Get Behind Me

It was seven-thirty. The time she told me to be there.
         I paid the cab driver and quickly shut the door, leaving some semblance of nervousness behind me, because of course she'd be able to see it. But then again-she would see it regardless of my attempts to hide it.
         When I entered the restaurant, the heavy scent of garlic filled my nostrils, singeing a little. She wanted Italian, and here I was. I walked straight ahead to the host.
         "Hi. I'm here for-"
         "She's right over there, madame." The host pointed to my right. I walked straight through the crowd of tables, accidentally bumping against a large chair which happened to be occupied by a very large Italian-looking man.
         "'Ey!" he said, his broad shoulders separating his arms. He reminded me of Tony Soprano, but I decided not to analyze his features any more than that, just in case his Tony Soprano impression extend to whacking me.
         I quickened my pace trying not to run into any more patrons and then I saw her. She had some how obtained a rather private area of the restaurant, a booth towards the back. When I saw her, I stopped. I had seen before, of course. But something struck me.
         I snapped out of whatever sort of haze I was in, and kept going. The booth smelled of fake leather-and it was red. Of course it was. It was red. And the table was black. Of course it was.
         "Have a seat." She said, motioning to the opposite side of the table. I sighed as silently as possible, but she caught my eye, with a smirk.
         "How are you doing this evening?" she asked, moving a strand of hair from her face. He black hair framed her face beautifully. Of course it did.
         "I've been better. It started raining when I left my apartment and of course I forgot my umbrella-"
         "Of course you did." She said smiling, upon taking a sip of red wine.
         "Well, I watched the Weather Channel and they said it wasn't going to."
         "Couldn't you have just looked out of the window and seen the sky?"
         "Yeah but...yeah. I could have." I resigned myself to this dubious affirmation. I always did that. I hate the Weather Channel...and the weather.
         "Aside from that," she said, opening her large menu, "How are you?"
         "Um, ok I guess." I lied.
         "That's good. You seem rather nervous." She said.
         "You're good," I said.
         "I don't know why you pretend. You can't hide anything, you realize this, right?" She placed the menu back on the table, folding her hands gracefully. Though she smiled, she emitted some sort of nefarious vibe. Of course she did.
         "I don't know why I do either. I would kind of prefer to just skip the bullshit though, if you don't mind. I don't mean to cuss, but really." I said. I tried straightening my ever-slouching posture in the faux-leather booth. Why? Perhaps to look less nervous.
         "I see. Well, I guess cutting some corners may be more appropriate in this situation; especially since I already know all of the details. Here-" she handed me menu-"order something. It's on me." She said with the continued smile.
         "Thanks." I looked over the menu quickly, darting my eyes from words to her face. It's as though I expected her to try something there in the restaurant.
         "Um...I guess lasagna."
         "Lasagna? That's original." She laughed, taking another sip of the wine.
         "Well, I'm not really that hungry." I felt my heart begin to race.
         "Just order something please." The smile went on.
         "Lasagna. I like lasagna."
         The waiter came as I said that, and he took our orders. She ordered some sort of seafood linguini something or another, and I my lasagna. As she told the waiter her order, I watched her mannerisms: she folded her hands daintily on the table and smiled the most pleasant and womanly smile I had ever seen. Is that possible? That doesn't even make sense.
         When the waiter left, she turned back to me.
         "So."
         "So." I repeated.
         "You're not one to dally, are you?"
         "Not really. I really don't' mean to be rude though. I'm just trying to get on with this because, well it's bothering me, as you might imagine." I felt a temptation to start biting my nails.
         "I can imagine, indeed. So. Tell me what you want me to do again?"
         All of a sudden, I felt the familiar pain in my chest. It was a burden and a delight, oddly enough. It was as though a large stack of bricks was placed square on my heart. The pressure caused me to want to cry and leap for joy at the same time.
         "I want her to-" It caught in my mouth, like always. Of course it did. She only sat there, with that stupid smile. I think she got some sick pleasure from seeing me writhe. I straightened up again, and cleared my throat.
         "I want her to love me." I don't think I had ever said it that clearly before. It was like I saw the words form in front of my eyes-flying from my tongue to the middle of the table.
         "Was that so hard?" she laughed, placing her empty wine glass on the table, the waiter rushing to bring her another.
