I decided to get some lunch at one of the downtown restaurants one Saturday afternoon after I finished my writing for that morning. I dressed, then walked out of my apartment complex and entered the downtown area.
Since most events downtown didn't take place until the evening, there weren't many people out during my walk, though some of the restaurants were crowded. I stared into the window of some of them and judged which one had the shortest wait time, and since all of them, from the size of the crowds, would have me waiting a while, I continued on.
Off the beaten path, I found a smaller salad bar. While I wasn't in the mood for salad, the wait time wasn't long at all, so I went inside, noticing just a few people sitting at the tables and talking. I went to the front, where some people told the young men and women behind the counter which herbs and vegetables they wanted in their salads.
One woman a few people ahead of me was very particular about what and how much of each item she wanted, and as a result, she held up the line.
The person ahead of me, a woman wearing a black sweatshirt, gray yoga pants and sneakers let out an exasperated sigh. I chuckled, which made her turn around.
"She's awfully picky," I said in a low tone.
"Yeah." The woman broke out into a small grin. Her face had a line or two which suggested a more mature age, but her smile was youthful.
"I'm guessing you just came from the gym?" I decided to make conversation with the woman since we were both in line waiting.
"Yes, I did. I'm just here to grab something to eat after my workout." The woman's accent suggested she was from a Spanish-speaking country. "What about you?"
"No groceries in the house." She laughed a little more. The picky woman ahead of us finished, and the line moved up.
"Well, it's still good that you're here. Most young men don't eat the best foods, so it's good to see a man who takes care of himself. Do you work out?"
"Sometimes, but not as often as I should. Being a writer keeps me busy," I said.
"I see. By the way, I don't think you told me your name."
"My name's Martin."
" I'm Vera. Nice to meet you, Martin."
"Would you care for some company?" I asked. Since the woman seemed to be here alone and displaying some level of interest, I figured it would be a good idea to converse with her further. She seemed joyful and easygoing, so the odds of us getting along were high.
Vera said she wouldn't mind that at all, and when both of us got and paid for our salads, we picked out a table and sat. I took the time to ask her where she was from, and she told me she was raised in United States, but her father is Cuban and mother was Venezuelan. She inquired the same of me, and with a shrug, I told her I was born and raised here, nothing special.
"Oh, don't sell yourself short! Everyone has something special about them. You said you were a writer, didn't you?" I nodded. "See? How many people can say they write for living. What do you write?"
"A little of everything, really. I'm mostly a freelance writer. It's tough, and things get tight sometimes, but I'm doing all right. How about you? Are you doing something you're passionate about?"
The woman nodded. "I'm in fitness. I'm actually a personal trainer, and I've done a few fitness competitions. I have a blog about fitness, too."
She told me the name of the blog and told me to check it out later, which I promised I would. As we ate, I decided to ask Vera more questions about herself, specifically about what made her want to get into fitness. The Latina told me that she was overweight in her teens and twenties, and was always self-conscious about it. So, one day, she decided to start exercising, and the rest was history.
"You're very disciplined," I told her. "It takes a lot to work out, let alone dedicate yourself to doing so. I applaud that."
"Thank you."
"Mostly because I enjoy seeing the final results." Both of us laughed.
"Most men do. But I'm not going to say I hate the attention I get. I mean, I get to make money doing something I enjoy and which is fulfilling, something that's good for me, and I get attention which I didn't get when I was younger."
"No wonder you seem so happy," I pointed out. "Even when we were in line earlier, you had a very strong, positive aura. Most people, if they were behind a picky person who was taking forever, would have been swearing up a storm, but you were completely cool about it. If anything, you thought it was funny."
Vera smiled. "I could say the same about you, Martin. You're also very positive and laid-back, which I like. You're also doing something you love, and it shows. Since we've been talking, you haven't stopped smiling."
"Well, I tend to be happy in the presence of an attractive woman."
Vera laughed and tapped me on the arm. She went on, saying that I had two things most young men don't have: confidence and direction. Most young people have no clue what they want out of life, and she admitted she was the same way in her twenties.
I started to speak, but Vera went on. "Also, I know it takes a lot of courage and confidence for a man to approach and talk to a woman he thinks is attractive. It's rare I tend to talk to a man I don't know already likes me."
Many women have told me that. Even though most men probably wouldn't reject a woman as happy and beautiful as Vera, she was still apprehensive about starting a conversation with a man she didn't know. That always surprised me.
"That's why I respect men who can do that, and even if I'm not interested in them, I still let them know I appreciate them doing so."
"Interesting. Not too many women think that way."
"I have four brothers, so I know. That, and I always hung out with the boys in school, so I have a pretty good understanding of how guys think. Do you have any siblings?"
I shook my head. We discussed our family lives a bit more, though I listened to what it was like for Vera, as she lived in her father's home country, mother's home country, and the United States. Each story she told was more interesting than the last.
