Decades of Passing / Jen Thornquest

Decades of Passing

Jen Thornquest

“You’re wonderful.”

As I looked over the receipts fastened to my daily server report, I slowed down for a moment and grinned. Scribbled at the top of ticket number 18 were those two words. As I read them I remembered the coy woman who autographed the ticket and my stomach fluttered. The fluttering in my stomach began earlier in the brunch shift when I remembered her subtle hello and eye contact over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. Now that I think of it, her knees swayed gently as she asked how my morning was going.

And my morning was going.

Spilling over in a hustle and piping hot brunch plates. In the flow of drink deliveries, I made a point to slow as I approached her table and let the slowness allow me to notice how nicely she smelled. The fragrance of her perfume mingled with fresh fruit crepes and lemon curd. I felt a little dizzy. So I went back to the hustle.

A catalog of warm emotions flipped in my belly: playful flirtation and misplaced confidence danced together with nervous wondering and doubt. Emotional rolodexing: first, it was doubt that asked me to the dance floor. Second, fear. Catalogs stacked as high as the ceiling could not begin to hide the decades of passing, covering and denying my tender attraction to the soft eyes and gentle curves of a woman.

Did she think I was attractive? Was she hitting on me with her inviting conversation and charming compliments and does she really wonder where I purchased my silk neckerchief? Today’s busy lunch rush kept me from having to answer my mind’s wanderings and I instead simply asked if I could warm her coffee with the local drip. She nodded, flipped the page of the Boise Weekly, and requested a little more cream.

Cream and sugar and oh, the sweetness of her compliments soothed the flutter in my belly and confidence took the lead. Yes, I do look and feel rather beautiful today and my nude lip color probably does go well with the blush in my scarf. But no, a woman would not be inviting me into the scandal of public flirtation. After all, how does she know I delight in women? Is it now obvious that I am attracted to women? This is an abrupt catalog-page-turn to the deepness of fear. This was a hurried jig and I am sure I practiced enough to avoid the dance floor altogether. But perhaps passing has eluded me and I didn’t even notice.

Now that both the receipts and the shift were logged away for the day, I took time to pause. If the fluttering of nerves were indeed pages of my catalog of feelings, then 12 o’clock sharp chimed the time when doubt took me under her arm and turned to the page of questioning. Did today’s lovely lunchtime customer really hope I would share why the Chicken Curry is my favorite dish on the new menu or was she simply enjoying my company?

Where is the page with coquette charm and welcome, wandering eyes? Did I dog-ear the page that reminds me to smile back with rosy cheeks when fragrant figures pass by and remember to stop? Nude lips and blushing silk could be partners in a new whirl on the floor if I can remember those feelings too.

Does this dusty paperback of protected emotions have room for a new chapter?

Yes.

Yes, it does. It begins with the words, “you’re wonderful.”