the losing 7

i thought i saw her, danielle, sitting in the far corner with dark glasses on. there was a tray there filled with empty wrappers and her face stained with hot sauce. i am angry. now i have to act like i am ordering to stay on the point scale. now instead of regular soda i have to have diet or better yet water. as she is near the end of her meal i slow down, take my time, read each item and their ingredients hoping she will leave. i hope she will not notice, not say my name, maybe be as ashamed as i am, to be fat, old and trying to sneak a meal past our spouses.

as i am getting past the point of no return, seeing the minutes of my lunch hour slip away, i take a deep breath and step forward. the lady at the register is ready. her face open, bright, young and eager to satisfy. she will be a manager one day.

'yes i would like a taco salad, no cheese and a large water,' my stomach grumbles disapprovingly.

'is that everything?' she says.

'no,' comes the deep full bodied baritone from behind me, 'he would actually like to cancel that and get what he wants.'

danielle is standing there, sauce staining her wide plump lips and large crowded teeth. she has her glasses atop her full rosy cheeked face, her auburn hair hanging limp, wavy as some sort of snake vine. i wonder if it's a trap? as she stands there bits of food still clinging to her dark shirt. i wonder if my wife has put her up to this.

'our secret,' she says.

'so is that everything, sir?' goes the employee.

i make a decision, 'actually i will have a large soda, two burrito's and a quesadilla.'

she waits, we sit together.

'friend or foe?' i ask before settling into my meal.

'how dare you,' she says and pulls a candy bar from her bag.

'now, that son of a bitch is beautiful,' i say and begin to eat.

she eats, as i do, quickly. we have been trained, by the shaming stares of others, to not savor. we must get in and out. we do not talk until it is over. she puts the candy bar wrapper under the food wrappers and we place the tray in the middle so that, with two sodas, people will think we shared.

'i see you are having the same time i am staying on point,' i say.

'life is to be lived i say.'

'if only.'

'you know i have not been able to stay under or at my points since this damn diet started.'

'but your losing weight,' i say.

'ah, diet pills. i take a few of those suckers and boom success. it's just so i can keep my husband off my back.'

'i hear you,' i say, but secretly burn from her celebrated cheating.

'you should try it.'

i tap my fingers along the table top. lunch time cars have filled the drive through. the place is beginning to fill.

'i'm afraid of my heart exploding,' i say.

'ah, old wives tale.'

she has her glasses back over her eyes. there is something buried under all that flesh that strikes me as sexual, as beautiful as worth wanting. bizarre. there is a part of me that feels like i am cheating, not from the food, but for being here alone with a woman. for being here alone with a woman that is not my wife and sharing a secret. i have a twinge of guilt. it's near the end of the lunch hour, for me. i get up.

'same time tomorrow?' she says.

'we'll see, i guess,' i say.

'hey, don't feel guilty we aren't fooling around. it's just lunch,' she says.

i watch her stained lips move to form words, i watch them as the plump up, purse dance about unsure of their transmissions but sure of their intention.

'yeah, houston's is my tuesday joint. have to cover your tracks, you know.'

'yeah, great place to do it.'

'hope to see you there.'

i nod. we part. in the car my face flushes, my hands strike the wheel and thighs. i am unsure, stomach full, what direction to take but understand nothing good will come of it.

'you haven't cheated,' i say to the mirror.

something has turned, or slipped and this current life, safe place seems in jeopardy. as i turn the car into traffic, turn towards the office i call my wife and think of houston's. i call to her voice and try to imagine her lips dancing, out performing the lips on the mouth of the woman i just left.

it's her voice mail. the road is open and at the stop i can take any direction i want. such are the choices we sometimes face.