Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – P.S. Gifford

August 25, 2007

That Special Day

By P.S. Gifford

Have you ever had one of those days that you can remember every little facet?

Well please allow me to indulge a little. Permit me to share my little story. There are millions of stories like this in the world, but here is mine . . . humbly submitted.
 
It’s funny I have no idea what happened the day before. It could have stormed.  They might have discovered life on Mars for all I can recall. I have no memory of that morning and I was supremely unaware that this day was going to be magical, indeed life altering.
 
I was thirty years old at the time. I was enjoying a relatively contented existence in my modest apartment, here in California, with my beloved companion Eddie Valentino, a long way from my native England. Ah yes, my trusted dog and closest companion Eddie. I could put in writing ten thousand words on him. In fact, I already have written much about him, but forgive the digression and back to this story at hand.

It was a typically mundane Saturday afternoon. I no doubt dutifully fed my Eddie and then prepared to get ready for work.  I remember I wore my finest black dress pants, a white shirt with a blue tie and a striking tartan vest to finish it off.
 
A vest you say? Yes, I owned a dozen of them, in remarkable colors, and please remember this was 1995.
 
I would have hopped into my blue convertible and sped toward the restaurant where I managed. The radio would have been blasting some song from the eighties as I made my way through the traffic.
 
I had already been in the restaurant business for several years at this point, finding the money rather agreeable, but the hours dreadful. I worked mostly evenings, weekends and holidays. Nevertheless, I was a single man, and other than Eddie I had no other commitments.
 
I was working at for a famous restaurant chain at the time, who I shall not mention. Let me just say that they a family styled restaurant famous for their pies. Exciting huh! What a life I lead.
 
I would have arrived at just before three in the afternoon and had the usual routine meeting with the day manager, discussing staff issues, that we had had a run on banana cream pie etc. etc. Then started to verify the staff I had on with me that night, perform my food quality controls and all the other dozens of mundane tasks that makes a restaurant appear to run effortlessly.
 
You might be surprised to discover just how stressful running a busy restaurant can get.  Pumping out two-hundred plus meals an hour for several hours can be overwhelming. Hungry people, as you might be unfortunate to know, are often the crankiest . . . That chicken pot pie had better make it to old Mrs. Philips table in ten minutes and be piping hot or I was going to be hearing from her. If by chance you know a Mrs. Philips, or are a Mrs. Philips yourself, I used that name as an example- and I am not talking about anyone person in particular.
 
At 7:47 give or take a minute, the rush was starting to fade and my breath was beginning to return.
 
There was one young waitress who had worked with me for about a year. For whatever reason, she had adopted me as some sort of agony aunt. Or I guess in this case agony uncle. For whatever unfathomable motivation she would tell me all that was going on in her life, often in alarming detail . . . I would give her appropriate nods or shakes of my head in response.
 
Now, the thing was she had always expressed that if she had an older sister she would, and I paraphrase here not recalling the precise customary slang of the day.

“Fix me up with her.”
 
This particular Saturday at the aforementioned 7:47 the aforementioned waitress stood there in front of me. I could tell that she eagerly wanted to ask me something. When I acknowledged her with a nod she proceeded to tell me that she had this aunt, adding that she wanted to introduce me to her.
 
Her name was Sarah . . . Looking at her, I could not disappoint the excited teen.
 
“Okay,” I had mumbled. I was always a man with words.
 
Now, I had met her parents on several occasions. I had found them to be, and indeed still are, delightful and personable folks, but her mother’s sister?
 
I had an image dancing in my head of a forty-five year old spinster type. A woman grey before her time, owning several cats and generally bitter at the world.
 
I bit my lip, regained my composure and bounced over to where she sat, I was known for my bouncing too.  In fact, it was often supposed that I could be in two places at precisely the same time.
 
Sarah was sitting in the bar. In fact it was the booth furthest to the right as a matter of detail.  (I remember all the details.)
 
I instantly saw her. Time simply stopped. (Clich?d I know.)  Yet, in this case, irrefutably and categorically true, I was instantaneously captivated by the gleam in her greenest of eyes.
 
I lost my heart, I lost my soul . . . I lost my voice.
 
I recollect prancing awkwardly in front of her, muttering some polite drivel, bowing, I had a ridiculous habit of bowing), then running for cover, spinning.
 
Now, have you ever experienced a moment like that; one of those life-defining moments?  Where in less than a micro- moment nothing will ever be the same again!
 
I looked at my watch- It still read 7:47.  Time had indeed stopped.
 
I then put my watch to my ear. It had also stopped ticking. ‘I must get a new battery,’ I thought.
 
Chrissie came over again, chuckling as she had been obviously observing.   

“Well, what did you think of her?” She prompted, beaming at me.
 
“Lovely!” I said. As I mentioned I was always very good with words.
 
She darted off, returning in a matter of seconds.   “They are leaving . . . They want to say goodbye!” she frantically explained.
 
I remember walking back to the booth.  My heart was racing. I was desperately thinking of just the right words to use. What could I possibly say? I was overcome with panic. My moment of opportunity was fleeting.  What for Pete’s sake was I going to say . . . Do?

Turned out I didn’t have to do anything.  Sarah’s sister, Rhonda, did it for us.
 
“So when are you two going to go out?” She blurted as an expression of cheeky delight spread all over her face.  She was never one for coyness.
 
And that was it…
 
Oh… Let’s skip some of the details, not the place or the time. Suffice to say, we got engaged on that very first date and moved in together six weeks later. People assumed we were crazy. I am sure they were right. However, twelve years later we are happier than ever before.
  
Like I mentioned there are millions of similar stories like this one in the world… It is surely what keeps the Earth spinning on its axis, but I wanted to share mine.

PSGifford

psgifford@earthlink.net

www.psgifford.com