[Izulde]

The pandemic struck with a vengeance before I could go and investigate the LARP the kid was talking about. He came in a week later to sulkily inform me that it'd been cancelled until further notice, and it could be months before it returned.



Likewise, the schools changed over to fully online instruction. Previously, it'd been that messiness called hybrid, which some of my customers would complain about to each other in different sections of the store. Me, they rarely spoke to beyond the necessity of asking where things were, the total of their purchases, and so on. Not that I minded. Odd as it may seem for someone involved in retail, I'm not overly fond of people in general. I see too little common sense, too much boasting, to be overly warm with all but a select few.



Speaking of those select few, I'd been to the diner once a week the past month and a half. Each time, I had a smiling waitress of dun hair and eyes. Good service and excellent food as that precious first time. But no Nichole G. I began to think that I'd perhaps hallucinated her - that she was a beautiful fever dream, a hallucination brought on by the pell-mell speed of my travel from west to east.



Then, one early Saturday morning, before I was due to open (Much as I wanted to, I couldn't financially afford to temporarily shutter - not even in the midst of the plague that raged through our town. All I could do was put up a "Masks Required" sign that a full 50% of them ignored and I didn't have the strength or courage to argue against. Not when I was so new), I found myself walking past the diner upon returning from a gas station stop for cigarettes.



What the hell, I thought to myself. Might as well go in. I missed supper here last night anyway.



My first sight was a table crowded with people - a grandfather, a grandmother, and two boisterous grandchildren no doubt thrilled to be having an early weekend meal with their heroes judging from the excited chatter of the pair.



Then I noticed a slender arm covered in a black sleeve. The dun waitress was rather thicker than that, so I allowed my eyes to travel up. Though her gaze was focused on sliding grandpappy his freshly filled coffee, I saw dark blue, and then a crown of blonde hair.



No loop funkiness this time. Rather, an A shaped tumbling of her hair, that due to its mid-level length as it framed either side of her face... Well, I'll be blunt. It looked like a poodle hairstyle. But from the way my heart fluttered, as it did so rarely once I passed into middle age at 30, I knew two things.



One: This was no fever dream.
Two: I was thoroughly and completely besotted.

You see, anyone can be attractive the first time you see them. Perhaps it's a favorite physical feature. Perhaps it's the novelty of a physical mannerism. Maybe it's the voice. But when someone is still so the second time you see them, well, hello and welcome to Crushland.



There was no outward sign of recognition when she came to my table. Makes sense. Last time I wore a hat and I had not yet let my salt and earth beard eat my face, as my BFF back West likes to snidely comment whenever I fall into hairy dissolution. But perhaps there was inner recognition. Nevermind.



Those eyes, darker than I remembered them, yet still blue, gazed into mine as she took my order of coffee and I found myself looking over the menu I'd completely forgotten the contents of (Fridays are fish-oriented here). A bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and a side of sausage links seemed to hit just the right morning mood.



Jangly-nerved, I proceeded to consume coffee, with periodic Nichole appearances for refills. I tried not to stare at her, though I was aware of her presence as she moved about the dining room. I fiddled with my phone, pretending to text people and scroll social media. I also wore a completely superfluous winter coat because I misjudged the morning's temperature.



I wanted to speak, to start a line of conversation. But I couldn't. I did, however, notice that she was not so fumble-fingered as our first meeting. In fact, not one clatter or crash did I hear. Maybe she got waitress training. Maybe I was an ephemeral resident of her memory and missed my chance.



The oatmeal bowl proved far bigger than I anticipated. Large enough to feed all four of the people at that first table. But I ate it all, no doubt looking like a great big honking pig.



Then I put my mask on, and I didn't realize until later that I'd put it on upside down. I can never go back. Also, I didn't have my card with me, so had to pay cash, and awkwardly asked for change - though of course I still tipped well. There was no broad smile and lowered eyes this time. Instead, a beat of silence, and then, "Have a good day," concern in her eyes. No doubt concern at the idiocy of my upside-down mask.



As I scurried out onto the street rather than the leisurely, controlled saunter I'd planned, two more thoughts occurred to me:

1. This never was going to be a thing unless I started talking.
2. I needed to shave. Badly.
3. She's a weekender.

That's three thoughts, not two. Nevermind. I'm getting back to the store and opening up. Hopefully no one comes in while I'm still gaspy-breathed like a beached whale-fish.