The Solitary Road Leads to You

He barked out, "How much for the both of us?"

I hit the ground rock bottom immediately upon hearing that deep voice of his. He had never spoken kindly to me. He had only ever barked out at me as if civil conversation with a waitress / manager / Miss Do it All at the restaurant was an alien concept to him. I wondered if he did regard me inferior.

I told him the amount and he took out some notes from his pocket. Money exchanged hands with me being cautious about not touching his hands. Despite all my conscious efforts of no contact, just as I was handing him the change, he clenched my fingers together. I jolted at the abruptness of his action, wondering what came over him. The intoxicating warmth of his palms did not help ease my heightened state of emotions. Instead I felt terribly unearthed by him because at some primordial level, I felt an affinity to his touch. It was so soothing and warm, almost like a...

"Heater." I said.

The words spoke themselves out before I could even think.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked.

At least the question had not an ounce of his usual bark. He was instead intrigued by my wanton precision of the word.

"I mean..." I paused before continuing, "I just realised that it is getting a little draughty and cold inside...and I really should set the temperature a few degrees higher." I said, all in one go and feeling terribly flustered.

Either the warmth of his palms had diverted my attention or I did indeed feel the chill. Either way I had better adjust the thermostat to provide me with all the warmth I needed. Nothing a good, reliable, old heater could not do. I could not possibly want nor need...

His palms still held my fingers in that warm clench. Did he not realize that he had my hands in his?

"I'm far from cold, but I'm not the right person to ask. I was always much too warm, even as a child." He said, looking at me in all due seriousness. His voice seemed quite civil now.

Our gazes locked once again. His eyes softened on mine.

And there was the bark surfacing again. "Please keep the change. It was a good meal."

It was only then he released his clench on my fingers. I had forgotten all about the change in my clasp; the notes were crumpled to bits now.

I had made much ado about nothing!

It took me some time to correspond the tone of his voice to the fact that he had enjoyed the meal I cooked, however much he sounded like a disgruntled customer.

When I was sorting out my delayed reaction, he felt compelled to speak, albeit rudely. However his words far from indicated displeasure.

"Thank you. I will come again." From a bark, he went to a grunt of sorts.

He did not look like he wanted to come again. In fact, he looked like he was annoyed at me and I was probably the last person he wanted to see on this planet alive.

"I would appreciate that." I said, in a soft voice.

My feelings were still heightened and even though he had let go of me, my fingers still felt the lingering pressure of his warmth.

"Will you..." He began somewhat tersely, but paused, as if uncertain.

I waited with bated breath as he tried to say whatever it was he wanted to say to me. The lushness of blue in his eyes contained an inexplicable intention. Although he breathed in deeply, he seemed a little unsteady, which was unlike him.

"What is it?" I asked, waiting in trepidation as my beating heart pounded in my eardrums.

I let him gaze into my eyes without any inhibition on my part. He had always barked out at me without thought and I wondered what was stopping him this time.

"Will you please adjust the thermostat now before it gets too cold for you? Your hands are like ice." He said. His words cut into me and were deliberately rough.

He was alright. There was nothing wrong with him. No cause for concern.

I looked at him blankly. Then I rushed and adjusted the thermostat which was at the left corner of the dining area, a few metres away from him. Barely a minute later, when I turned to face him again, I saw that he had inconspicuously left. All that was left of him was a tall, sturdy frame in the semi-darkness of the almost empty parking space outside.

I gathered that he did not take to the heat kindly. It must be the only rational explanation for leaving in a huff like that but then I felt a sinking sensation in my chest when I realised that it was me that he did not take kindly to.

Your hands are like ice, he said. Well, I could not help it if they were. At least I was not the sizzling volcano that he was. I was cool, level-headed and calm; not hot-headed, irrational and ruffled like all that bloody masculinity of a man!

My defensive mode against him stopped dead on its tracks when his lovely female companion who was still seated at the table, gave a little cough. She smiled at me. Clearly she had watched the exchange between the both of us.

"Interesting man you've got there but difficult to figure out, don't you think?" She said.

"Well, you probably know him better than I do." I said, as I made my way towards her table.

With the smile of a sphinx, she said "He is very enthusiastic about what he wants and I hope that he gets what he wants."

"What does he want indeed?" I asked, since the question seemed to naturally flow from her statement.

I had proceeded to clear his spiky-clean plate and cup which was opposite her. At least he did finish up everything. He had always finished up everything. Young men had big appetites.

"It's a small town. I have no doubt that you'll be the first to know. Your restaurant is the place to be for everyone around here." She said.

