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Spanish Chic & Faux Leather - Epilogue - Goodbye

Spanish Chic & Faux Leather - Epilogue - Goodbye                      
                          
     It is closing day for the restaurant due to the coronavirus.            
     She says, “We’ve been talking about you.”            
     With her downward cast eyes what begins as a casual encounter becomes intimate with my, “I miss you.”            
     She turns ecstatic with her rainbow smile. “Oh, I miss you too. I can’t wait until all this is over with so we can talk more again.” She sings some lines from, “Don’t cry for me Argentina.”            
     “Who are you singing that to?”            
     “You, it seemed to fit the moment.”            
     “Do I seem like a foreign country to you?”            
     “I meant it affectionately. What is wrong with being a foreigner anyhow? I am one and one of my favorite rock bands is called ‘Foreigner.’”            
     “That group started before you were born.”            
     “You were in college before I was born. But being an antique makes you more valuable in my book.”            
     “Wouldn’t you rather have a fresh out of the            
factory corvette than a 1960s mustang however well maintained?”            
     “They don’t make them like they used to.”            
     She thrusts her immigrant hands into the Hobbit holes in the middle earth of my jeans. “Your pockets are warm and cozy. I wish I could take my siesta in one while tucked between the sheets with your jelly roll for my pillow.”  
     She stuffs my pants pockets with Mexican soft drinks from an ice chest of carbonated refreshments meant for the waitresses to cool off from the heat. She puts two drinks in my shirt pockets for good measure. But the root beer, lemon/lime, strawberry, cream, and cherry colas will be the sugar from the kisses she never peppered me with.            
     “With all that habanero spiced food you need soda to quench your thirst.”            
     “The cherry cream of your smile and voice is the only drink soft enough to refresh me.”            
     “Do you have a video chat on your computer?”            
     “Sure do. Let’s meet in cyberspace for tea.”            
     She says, “If I was a British Lass then teatime would be great. A stout of root beer is the choicest brew to make my smile shine like a well-polished shoe. But this will be our after workout cool off. Staying on an exercise routine works better with a partner. Don’t worry my spandex is highly resistant to wardrobe malfunctions.”          
    “That didn’t even cross my mind.”            
     “Lol. Email me and we’ll hook up. That came out wrong. But what else do you call it when two people do squats together online?”            
         
One Month Later
 
       “John, the email you gave me sent back a reply saying, ‘Custom eulogies for your dearly departed to dress up those closet skeletons as endearing peccadillos for a person of otherwise sterling character to bring comic relief to the bereaved. Can you imagine how that shook me up?”      
     “My handwriting is atrocious. Next time I won’t write in cursive.”      
     “My first question upon showing up for work this past month was, ‘have you seen Mr. John?’  
They answered, ‘not a sign of him.’”    
     “Oh, darling, I was worried about you too. Truthfully I was quarantining. I should have attempted to get the word to you. I didn’t know if you wanted me to bring our closeness to the attention of the other waitresses.”
     “Are you kidding me? They are laying odds on when you’ll ask me out. Fifty dollars is riding on the outcome. We are already an item in the kitchen. Inquiring minds, among whom I am one, want to know.”
     “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”    
     “I had a dream that the morgue called me to identify your body because I was the only close relation you had locally. So I went there. They pulled open the drawer and there before me was your sweet face ashen in its pallor. They asked me if I wanted any of your belongings so I took your glasses with me as a last keepsake to remember you by. Don’t ever frighten me like that again.”      
     “Nothing short of an apocalypse will keep me away from you again.”      
     She takes my order to the kitchen saying, “Mr. John is back. He is well, thank God.”    
goldenmyst
Written by goldenmyst
Published | Edited 13th May 2020
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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