Saved By Your Love

2. In Search of a Friend

Sunday 22nd March 1987

Michael's POV

The next weekend, I went back to that quiet, little restaurant in the early evening. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from Hayvenhurst. I listened to my lonely footsteps as I journeyed by myself, out into the little world with which I was outwardly connected. I could tell that there was a breeze in the Sunday air by the way the leaves on the palm trees were rustling and swaying slowly, but I couldn't feel it, not in the disguise I was wearing. It was amazing that nobody stopped to stare at me in the street, and the inside of that place was deserted, so I could finally be alone in peace without any attention. Nobody knew who I am. Nobody cared. It was great.

My presence at the restaurant may not have been as appreciated as I did being there. As soon as I walked in, the old man with the hat would groan and fold his arms (he was perhaps the owner). To have somebody actually be mad at me for something was oddly refreshing; I'm so used to having people at my beck and call most of the time. But, he didn't know that it was one of the few places whereby I could just be without any commotion or any hoopla. Still, it's not like I was able to relax with my brooding thoughts.

Diana.

Diana, Diana, Diana... Why would she get married like that? I didn't even get an opportunity to get to know her husband. I've already been trying to get over her for two long years. Now, it's going to take decades, centuries, a lifetime. I wish she knew how I really feel about her. Or maybe she knows, but I don't understand why she's ice cold, or why she would want to hurt me. What we have...or had...was no doubt one-sided. She told me that she loves to be with me, so why won't she? Maybe I've made a mistake by falling in love Diana.

I glanced around the restaurant when the owner had his back to me and tucked my hair back under my hood just to be safe. The same girl from last time wasn't there, it seemed. I couldn't get a clear look at her. When the grumpy old man came and took my order, I kept my head down, certain that he was side-eyeing me. I felt it. Much to my surprise, it was indeed that same waitress who served me the orange juice from a round black tray that she carried with one hand. Then she began to speak.

Her voice was like honey, the voice of a kind person who only meant well. Her words flowed as smooth as a meadow river. Hanging on to her every word, I detected an accent melting off her tongue, a tinge of Southern-ness. It was charming. It was almost as if she was trying to tell me something. I was aware that I must have looked very unapproachable with my glasses on and a black mask covering my face.

She began to spill words like water from a fountain, "I, uh, just wanted to say that the fifty dollars, I..."

I sneaked a glance at her from behind my black-tinted glasses, to see if her face would match that pretty, chirpy voice.

I wasn't wrong.

She was...strikingly beautiful.

Her hair was like curls of pure earth, tied back, except for two singular curls which flowed loosely and framed her face. I had never seen a pair of lips like hers either, both the top and bottom equally full. If I had to guess, I would've said she wasn't wearing much or any make-up. For a moment, she has me so distracted that I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying.

She began to laugh in a way that was full of energy and warmth, "hello...? Am I speaking in English?"

Thankful she couldn't see me blushing, I cleared my throat. "Pardon?"

"I was asking if you wanted your change back."

I shook my head and diverted my gaze again. "No. Keep it."

"Oh, man. Are you sure? You'd get a lotta change back,"

I nodded, insisting.

"I have no idea what to say. It was totally unnecessary. And dumb. But thank you."

Every response to her was risky, but she deserved to know it. I shielded my face from her with my hand. "You're welcome."

Within seconds, I sensed a vacuum of air in the spot which she had been standing. Time was non-existent for me as I sat there thinking about who I thought was my one true love, Diana. I couldn't get her out of my mind, no matter what I did. My mother always told me she was no good for me, anyway. That didn't matter. The woman had a hold on me, and she knew it.

I looked over at the bar, to see the lone waitress re-arranging and sorting out jars and containers on the shelves. Some of her curls had escaped from the few pins which held them up as she moved with swiftness. She reminded me a little bit of a gazelle—fast, yet elegant. She probably didn't even realize that her apron had become untied from her back.

I sat there for God knows how long. The girl and her boss appeared to be arguing about whether or not they should keep the restaurant open, and then I zoned out again. I was secretly relieved when the waitress had won the argument, using me as her justification for staying open.

"We can't just lock up. Have you lost your sight already Sam? There's a damn customer sitting right there!" she exclaimed.

"Don't you sass me, girl! I ain't lost nothin'. But my hearing be getting crappier by the day, prob'ly 'cause you keep yellin' this place down."

It wouldn't have made much difference, anyway. I would often roam the neighborhood in search of a friend, in hopes that there would be somebody to talk to, but I always ended up going straight back home. Then I found this place. There wasn't a single soul in there most of the time. I was finally able to go out, though not as myself, and do normal people things. It was perfect. Even when another customer would wander in, they didn't pay attention to me. I didn't know whether it was healthy for me to be left alone with my thoughts like that, solemn as they were. I knew that could be guilt-free in the real world at that restaurant.

And that was all that mattered.