Before I am Famous

literature is something we infer after the story is told

Chopsticks

Posted on | May 26, 2008 |

I went to the Chinese restaurant as I always do on Thursdays. Thursday is pay day. Most of the time, I get old take out so I don’t have to eat alone. People always stare when you enjoy a meal on your own. And I am a big guy and I like to eat. When I go there I know my little China flower is working because she answers the phone. Her English isn’t very good but I won’t hold it against her. Her raven hair is always neatly tied in a long pony tail (I would love to run my fingers through that if you know what I mean) she is petite and short and I know that perhaps I might intimidate her some but it doesn’t show. She hands me my box of food, makes soul-burning sincere eye contact and says “thank you see you next week.”

She remembers me and I love that. Tonight the restaurant wasn’t busy and I didn’t call in my order. Instead I gathered my nerve and stopped at the flower shop and bought lilies. I hoped to hell that she was a single gal working for her father, uncle or brother and not her husband. I came in and she was at the cash register, the light from the twinkling chandelier radiated around her like an aura. I told I was eating there and she showed me to a table for two. My heart beat wildly. I am sure she noticed the flowers but said nothing. I couldn’t speak. It was do or die.

I ordered my Thursday fair. With my meal came chopsticks. I said thanks and handed her the lilies. And told her I thought she was beautiful and asked her to dinner. She smiled and took the flowers and said she didn’t know. I wanted to impress her so much, I never used chopsticks before. I slid the slender splinter free wooden rods out the red paper sleeve decorated with golden Chinese characters. My fat fingers fumbled with workings. I saw her watching me.

She started to come over. What would I do if she invited me over for dinner with her family, then I would have to use chopsticks. I went for a piece of General Tso’s chicken. But the chicken didn’t want to enter my mouth, instead I squeezed the chopsticks to hard, the chicken became airborne and hit my China Flower in the face. She stopped. With my cheeks burning, I fumble for a fifty and lay it on the table.

Laughing sweet and melodic came from the direction. she wiped her face off with her apron. She intercepted me before I could run with my tail between my legs and said, “Don’t have to use chopsticks. I would go to dinner anyway with you.” So we made a date and come to think of it I don’t know her name and I don’t think she knows mine. It will be all in faith if she shows up to dinner on Saturday.

this is a story that I used a writing exercise generator try it out if you need to the muse juice flowing!

Category: simply stories

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