My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts)

Chapter One ; [She glances over the menu.] ; ;I 'm practical. Practical people can be romantics. I don't think the two contradict each other. Sure, I cringe when an insane amount of money is spent on a dozen roses, and as I watch them die their slow deaths despite the Evian and the aspirin tablet, I can't help but wonder what better use there was for forty dollars. Can the feeling of holding roses really match saving the starving children of the world? I simply pose the question. ; I'm getting sidetracked. The fact of the matter is that I just see romance differently. I see it in defined spaces, with reason and structure attached. Romance doesn't necessarily need spontaneity either. Scheduled romance is certainly a viable option for busy people. There's no reason why a bottle of wine can't be sought out days ahead of time, why a horse-drawn carriage can't be ridden in the off-season to save ten dollars. Practicality is a simple frame of mind that in all honesty offers more perks and functionality than such frivolousness. ; Jodie Bellarusa wanted more head time. She was on quite a roll up there, and I didn't want to stop her stream of consciousness, but it was 7:03 p.m. The workday was over, and it was Edward's time to arrive. You could set your watch by his schedule. Every Thursday night we meet at this French restaurant for dinner, and every Thursday night he arrived at 7:03 p.m., claiming to be on time because, he reminded me, "It's not fair to factor in parking and the distance it takes to walk to the front door." ;Secretly, I wanted him to arrive just once at 7:10 p.m. Or even 7:30 p.m., rushing in with a frantic look on his face, finding me in the crowd, relieved I was still there, and with exhaustion and anxiety in his eyes, approach the table cautiously, reverently, hoping I wasn't mad. He'd apologize and wait to see if I would accept. And then I would smile and tell him that of course I would accept. ;But Edward was never late. Edward never looked frantic. And now Edward was doing the same thing he always did at the front door, which was removing his scarf, folding it three times, and instructing the maitre d' on how to hang his coat, which was the same coat he wore every single spring. ;As I watched him, my mind wandered back to my character of Jodie Bellarusa. For now she would have to wait. But soon enough, I'd be able to bring her back alive on the pages of my computer. I was still in the first act, and Jodie had yet to meet Timothy, her eccentric opposite. Four or five scenes down the road, they would meet and hate each other. But like all good romances, love would blossom, despite Jodie's preference for practicality. ;I watched Edward make his way around the tables that stood between us. He could maneuver them blindfolded. We'd been eating at this restaurant for two years. I'd once suggested we try a window seat. Edward gave his best to be compliant, but I was forced to watch him eye our "regular" table all night like it was another woman. ;And just like two years ago, we still loved each other's company. ;He sat down without making eye contact, found his napkin, placed it on his lap, and then looked directly across the table at me. Smiling warmly, he said, "Good evening, Leah." ;He'd never had a pet name for me, and I guess I never wanted one. I used to hate when I'd go out with couple friends and they'd call each other the weirdest things that would be offensive in any other context. But as the months passed, I started wishing for a pet name, something whispered in public, in my ear, like a private joke. But it was always Leah, pronounced with preciseness but not lackingRene Gutteridge is the author of 'My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts)', published 2006 under ISBN 9781595540843 and ISBN 1595540849.