In Wait, In the Diner
His compassionate warmth ignites into the stare of an engaged voyeur. What did she sign to the guy? he wonders. Can she feel the vibrations, the pulse of the crowd’s commotion? Is she sad? Is she lonely? He looks at the line of friends behind her and sees more agile finger action, more complicated series of gesticulations. Yes, the whole group is deaf. They’re on an outing of some kind. But wait, the petite woman upfront is talking to the hostess. So maybe she can hear. She’s the leader. A detective’s mind at work, he congratulates himself. Then the beauty interrupts his self-praise by turning back toward the hostess. The hostess meets her eyes and inspects the beauty as if for defects. But the beauty casually rebuffs her. Instead of throwing up sign language like a badge as a proud New York City gangbanger might, she looks down sullenly.
Tom wants to rush over to her and wrap his arms around her small, feminine waist. He wants to whisper in her ear, “It’s ok. Forget about it. I’ve got you.” Or no, not whisper in her ear, turn her around to face him, speak slowly so she can read his lips, and then pull her in for a hug. He will be engulfed by the perfume of her hair and savor the pressure of her small breasts against his chest. The crowd will gawk at the two of them. But they’ll be impervious. His lust and love will serve as a protective force field against the malevolence of the Dragon Lady hostess. But then his beauty is interrupted. A manager type is talking to her, smiling, chatting her up, flirting. Well, I oughta! he thinks. The hormones that had flooded his crotch do a U-turn and shoot like a bullet to his brain. What’s this guy doing? I wasn’t really going to approach her like that but still! Who does he think he is? What the fuck is he saying to her? This bald-headed loser spending his life in this dump is cock-blocking me?
Tom looks at the beauty with the anticipation of a sports fan watching the bottom half of tenth inning in overtime. He’s hoping she’ll rip the manager apart with mean laughter or spit on him. He watches her. Watches her. C’mon. Do it. He leans forward. His breath is nearly held. And then she forms a slight, polite smile and does what only she, and people like her, can do. She stops listening with her eyes, and closes them. Thereby exiting the Neverland Diner.
