The tension of the day caused my mind to focus on getting to one place, and my body to be driven to keep my energy up until I could arrive there. The beach, even on a cold afternoon, was the only place I wanted to be. After several chilly visits I'd learned to layer my clothes and take clothes that kept the chill off. I went to walk on 'my' beach, to feel the water and sand on my feet, to sit and watch the waves in hopes of seeing 'my' seal, to watch 'my' sunset, hoping to bring a relief to my frustrations and see beyond them. All these things became mine as I drew energy from them on my visits.
After my delightfully calm walk on the all-but-deserted beach, I stopped at my favorite restaurant. Happy that 'my' table was available because it allowed me a view of the ocean without my being the center of attention and having other diners wonder why I always ate alone. Considering the frequency of my visits there was only one dish on the menu that I could afford. After the waitress took my order for a bowl of clam chowder, which, along with the complimentary bread and water, would provide a refreshing meal, I turned to watch the sunset. Outside the glass window was a porch, and occasionally people would walk by and even look in at me, but this didn't hinder my enjoyment.
The colors seemed brighter that night…they spread wider. The colors changed slower than usual. Half of me wished for a camera to capture it, the other half knew that worrying about settings on my camera might ruin the moment. I could no longer just sit, and stood close to the glass looking at, what was now in my mind, 'my' sunset. I reached up my left hand, stretched my fingers on the glass. I closed my eyes and as I pictured my sunset in my mind and felt the hardness of the glass under my fingers, it was almost as if I had reached out and touched the sky. It was a powerful moment. I enjoyed the feeling but didn't want to miss more of the sunset. I opened my eyes without moving and found the sunset partially blocked by a someone standing between me and the sky. I was annoyed that someone would take this pleasure from me.
As my eyes focused on him his features separated him from the silhouette he first formed on my mind. I realized he was facing me and not the sunset which was unusual for someone just standing on the porch.
He looked to his right also at the glass and I realized his right hand was reached out to touch my left hand, but we couldn't touch because of the glass barrier between us. I thought of pulling away but because his attention wasn't on me but my hand, I didn't feel self-conscious and waited to see what he'd do next. He matched his fingers up with mine. I moved my fingers together and he did the same. I moved them apart; he did the same. I slid my hand down and then left and right and he did the same. I looked at him. He was taller than I, and seemed to have blonde hair, although it was hard to tell in the dimming light. I turned back to our hands. He now stopped matching my movements and with his finger traced the outlines of my hand on the glass, as if he wanted to memorize its place, its position, its look. It was as if he were touching me and I could feel my skin tingle. I wanted it to last, but was too curious. I wondered what he would do. I started moving my hand toward my face. Our hands seemed to be tied as his moved slowly behind mine. I moved slowly but purposefully towards my face. He continued to watch, and I watched his face grow nervous as my hand drew closer to my face. Where his face had seemed inquisitive he now reacted as a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar as I stopped my hand under my eyes. And finally his eyes joined mine. What was this connection I felt and did he feel it?
Was it just a game for him? His eyes were so serious and deep. I felt his expression change to that of a boy in a toy store. Now my thoughts starting wandering to thoughts of touching him. If he could touch my hand through glass in such a powerful way, imagine how he could touch me in real life. Could I be having these thoughts about a stranger? I brought up my other hand and he 'touched' it also and we stood 'touching' hands looking into each others eyes. I heard a cup being put on my table and didn't dare look away, but also wondered at what I was doing. I gave in and let a smile spread across my face. He looked at me as if he were a puppet and my smile could turn his face into a smile…as if learning how to do it from me.
A smile came to his face as well. I heard the waitress ask me a question. I didn't want to look away, but felt I had to. I kept my hands on the glass but turned my head. She informed me that someone had sent a rose to me. I was surprised. What was happening? I thanked her and turned back to the window, but he was gone. The sunset had disappeared as well.
Now I was wondering it had all been my imagination. I looked around to the entrance and didn't see anyone walk in. I sat down, picked up the rose and sniffed its sweet scent. It was a mystery. Was it just going to stay that way and be a sweet remembrance? I sat down and lookedd around the room, looking at it differently this time. I did notice some people looking back at me as I looked at them, but I was sure it was because they wondered at my behavior, rather than because they had an answer to the mystery. The waitress came to bring me my food. I watched her as she left and walked through the kitchen entrance.
Then I noticed him sitting at a corner table. His eyes were on me so strongly I couldn't look away. He must have come in the kitchen entrance while I looked for him at the front. What was he thinking? Why had he met me on the other side of the glass like that? I wanted to meet this man. How do you meet a stranger? I'd never had experience at that. If he had sent the rose, what could I send in return? I had learned during conversation-filled lunches in my college cafeteria how to fold a napkin into a rose, like origami. I took my napkin and carefully made a rose, wanting it to be the best one I'd made. I called my waitress over to deliver it to the man at the corner table. Her smile was more than just polite. Her eyes twinkled as she agreed. What could the waitress know about the man? As she walked away I wondered at what I was doing, realizing how out of the usual this was for me. I sat still watching him as he received the rose. The waitress pointed to my table, but he stood up before the she was even finished her sentence.
He approached and I allowed this stranger to sit at my table. My eyes in a trance held by his. I hoped he'd speak first but when he didn't I said, "My rose smells very nice, thank you."
