Expectation

   

     Just sitting and waiting for her to come was nerve-wracking. He checked his watch for the thousandth time to see how late or how soon he was for his date?

    Across from him, a group of friends was chatting with each other.

    Two beautiful young girls were busy badmouthing a poor being on his right.

    A couple were busy feeding those moving targets of the mouth of their children. 

    Behind him, some men in business suits were talking to each other. 

    He felt a little bit uncomfortable. He thought to himself that he was the center of attention. He didn't like that feeling at all.

    Why is she so late? He thought to himself. Did she forget about this date? Maybe, it wasn't as important to her as it was to him. The thought made him more uncomfortable in his own skin. He felt more embarrassed by sitting there each minute.

    Last week, he sat across a beautiful girl with green eyes and dyed blonde hair. Her eyebrows gave away what natural color she had. She was a brunette, but she tried to hide it under another color. If she was uncomfortable for what she was, what could he do for himself? He knew that he didn't have a handsome face, and no amount of hair coloring could change that. 

Her dress was really distracting. It was a promise that he could see further than that if he played his cards right. 

He dressed like what every girl and woman dreamed of a man— a man in a work dress. He was wearing a suit with a vest and a tie. He felt like he was meeting a client, not a date. Was he overdoing it? Maybe. However, what else he could do? He wasn't fat, even far from it, for all the stress he had on the job. He learned that instead of stress eating, he would rather run. It was so liberating. He felt like he was running away from all the problems. What if he could run faster than his complications? Would he make enough distance between him and his worries? He had an average height, and for the life of his, he couldn't figure out why women liked six feet tall men. Are they trying to use them as a ladder? 

    Anyway, he learned something new from that date. Most women like their bubbles, and anyone who tries to burst them with facts wouldn't be appreciated. They say they don't like dishonesty, but their actions tell him a different story. He knew that he couldn't put every woman under the umbrella of that assumption, but what better choice he had? He couldn't date all the women all around the world to find that fact, so what he could do was take it as a lesson. 

    He looked at the piano on the stage hungrily. Sometimes, when he felt down and sad, the piano in his home comforted him. It knew what to tell him. It understood his feelings like no one else. It soothed him like a gentle soul. He wished; he could go to that stage and touch the keys. Then, his brain would shut down, and his ears open up. To listen to his heart and take its advice for this anxiety was all he could ask for. Often, the words locked inside him would come out in the form of singing. He longed for it now more than ever.

    He looked at his watch to distract himself from doing something embarrassing. She was late one more minute than the last he checked his watch.

    He looked at the piano again and forced himself to look away. He was getting crazier with each passing second. He looked at those two women that were talking to each other. In a moment of madness—on his account—he went to them and asked them politely if he could sit with them until his date showed up. They that never seen such an encounter accepted to let him sit with them.

    "I hope; I didn't interrupt any important conversation." He said to them sheepishly. They waved their hands in protest of his claim.

    "Is she doing this often?" One of them asked. She had red hair, which was more pronounced by her red lipstick and black eyes. Her white dress, which was attached to her body like a second skin showed her beautiful figure.

    "This is our first date." He responded. To his response, she raised an eyebrow. 

    "I guess; punctuality is not her best attribute." The other woman said. She had long, lush straight black hair that only ended at her waist.  Her hair was so dark that it reflected the lights like the moon's waning crescent. It was so beautiful to look at, and he could guess and feel its softness just by looking at it. Her eyes stole the beautiful color of the sky. She, like her friend, wore a tight dress. She was slimmer than her friend, but each of them had their own beauty to his eyes. It was like comparing a red and blue emerald. Asking which one was more beautiful was ridiculous.

    "She is probably indecision as to what to wear in a closet full of dresses and shoes—according to all those rom-com movies," he responded, only to see the guilty smile on their face.

    "Oh?" The red hair responded with a manipulative smile. 

    "So Judgy. Isn't he?" The black hair said to accommodate her friend.

    "You are out of order. Please respect the court," he said in order to keep them smiling a little bit more. Their smile became more expansive.

    "Is it any truth in it, though?" he asked them

    "What do you think?" The red hair girl asked

    "I don't think so. Like many other things they got wrong, this one is wrong. In all of them, it shows all men are dumb and incompetent; meanwhile, all these discovery and innovations proves otherwise." He replied to see their reaction. He hoped they weren't brained washed by media.

    "I don't know about that. All people I dated were dumb and incompetent," the black hair responded. She self-congratulated herself for that by showing her smile.

    Remember, they like their own bubbles. He thought and caught himself before telling her that wasn't true. 

    "Then, let us salute to all punctual women too." He responded instead. That made them laugh. 

    Maybe, they don't care about facts because it isn't fun. They just want to have fun. He thought to himself. Should he be disappointed or just go with it.

    "Any tips on what to do or not to do for my date?" he asked to change the subject. He felt like a coward. Maybe he should learn when to care and not to care. There was no point in arguing with them. The purpose of an argument is to find the truth; if one party is not interested in finding out the truth, then it would be like talking to a child who puts her hands on her ears and starts making a none sense noises as a reply.

    "Well, you look nice," The red hair woman said.

    "Just be yourself," the other one said offhandedly. 

    He was disappointed again. None of them actually gave good tips. 

