time to
show Cassie how much he loves her. He'd just like to know that
she cares
for him, too. He sips sporadically at the coffee, and loses
himself in
thought, knowing that Cassie is late, but still hoping that she
will arrive.
The clock says nine-thirty when the waiter returns to the man's
table. "Is
there anything I can get for you?" The still empty chair
stabs at the man.
"No, I think that will be all for the night. May I have the
check please?"
"Yes, sir." When the waiter leaves, the man picks up
the check. He pulls
out his wallet and signs. he has enough money to have given
Cassie a feast.
But he takes out only enough to pay for his five cups of coffee
and the tip.
Why do you do this, Cassie?" His mind cries as he gets up
from the table.
"Good-bye," the waiter says, as the man walks towards
the door. "Good night.
Thank you for your service." You're welcome, sir," says
the waiter softly, for
he sees the hurt in the man's eyes that his smile doesn't hide.
The man passes
a laughing young couple on his way out and his eyes glisten as he
thinks of
the good time he and Cassie could have had. He stops at the front
and makes
reservations for tomorrow. Maybe Cassie will be able to make it,
he thinks.
"Seven o'clock tomorrow for party of two?" the hostess
confirms. "That's right,"
the man replies. "Do you think she'll come?" asks the
hostess. She doesn't mean
to be rude, but she has watched the man many times alone at his
table for two.
"Someday, yes. And I will be waiting for her." The man
buttons his overcoat and
walks out of the restaurant, alone. His shoulders are hunched,
but through the
windows the hostess can only guess whether they are hunched
against the wind or
against the man's hurt. As the man turns toward home, Cassie
turns into bed.
She is tired after an evening out with friends. As she reaches
toward her night
stand to set the alarm, she sees the note that she scribbled to
herself last
night. "7:00," it says. "Spend some time in
prayer." Darn, she thinks.
She forgot again. She feels a twinge of guilt, but quickly pushes
it aside.
She needed that time with her friends. And now she needs her
sleep.
She can pray tomorrow night. Jesus will forgive her. And she's
sure
he doesn't mind.
MAY THE LORD BLESS AND KEEP YOU; MAY THE LORD
MAKE HIS
FACE TO SHINE UPON YOU AND BE GRACIOUS TO YOU; MAY THE LORD LIFT
UP HIS
COUNTENANCE UPON YOU AND GIVE YOU PEACE!IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL FOR
BEING
A CHRISTIAN, WOULD THERE BE ENOUGHT EVIDENCE TOCONVICT YOU?