She wanted to cry and tell him that she loved him and that he meant the world to her. Then she would immediately want an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Hot. She wanted it hot, wrapped in a grease soaked paper with black coffee and a room full of strangers ignoring her eating it.
That’s love she supposed – thwarted by food.
She had no idea why she loved him – he was older, past his prime and looked oh so comfortable. She was older just past her prime and oh so uptight.
She had fantasies about him while she was alone in her apartment. They were wonderful visions actually that helped her sleep at night but had the most evil tendency to crop up in her mind while on the phone at work or during a committee meeting. The imagined groan of ecstasy or the most uninhibited scenes she contrived in her mind would make the tips of her ears glow red. Male coworkers would look away confused, female coworkers would cluck at her afterwards “isn’t the change awful,” or “those hot flashes, my mother went through that, just terrible.” None of them assumed she was blushing – just old.
She wanted to cackle at times, turn green and rub her crystal ball, but she just bent her head and prayed for mundane concentration.
She thought back to her teenage years while on her 10-minute breaks; those new awkward years when boys looked tantalizing and something to be driven or broken. She was a quiet and shy girl who never participated because she discovered too late that she was normal. She never played out her fantasies then and it looked as if she would not now.
Which was fine. In her more sane moments, which happened to be when he was in the room oddly enough, she often thought that her fantasies were more rewarding than probable reality.
But why the fast food craving at her lowest ebbs was beyond her.
What was to become of her? Those low flowing moments when her own life weighed down upon her; being alone, budgeting for ripe old age, thinking of cats and knitting as hobbies all made her shudder with despondency and long for a lover
She imagined him not able to speak English and the two of them explaining what shirt, panties, bra meant in their respective languages. She almost choked on her coffee next morning during a sales team meeting.
He asked her once to make copies for him and dictate a letter; he was the old-fashioned type but she could accommodate. His black suit was double breasted and hung perfectly across his wide shoulders. He wore a silk tie, a shade of blue she couldn’t name, but the idea of him wearing black and blue made her shiver and smile.
“You must be having a good day,” his voice deep and relaxed.
“Yes,” she said barely raising her head and imagining a missed fleck of shaving cream just behind his left ear.