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D is for Dinner

Frank: March 27th

When the lights come up when the show is over, the whole audience stands and cheers for the orchestra. They really were amazing, especially the singer and choir that joined the orchestra. I glance at the woman to my right, the one I got the ticket from, I assume, and tears are still flowing down her cheeks freely. She’s stopped trying to wipe them away.

I want to ask her what’s wrong. The music is moving, of course, but this seems like there’s more going on than that. I don’t know why I feel this connection to her. I don’t even know her name. But the tears show real pain.

When the audience’s cheers die down, people start to file out of the theater. “Do you…want to get dinner?” I ask the mystery woman.

She blinks at me a few times, the tears slowing down. She wipes them away, and then, by the look on her face, she surprises both of us when she says, “Yes.”

We walk out of the theater side by side, and she says, “There’s a great little bar around the corner.”

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever you want.”

We don’t talk the rest of the walk to the bar, but true to her word, the bar is just around the corner from the theater. Its sign boasts about its amazing chicken platter. Well, I’m sold. Chicken and beer with a beautiful stranger. It’s going to be a great night.