Signs

The afternoon shift at Queen's Cafe had the same effect on Gwen that a watched pot might have on water that never boils. Feeling pointless and overheated, Gwen would stand at the register and wait for something, anything, to happen. She couldn't talk to Aaron the Chef because he always hated his job by 3pm. Nor could she talk to Theresa the Manager because that was when she caught up on sleep since her 7-month-old was a monster and kept her up all night. Customers might walk in looking for a bathroom, but no one ever ordered anything.

Invariably by 3pm, the place was dead and desolate as a mausoleum.

Gwen was the cashier but in the afternoons she was supposed to help with food-prep by refilling the ketchup bottles or sorting out single-serving bags of pasta. If it was humid she suffered the company of a large collection of buzzing flies that wouldn't keep off a certain sticky stain on the ceiling above the stove. Gwen didn't hate her job, but after a long summer working there she had profoundly accepted this fact: nothing interesting ever happened in the afternoons at Queen's Cafe.

It was Wednesday, in August, 3:45 in the afternoon. Gwen had been dutifully dying of boredom while stirring the daily soups so they wouldn't burn to the bottom of their pots. The bell on the door clanged and a customer walked in. Gwen, pleased to have something to do, leaned over the counter to greet the newcomer and was shocked into attention. Not only was this person a boy her age -- he was also truly beautiful to behold. And alone. Now this was indeed interesting.

Sometimes beautiful boys like this one patronized Queen's Cafe, but that always seemed to happen during the lunch rush when Gwen could hardly do anything except take his order and shout his name when his sandwich was ready. Gwen still did her best of course. She firmly believed that her Bollywood moment would come -- when the main character and her love interest saw each other for the first time and, bathed in a golden light and a gentle breeze, knew their lives were forever changed. She usually ended up staring far too much at the male person in question, hoping they'd lock eyes and never feel the same again. So far she had been unsuccessful, but perhaps not today. A prime opportunity had just shuffled through that door.

Gwen sidled charismatically up to the counter and smiled as he approached.

"Hey there," she said, in a way that she hoped was both charming and teasing.

The boy paused a moment.

"Hey... uhh... yeah, can I order a beef brisket sandwich for here?"

Yes! He'd be needing some company if he was ordering for here. This had to be a sign.

"Absolutely, and will that be all?" Gwen asked, trying to meet his eyes. Dark brown -- a warm romantic color, though they seemed a little bloodshot. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind. A tortured soul, perhaps.

The beautiful boy nodded and she said, "Great, that'll be seven dollars, sixty five cents, and why don't you have a seat at the counter while you're waiting?"

The boy nodded again, paid, and sat down where she had directed him, right next to the cash register.

Gwen sent the order to Aaron the Chef, who grumbled something about having to make a sandwich at 3:45 in the afternoon. She returned to the counter, her attention solely focused on making this interaction perfect. In many of her favorite Bollywood films, a male protagonist often shared of his woes over a cup of tea. Maybe she could coax something out of him. She poured him a glass of water.

"How's your day been going?" she asked him with confidence.

The boy looked up, seemingly surprised. "What? Oh..." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it's going fine." He took a sip of water.

"Are you a student a the U?" Gwen asked, trying to gauge his availability.

"Yeah. Sophomore."

So he was a year older than she was. Really, she reflected, this could not be more ideal. She was expecting the magic moment to come. Any second a flame would be lit, she knew it, she'd seen it before... in the movies.

"Cool!" she said. "So does that mean you're from around here?"

The boy's phone buzzed and he paused to respond to a text message. Gwen waited. A fly buzzed past her ear. The boy chuckled, put his phone away, then said, "Uh, sorry, what did you say?"

Gwen felt a little build-up of frustration in her chest, but chose to pretend it wasn't there. The conditions were too good to give up now. The moment could still come.

She laughed breezily, "Oh no worries! I asked if you were from around here."

"Yeah. South St. Paul."

"Oh cool my grandma lives there!"

"Nice."

She leaned against the counter, racing to think of something to say. Something spontaneous, something spontaneous.

Coming up with nothing, she asked, "What brings you in at 3:45pm? Most people have already eaten by now."

He cleared his throat again. She watched his Adam's apple twitch. Then he said, "I just got hungry. You know how it is."

"Right, yeah." Gwen tried to laugh. Then silence.

Aaron the Chef brought out the sandwich, and the boy wolfed it down. Gwen watched the entire time.

Her heart seemed to be rotting in her chest. She had read the signs. She had done everything she could think of. She saw their future in her mind as clearly as if it were coming out of an HD flatscreen. All he had to do was say the magic words.

He didn't. When he finished the sandwich, he gave her a wide smile, thanked her for the service, and pushed his plate across the counter. Then he left, and the doorbell clanged behind him.

So much for her moment in golden light. It must have been the cafe. People probably don't tend to feel romantic in a mausoleum. She refused to take this as a sign. Her perfect moment would come someday soon -- she just had to be watchful.

It was 4 o'clock. Still feeling frustrated, Gwen went back to check the daily soups and found that a fly had somehow made its way under the lid of the Potato and Leek, and drowned itself.

She decided to not take that as a sign either.