I have always considered myself to be a relatively social person. I know when to smile, what to say to a friend who I haven't seen in a while; I know how and where to broach a tricky subject or to offer my condolences. In my single life, I had even mastered the art of 'table for one' with minimal discomfort in the early 90's, before there was the cell phone, iPhone, iPod.
Now, 20 years later, I sit alone, my other half missing.
Ironically, I am married.
I found Mr. Right. What I didn't realize was that his title also included; Mr. Chain Smoker, Mr. Gotta Talk to everyone around him, and Mr. I've gotta get back to my wife before she kills me. (not to be confused by the sitting persona-Mr. Gotta Check this email/take this phone call-like it's life or death.)
To further confuse the average person (like myself), my Joe is NOT a neurosurgeon, a lawyer with a client on death row, or even a psychiatrist with a patient on the ledge, he is Mr. Social. Which makes me Mrs. Aggravated Bitch in the corner with the puss on her face. A title I've never asked for, nor EVER found warranted.
A PEEK INTO MY WORLD:
We are in the car on the way to Moonstruck, a restaurant in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Before leaving the house, I turn to Joe asking him how I look. I am met with the one word answer. "cute," as he takes a longing glance at his mistress, iPhone.
I reserve the word cute for puppies, bunny rabbits, and the sun kissed curls in my daughter's face. I look back at my reflection. I am wearing a Haute Hippie mini skirt with a simple white J Crew tank. My necklace is a cool thick strand of black and silver knots. My hair is ocean wild and the make up simple, with a light berry stain and sparkle on the lips. Even on sale, my look costs more than the dinner and the gas it will take to get us there.
Once Joe and 'cute' me get in the car, his Bluetooth connecting, he calls his business partner. On the way to the restaurant, they summarize their day. I stare out the window, going into a trance-like state from staring at the passing streetlights.
We quickly find a parking spot and walk into Moonstruck. Joe walks ahead of me swinging the two front doors open like he was a cowboy walking into his favorite saloon. He walks over to the host with a 'we'll take our usual spot' smile. (Funny enough, we've only eaten here once before). Joe walks over to the bartender giving him a fist tap and asks him about his family back in Ohio, leaving the host and me waiting by the stairs.
We walk up the stairs and as the host escorts us to our table outside on the balcony, Joe does his social dance from group to group. His technique varies; To some he shakes hands, others a friendly wave, and occasionally, he'll tell a joke. The one that always sends my eye-tooth through my lower lip is when he gives a friend's wife a detailed compliment.
Once we're seated (a full 20 minutes later), Joe looks to me as if for the first time and smiles, "Hi hon."
I force myself NOT to roll my eyes, more for the strain-cause I've been doing it since we entered the place.
"You know, we rushed out so quickly, I didn't get the chance to run to the bathroom." Joe says apologetically. He looks to me permissively-like I'm going to say no! -like he'd listen anyway? I hear the creak of wood against wood as he stands up and sneaks away in his blue laced Nike's.
Table for one. It's a gorgeous night. After a late day torrential downpour the air is light and breezy, with just enough humidity to keep me from needing a sweater. I close my eyes and I can hear soft laughter from a couple a few tables away. The waiter comes to take our drink order, and even though I know what he'd like, I just order something for myself. Let HIM see what it feels like to wait.
Ten minutes have passed, my drink glass sweating from the precipitation, I mix it with my straw and look out at the moon's reflection twinkling in the lake across the street. There was a time when he wouldn't leave me alone at a table....and then we wed.
I almost break into a sigh when Joe interrupts. "You wouldn't believe it. I just ran into David. I haven't seen him in the longest time! He pulled me over, I couldn't leave...you don't understand. He was BEGGING us to join their table. I told him no, I came here with my wife. It's our date night, right Zee??!"
I think he's proud as he says it. Everything he says from this point forth is white noise. Thirteen years have made me a pro of turning off the B.S., I just never knew how much of it there actually was.
Midway through the meal, we know our server Brandon's, family tree, country of origin, years in school, political compass, and blood type. I have yet to tell Joe of my day, but he just seems to be so interested in Brandon's knowledge of agriculture that I don't want to interrupt them. They break off, Brandon goes to take a drink order at another table.
"I'll be right back." Joe raises his fingers to his lips.
Smoking time for Joe, which means reflection time for me. The moon's reflection is luminous. Then there's my own self reflection-dark, and it has nothing to do with the night. Is a night with me so painful? Does he need all the distraction to be able to sit with me for an hour? How was I able to sit alone at a table when I was single, and now married, it stings me so? As I go from dark to darker I hear something in the distance calling to me..maybe it's my subconscious trying to bring me back to the light.
"Zee, zee...."
I look down to find Joe outside the restaurant talking to the valet guy.
It must be a gift, Jimmy the valet has known Joe for a full five minutes and is completely immersed in whatever nonsense they've found in common. "I'll be right up love. Did you know that Jimmy went to the same high school as you?....Hey Jim, isn't my wife gorgeous....wasn't I just telling you I had to get back to her...she's the best...."
And the white noise is back.
The next time we go out for our 'date night' I'll need to plan ahead-smile, wave, and most importantly-
make sure my iPhone is fully charged.
Just like three quarters of iPhone widows in this world.
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