The Lake

"No!" he mimed. Gazing over the lake surrounded by silent trees. This is magic, he thought. Weird, even. Emotion colours the mind in such unusual ways.

"Follow me, will you? It's no longer occupied." Once again, she turned around to the table in the opposite end of the boathouse pier and stood there waiting for him with a smile.

He didn't. For some reason, this table in the shade felt just right. Why didn't she understand? Not that it angered him. But, the fact that half the restaurant was now becoming aware of their act—did. And the fact that that did—really did. So actually, you could say it drove him fucking mad.

He returned to the lake for consultation. Looking; but it wasn't as beautiful as the previous minute. That's it. Getting up from his chair. He approached her, avoiding eye contact, "if you're gonna be this stubborn I'll leave right now. I'm not even hungry—I've eaten twice already."

"No, I want this to be nice, it is our last day together."

The pasta was now all over the stove with water running down the floor. He turned, substituting her for the lake that had now joined the trees in silence.

"I can't see why it's such a big deal, the table's much nicer," she said as they finally sat down in the shade. "What's the matter with you? Why aren't you answering? It's not nice."

"Answer what?" he retorted, almost hypnotized.

"Well, I'm speaking to you—I asked you a question."

" you didn't? Whatdya ask?" Now a bit nicer.

"Why you didn't want to sit in the sun?" Remarkably, still with a smile on her face.

"Is this what you want to discuss before I leave?"

"HellohowmayIhelpyou?" the young waitress asked in a way only someone who has said it a thousand times can.

"Hello! Haven't got to look at the menu yet but-"

"Meatballs and still water, thank you." Handing over his menu.

"Okay, I'll have the same then." Following up with an insecure—and, under regular circumstances, amusing—laughter.

The waitress retrieved the menu from under the girl's heavy palms and left them observing air in silence. A bypasser would've thought they were attending a funeral right after.

Yes, he was leaving tomorrow, but not now. The lake had shown him. It was eternity, and everything was sparkling. She was sparkling.

"I'm sorry."