         "Yes, of course it was and is." I felt the blushing ensue, and of course I couldn't stop it.
         "How would you expect to live like that if you can't even say it?" She asked.
         "I don't know." I blurted, the heat from my blushing making me sweat.
         "Well, that's not for me to judge, is it? It's your life." She said as he turned towards the right. She seemed to be digging in some sort of bag for something. After a couple of seconds of rummaging, she pulled out a dark brown notebook and black pen.
         "So." She flipped through the book, passing many pages with other things written.
         "Here's what I know-" she began to write, "You love her and she doesn't love you, not in that way of course." The emphasis on that word cut me, my stomach lurched.
         "And you're willing to do this for that love? For her to reciprocate it?"
         For some reason, her asking me this question actually made me rethink my decision, my hope, my dream, my needs and wants.
         I sat back in the booth, slouching again, and I began to stare at my hands. I had loved her for so long that I ached thinking about the time that had elapsed. Everything that had happened-all that we had done, all that we had shared, all that we had said; everything. It was encapsulated in a small compartment in my heart. It's like I had to hide it all the time, only letting the feelings emerge when I was sure I could contain myself.
         I suppose she saw the look on my face change, which is why she snapped me out of it.
         "Do you need more time to think about this?" She seemed genuinely concerned about me. Of course she did.
         "I..." I didn't know. Why keep thinking about it? What was there to think about? I knew I wanted her love, her affections, her being. All of her. And that unless I did this, I would never get it. Perhaps the part that was causing me to hesitate was now the repercussions. What was I to really gain? I began to think of how my life would be, our life would be-not to mention my death!
         But then again, how would I live knowing full well that while she may love me now, she didn't to begin with-she didn't the way that she was before, without any sort of influence or control. And then I the tears started.
         I kept my head down but didn't want to wipe my face. Of course she knew I was crying, but she kept silent, continuing to sip her blood red wine.
         My thoughts continued. I loved her so much, and the pain I was feeling now was more wrenching that I had ever experienced. It was as though, if I passed up this opportunity, I'd go on wondering how life would be. How we could have shared more intimate times together than before-I holding her as she slept, she kissing me without thoughts of another. It would be perfect. My dreams come true. Everything I had ever wanted.
         But if this was what I wanted, what was holding me back? I-
         "Why think more on it?" she interrupted me. She had started writing again.
         "You know what you want and you know what will happen. You have nothing but the strongest admiration and love for her. Love-the strongest emotion. Why must you question it? You've questioned yourself far too long." She said. The bitch before me somehow began to grow. The rest of the room seemed to grow darker as this happened, and I could no longer hear the clank of silverware the buzz of conversation.
         Her eyes were very dark black-I saw nothing else in them. She leaned forward, slowing pushing the book and pen towards me. I knew what it was for.
         "If you want her to love you-in the same way you love her-you can have it. This life is fleeting and is only as good as you make it. Seize the day!" she laughed. I imagined her with her archetypal red horns, emerging from the black hair that covered her head, and the pitch fork lying in the corner of the room behind our booth.
         I looked slowly down at the book before me. There it was-request and reciprocation. All I had to do was sign my name, and it was done: I would have her love, her affections, her heart. But then, I kept thinking, despite the menacing beast across the table from me.
         I had loved her for so long-this was true. And she had loved me too. Friendship should trump all of it. Every single bit. That's what I had been told in college when the feelings were too difficult to deal with. I was so tired of rejection, of unrequited love, of being alone. I knew I was not the only one to deal with it, but it still hurt. I had never met anyone like her. She shared herself with me. I could talk to her about anything, and she helped me in so many ways. I loved her like a sister too. I loved her in every way imaginable, but the urges were so strong they bothered me. I couldn't stand it.
         But that was it. Her friendship kept me going. She, perhaps was my soul mate, and it was my responsibility as her friend to respect her wishes. Her wishes were my wishes.
         So here I was.
         About to sign it all away-immortal soul and all-for what I already had. And I couldn't do it. I sighed and pushed the book back.
         "I really appreciate what you're willing to do. Really. But I can't." I may have sounded more cool in my head than I did to her. I was shaking wildly, I know that.
         I put some cash down on the table and quickly left the restaurant. As I left, I saw the waiter pass me with our food and heard some odd sound behind me. A sort of...roar, was it? Of course it was a roar.