In Limbo

At McDonalds, people come and go. Groups are sitting together, in discussion. Someone is smoking outside. It all doesn’t matter; your date has not arrived.

I sit there desperately watching the streets, wondering why is she late. “I can’t understand it! I thought it was all planned days ago!” I plead, at no one in particular. You hear whispers, “She’s not coming/Look at him, no wonder he’s alone”.

Desperate, I call her home. “She just left,” says her mom, adding to the long list of possible locations my date might be. “She’s on the way/ She’s crossing the parking lot/ She’s on the bus”. All I have heard before, none of which brings me any solace, for that means she is There, as opposed to what we in college call, Here.

I wait some more. I sent her an SMS. A phone call would just be viewed as desperation at this time. No response. Lines of communication are silent. She is still Not Here.

I try to look for familiar faces in the restaurant, someone I could wait with so people won’t think I have been stood up. I find none. Inevitably, one must come to accept that she might just not be coming, and just leave. But then you would have just seemed to prove the mean-spirited people right. “Ken has no friends”. I could almost hear their thoughts.

Disappointment is not an emotion that can be felt for a long time. Soon that sense of disappointment turns into outright anger, culminating into a sort of semi-murderous rage, the kind that is felt by people when they realized their stock broker didn’t do a single unethical thing for you.

Then out of the blue, she taps me on my shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. My mom would not let me leave until I cleaned my room. Sorry.”

“Sorry” Good word. “Hey! Its all okay,” I say, my anger draining from my shoes to the ground. “It’s all under control. Can I buy you a drink?”