written by owen

This reminds me of this woman that I met at lunch, at a fast food joint, on a Wednesday. She was of average height, dressed in a white blouse, blue sketchers and khaki capris that had side pockets like a woman in a Gap commercial. She started talking and I started to politely aggree with what she had to say. She just came out and said "why are you angry with me!". I was like "I'm not angry with you!". Now I'm totally in shock because I was far from angry with her. Infuriated she said "YES YOU ARE!". I said calmly; "I'm not". "YES YOU ARE!". "I'm not, why are you acting like a crazy lady?". and she said "SEE!". By the time she started crying I was getting angry looks from the people in the adjoining tables clutching their knives and forkes tightly. I tested the thickness of the menu to see if I could use it as a shield incase they should choose to block out the sun.

It was like in that movie where this other guy was denying that he was the father of this other girl's baby. It was a bad situation. I would either have to leave right then and there and never come back or fix a situation which I was obviously clueless about. I may not be the most sensitive guy but I did care about her feelings and being branded as the frownzy, deadbeat/impotent/inconsiderate fella that impregnated this poor innocent women in a diner - on his lunch break. I tried to console her, give her moral or emotional strength but none of the names that could think up for the child made any sense, at all. And she didn't think it funny either when I suggested that she let me raise it on my own, "in the pursuit of happiness".

I thought that i would accidentally knock over her soda into her lap but that wouldn't work, time was against me, as it always is - in August. I looked into her brown eyes, took her hand in mine and held it tightly so that she could feel that I was there, confused as hell. Soon she came back down after she realised that she was in a restuarant - at lunch time - going through virtual labour - having the kid of a stranger which would be named after a fruit. We were on the same level again ( at least in some aspects of reality ). She realised that I wasn't angry with her and she had misread my intentions. The world was good again, sunshine instead of the rain. I hugged her and left without getting her name, I never saw her or my miracle child again. I miss her, sometimes, like I miss the scent of freshly cut grass.

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