May 4 - Meeting for Lunch

When she arrived at the park, he was already there, sitting on a park bench waiting for her.
He was sitting cross-legged, and his pant leg was hiking up his shin so she could see his white shin where his socks weren't high enough. Standing back so that he couldn't see her, she watched him check his cell for messages: nothing.
From where she was standing, it looked to her like he was having some sort of inner monologue or dialogue with himself because occasionally he would tilt his head or change his expression slightly, as if in response to a point that only he was privy to.
Who is this guy? she thought to herself, and not for the first time. How is it that he is the one I'm meeting? She looked at his shins and tube socks socks and tennis shoes, and then at his growing pot belly that he always made jokes about--as if acknowledging it was enough, as if self-deprecating humor about it was his way of telling her he knew it was there and he was going to do something about it, only he never did. 'I swear I'm starting my diet tomorrow. Seriously,' he'd laugh as he polished off another donut. Minutes later, there would still be powdered sugar on his upper lip. She used to laugh along with him. Then she just smiled. Then she didn't even look up from the paper anymore.
'I'm up for whatever,' he would always say, convinced that that was the answer to her prayers, as if she would be delighted to have finally found a man who was flexible and willing to do whatever she wanted to do. And she had to admit that at first it had been nice to make decisions and have someone be there with her. But the longer they stayed together, the harder it became to ignore the suspicion that he wasn't really open-minded. He just didn't have any ideas of his own.
It was the same with work, and the way he would wax philosophical and share his ideas about the dangers of working too much. There's more to life than just work, he would say. You gotta take the time to enjoy yourself. Only, what did he ever do?
It wasn't like they'd started out this way. If they had, they never would have gotten anywhere. If it had been this way from the beginning, she would never have gotten that involved with him.
But it wasn't that way, it was gradual, subliminal. It wasn't one big thing, it was a million minuscule ones, microscopic compromises that only really added up to something unignorable once years had passed and it was too late to change.
An older couple walked by walking a poodle. A group of kids ran by kicking a soccer ball. And she walked up and kissed him hello, and they went to lunch.