Wax dripped from lit candles, smelling of autumn leaves
and apple cider, into a small clear glass jar on a table
set for two, pearl-white china plates and wine glasses
atop a warm mahogany wooden table with a dark red
tablecloth adorning the intimate setting. Oil paintings
from local artists lined the walls in gold frames and
crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, accentuating
the antique setting as if taken straight from an old
Victorian house. The waiter, in a crisp tucked-in white
shirt with ironed black slacks, would present the courses,
first of which a spinach salad with fresh strawberries,
walnuts and her favorite dressing, second, a medium-rare
steak with buttery mashed potatoes, lightly salted, third,
a slice of warm molten chocolate cake, drizzled with
caramel and as the live string violinist played, they’d
share dreams of traveling to Europe in their youth and
become owners of a little bakery in the city. She sips
her iced water glass, smudging her lipstick, before
closing her netbook and putting it into her purse and
placing a few wrinkled dollars for the bill and tip.
Another restaurant, another false hope.
-Madeline Wahl
