Our story part three

After taking the food order of the two young men, I delivered their drinks. Water for the one on the left, and  Michelob lite for the one on the right. Small talk ensued, and the one on the left asked if I was in school. It was about this time that the guy on the right seemed to disappear, I don't remember much else about him from that evening after this point.

"Yes", I replied, "I'm a freshman at USC". I cringed, knowing what the next question would be. 

"Oh" he said pleasantly, "me too, what is your major?" I stuttered a bit, I hated to share my major. It had never occurred to me when I had enrolled as an art major just a few months before, that I would ever be ashamed to be associated with the art department. "I'm an Art major", I haltingly revealed, "but don't hold that against me." They both laughed out loud, knowing instantly what I meant. It was well known back in the early eighties that if you saw someone on the gamecock campus that, well, that stuck out in the way of purple hair, excessive tattoos and or earrings, or just outlandish clothing, then nine times out of ten they were most likely an art major. I returned the question and found out he was a business major. After more small talk it was determined that we had 8am classes in the same building on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. "Maybe we'll see each other on campus someday", he remarked. Soon their pizza was up, and the small talk was over, as I left them to enjoy their late lunch. On my way back to the wait station to freshen their drinks, I glanced back at the table. The young man on the left was praying over his meal. 
While they ate, I shamelessly re-wiped the surrounding tables hoping to catch some small snippet of their conversation. When I delivered their bill, I signed their ticket, as I did everyone, "It was a pleasure serving you, amy", but this time I really meant it. 

I took a longer look at the young man as he stood at the register waiting to pay. He had very broad shoulders, and a large build, and he stood straight and tall with a very confident gate. His auburn hair was cut short, but appeared to be very curly. He wore stone colored flat front trousers, with cordovan penny loafers, and matching thin leather belt. His shirt was a light blue pinpoint button down oxford polo. His smile was easy, and he engaged the manager in conversation at the register. I remember in that moment thinking that there was a special place in my future for that man, and although I tend to think love at first sight is most usually vanity at best, and dangerous at worst, if there is such thing as love at first meeting, then this was surely the case. He smiled a goodbye as he passed me on his way out, and left a very generous tip on the table to seal my affections. It would be some time before I would see the young man again.

That evening I returned home to find my aunt Eileen and uncle Roy visiting my mom from Muskegon Michigan. I told them all about the handsome man I had met at work, and as I remember, my mom was unusually interested. Perhaps it was obvious that there was something different about this chance meeting. As a waitress you hear it all, from seemingly harmless obnoxious flirtation to beer induced marriage  proposals. She had heard me relay them all, complete with eye rolls, and feigned humiliation. This time the story was not littered with insincere flattery, or sordid innuendo, it wasn't anything really, but a chance meeting, containing harmless small  talk, and punctuated with a good looking, nice guy at the end, but for me, I hoped it was anything but insignificant.

The problems at work had grown worse, and I was offered a job at the women's health club Spa Lady, that my mom and I frequented. I jumped at the chance to get out of waitressing, and although it was nice to not spend those long late hours on my feet any more, now I was teaching three or four aerobic classes a day. It was a challenging job, and I was exhausted at the end of a shift, but I completely enjoyed it.

The weeks that followed found me shivering in unusually cold South Carolina mornings, outside my 8:00 class building. Every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I sat on the low brick wall surrounding the old building that housed my French class, hoping for a glimpse of the nice young man to whom I had served pizza.

to be continued