Thursday

Malcolm meet Maureen

"Did you know that our noses continue to grow as we get older?", Malcolm asks the pretty girl, wiping ketchup from her pouty lips.

"I think you're lying", she smirks.

"No...it's..."

"I'm kidding" she says, "I was making a reference to Pinocchio."

Malcolm looks at the burger on his plate, the lettuce wilting out the side. He just can't eat around pretty girls.

"You going to eat that?" Maureen asks. That's her name, Maureen, he has forgotten it, but suddenly it comes back to him. "Cause if you're not, could I have it"

He pushes his plate over towards her side of the table. Maureen lifts the bun and takes out the large slab of grade-D meat. She folds it carefully in her napkin and puts it in her purse. The purse that is large enough to potentially be carrying an entire litter of puppies.

Malcolm tries to find something else to say to fill up the awkward silence as Maureen rummages in her purse for god only knows what, but he gives up. He is no good at small talk, as is evidenced by his 'nose' trivial pursuit fact above.

What fifteen year old girl has a purse the size of the Titanic? A backpack he could understand, but a purse?

"I fink I...go ome ow", Maureen mumbles from inside the purse

"Excuse me?" I say, a bit too loudly.

Maureen pulls her small ostrich like head from the interior of her purse, "I'd like to go home now", she says as she applies deep, ruby red lipstick to her small, puffy lips.

My eyes began to water, and to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks, I roughly rub my hands over the tops of my thighs and concentrate on finding our waitress.
'What is wrong with me?', I think as Maureen shoves her short gymnast arms through the sleeves of her nylon coat. It has taken me three years to get up the nerve to ask a girl out on a date and in that time period I haven't considered for one minute what we might talk about. I just haven't visualized talking.

Maureen pops a piece of gum in her mouth and looks at me, or I should say, she looks just a little past me, "This was fun"

I stare at her. Look right at her. Look at her sparkling eyes and small, flowery mouth. Look at her perky hair, held tight and up high on her head in a ponytail. Think about who she will call first when she gets home; where she will ask them to meet her, stealing herself out of the house again, pretending to still be out on a date with me. Our eyes meet and I force a small smile. I know something she does not.

I know that in twenty-five years I will watch Maureen, chest rising and falling, arms grabbing at the majority of our comforter. She will sleep with her mouth open, her hair still held tight on her head in a pony tail. The gymnast arms long gone; I will enjoy pressing my face into the soft flesh now at the crease of her elbow. Pressing my aging body against her small back, I will think about the smells of that old diner and the conversation we never got to have.