    Should he actually listen to them? It was like a lion trying to listen to gazelles' advice on how to catch them.

    "You have kind eyes," The black hair said.

    "And you have a good attitude as well." the red hair one said. 

    He thought to himself that they actually didn't care about him. They were just trying to outmaneuver each other.

    "Thank you for all those compliments. However, I think a feedback loop approach would be more helpful." He said and tried to salvage something, but they looked lost for what he said. "Well, you see, if we pretend that I am your date, and the things that I do makes you turn you off and tell me immediately about it, it would be more helpful. After all, I am just another dumb and incompetent man, as you can see." He hoped that they see the last part was just a jest and laugh at it. He got his answer after he saw they chuckled.

    "Do you want to do it?" the red hair asked the black hair. It was more like daring than asking. Her friend responded with a nonchalant gesture. 

    "Ok, let's start over." He said and stood up. He went around the table and asked them if they were his dates so he could sit? They giggled like school girls.

    "Sorry, I was a little bit late. I didn't know what to wear. I was confused between this black suit and another black suit." he said calmly and with a dashing smile. He knew that he was being playful, but it made them smile.

    "Strike one; never make a lady waiting." the black hair said.

    "Assuming she IS a lady." her companion said. It was like a joke between them. 

    He ignored that regard and gestured to a waiter to come. The waiter came.

    "Two glasses of milk for these ladies and a strong whisky for me," he said to the waiter. The waiter tried hard not to show any amusement, so he looked at those ladies and waited for their orders. However, those two women were in awe and disbelief at what he pulled off. It made them more gleeful.

    "Strike two; never belittle your date in front of other people." the red-haired one said.

    "Of course," He said to her, "bring them cookies as well," he said to the waiter. It made them laugh. The waiter couldn't resist the smile this time.

    After they gave their real orders to the waiter, they turned their attention to him. The black-haired girl turned her attention to him with her playful eyes and smile.

    "So, what do you do?" She asked

    "Managing other people. It pays enough to buy a house and car." 

    "Any hobby?"

    "Aside from making you laugh, I can read. So I could read you your favorite story. I play piano whenever I have time, and my singing in the shower is spectacular." He responded and expected a more smile, but she gave him an annoyed smile this time. 

    "Strike three; you should know when to be funny and when to be serious." She said diligently.

    "Wasn't you who told me to be myself?" He said to her, but before she defended herself, or better term deflected, he continued, "I always do that when I am nervous. Looking at the world in a funny way, that way if no one laughs, I laugh at my own jokes in order not to go mad in this serious world." He said to her. She nodded her head.

    "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any offenses." She said.

    "Strike four; never make a lady feel bad about herself," he said jokingly. She only gave him a bitter smile.

    "Did you just say that you play the piano? So you chose this place in order to show off to her by playing something." The red hair woman said. She put on a proud face with a triumph smile after that statement. It was like she saw through his plan, but it couldn't be further than the truth. 

    They like their bubbles. He reminded himself, so he answered her with a smile and a wink.

    "Can you play something for us, now?" the red-haired asked with a daring smile.

    "Do you want me to get kicked out way before my date shows up?" He replied. That should have shown them that it wasn't his plan to show off, but it was dismissed in a flash as usual.

    "We could ask." the brunette said, and before waiting for his reply, she waved her hand for the waiter to come. The poor waiter came, and she asked him. The star-crossed waiter said to her that it was his manager's decision, not his, so he went and asked his manager. He came back with an answer that they could play only one good song.

    The ginger and brunette turned to him as if they had done their job, and now, it was his turn.

    "Are you sure?" He asked the waiter and wished the waiter could tell them he had just made a joke, but the waiter was too professional for that kind of behavior. The waiter nodded his head as affirmation.

    "Alright, wish me luck then," he said and stood up to go on the stage. In the corner of his eyes, he could see those two didn't wait for him to go on the stage before they started their gossip in each other's ears.

    The moment he sat behind the piano, all the worries in the world subsided for him. He was greeted by an old friend. That childhood friend of his was there all the time, even in his peculiar moments. He touched a key, and he was greeted by a soothing sound. The first key was followed by the second key. Now, every key on that piano was begging him to press them next. A harmonious note formed, like a chef adding the right amount of salt and spices to his food; he added his whistle to the notes. While he was doing that, he wondered if he should sing the song that he made last week after finding out that there won't be a second date. It wasn't about that date. It was about all the frustrations he had. He was heartbroken, and his sadness became a sad song. He didn't check to see if people liked his music, so he kept on going with that note and started singing.

Hate her? Love her?

I don't know what to do with her.

Doesn't she want this love?

My life is flying away

She passes me by

Like a cold breeze

Please wait for me 

I am running like a child

Towards a fairyland

I would fly like a butterfly to the moon

I would swim like a fish to the net

If it means being with you

If you let me love you

I'll stay by your side

I'll die by your side

If you let me love you

I would fly like a bird

I would swim like a fish

Towards you

If you let me love you

    After some notes, the music stopped. 

    He stood up from the piano unwillingly. He wanted to continue playing to his heart's content, but he decided that he should do that in his home. 

    People were overjoyed by his performance and started clapping. They gave him a stand-up ovation, but it meant nothing to him. He just wanted to end the night. 

    He went to the table of those women, and by their permission, he paid the bill and left.