“Sometimes the truth can be
I apologized profusely to sweet, young Nan…who had turned bright red but…had generously accepted my apologies…
And…after also apologizing to everyone else at the table and pleading temporary insanity…I quickly opened my menu and then slapped it shut. I was ready.
Franny was still looking at hers and also occasionally peeking over the menu at me.
I gently cleared my throat a little…not to hurry her or anything…but…I did want her to speak first…
It was “my scene”…and even though she didn’t know it…she had the opening line to this little drama playing out in my mind.
Franny looked up from the menu and said…”What are you getting, Coop”
Yes! I was “Center Stage”…
I glanced briefly at the menu again…just for show…and then I said, ever so kindly and politely to Nan, “I don’t feel like having a beer. I’ll have a Coke…with lots of ice, please…and a chicken sandwich with fries.”
Then I handed Nan my menu. I was so pleased with myself. I looked over at Franny for her reaction.
Her mouth had fallen open slightly in surprise at my clever move…or maybe (okay…probably) because…without really meaning to…I had given my order to Nan using a heavy (and completely phony) Southern accent…a la Blanche DuBois from “A Streetcar Named Desire”…my favorite movie…
“I’ll have the same as her,” Franny said…pausing slightly and then smiling. “Except…I do feel like having a beer. I’ll have a bottle of Grain Belt with a glass, please.”
“My dad will have to check your IDs before he can serve you guys any beer. He’ll be right over.” Nan picked up the menus and headed toward the bar.
Feeling like I’d climbed Mt. Everest in the middle of a raging blizzard…with my oxygen tanks long since depleted…I leaned back against the booth.
I put my tanned hands on the table and admired my new Revlon Orange Blossom nail polish that I’d purchased yesterday at Larson’s Drug Store.
Taking a deep, relaxing breath I smiled across the table at Franny…and Bob.
“I’m hungrier than I thought!” I said…with not a hint of a Southern accent…”I hope the food’s good.”
It never once occurred to me that we were sitting here with two strange young men…about whom we knew absolutely nothing.
Somehow it just seemed natural and perfectly fine.
I turned to ask Hank what he did for a living. He was pulling his wallet out of his jeans’ pocket so he could show his driver’s license to the bartender who was headed our way.
My smiling eyes fell down to his hands. They were even more tan than mine…
Except for a little band of pure white on the third finger of his left hand…you know…the ring finger…