I smiled wryly. I did not agree with her one bit about me being the first to know. I would be the last woman on earth and he would still be barking and grunting at me.

I had an inkling that it was a private conversation and that she did not want to divulge any bits of it at all, except that he was an ambitious young man with dreams to chase. Was that not common in the age of youth? Twenty years down the line, we mellow down because reality sinks in, and then finally the dreams are buried. They only left a bitter aftertaste. In old age, I shall not question my youth.

I shook my head.

"This is not the place to chase your dreams. Many youngsters have already left Thor. The main town in this region is Bad Holburg but jobs are limited to the tourism industry. It's a shrinking region." I said.

"Not everyone leaves." She said, speaking as a matter of fact. "Like you." She continued.

I eyed her with more than cursory interest. It was an instantaneous reaction to think that everyone pitied me for staying put because most of my childhood friends did.

"I was never adventurous, didn't study beyond high school and I did inherit this restaurant from my parents. All incentives for me to stay." I said.

It was strange that I could sum up my whole life story in one sentence for her. It occurred to me then that my life was that simple. Was it not what I wanted? Yes, it was, yet in the ungodly hours of the night when sleep evaded me, I did yearn for a little more in life. In my dreams, I was in the poppy fields; its flowers surrounding me as a dark silhouette of a man walks towards me. The poppies keep on swaying, forming a dizzying enclave as if beckoning us nearer, but before he could reach me, I wake up in cold sweat. I always do because such dreams like these make no sense and are not good for the wandering mind.

"Did he not ask you out?" I asked now, trying to change the subject, because I was done talking about my life story.

She was his type of woman- sweet, dewy-faced and beautiful.

"Me? Oh, you've got it all wrong. I am not interested in him. Anyway, he told me he had someone else in mind. She is a real knockout; way out of his league." She replied.

She stood up then and eyed me from head to toe.

I wondered if there was something wrong with the way I dressed.

"It's about time I hit the road again. Thank you for opening up this late." She said.

"You're the last for the day. Do drive carefully and I wish you a safe journey." I said.

"Who knows, I might be back here after my road trip. If we do meet again, perhaps things will be different for you." She said.

I shook my head.

"Things are always the same here. It has been so for the past twenty-four years." I said in true pride and confidence.

She merely smiled. She fiddled with a bluish-white heart-shaped pendant on her neck. It appeared to be a stone of some sort.

"So are you going to Bad Holburg for the salt caves?" I asked.

"Yes, now that you have mentioned it as something worthy to visit. I am basically driving off the beaten track without fixed plans. A rebel without a cause." She said.

Her lips curled up into a smile again, but this time she seemed a little sad.

"Perhaps you have not found your cause. When the time comes, you'll know. There is a time and place for everything." I said.

I thought of 9.3 minutes. The cause of my life was precision. It brought me home to the core of my existence. I lived for precision. A mental image of scrumptious fried cod came into my mind.

Do not get me wrong or think that I was hard to get along with- that was far from true. I was just very specific and a perfectionist, only when it came to me. My joy of the day is when I can successfully prepare any given meal at exactly a specific time frame. The fried cod by the way, can be prepared in exactly 9.3 minutes. I try to aim for that. I have a time sheet wherein I tick how many times a day I can prepare the fried cod in the specific time.

Although there was a long silence which followed, the lone stranger looked at me in acknowledgement.

"What you said gave me some insight. You're wise." She said.

I shrugged it off.

"I only know I'm wise when my fried cod turns up perfectly golden brown." I said, with a genuine smile.

We both laughed.

Her face lightened up and she said, "And let us do believe a little in the magic of the universe."

She told me about her heart-shaped pendant, implying to me in not so many words that it was a moonstone with magical qualities. Hold it tight and make a wish under the full moon, and your wish shall come true. I uttered the usual "ohs" and "ahs" when she spoke to me, pretending to really believe her.

I held her moonstone in my palms. Moonlight and starlight, may I have my wish tonight? My thoughts landed right into an unwelcomed image of Stefan; of his eyes; his palms; his voice and the words which did not correspond to the harshness of his behaviour. I shook my head in annoyance at such detail. Feeling that there should be something greater than life itself besides inconsequential details of Stefan, I did make a wish.

I wished for love and nothing more; nothing less. I wished for a love where I would feel safe and be accepted despite all my flaws and imperfections. I wished for a love where its warmth would flow and engulf my entire being into a passionate frenzy for life. I pleaded with the moon for a sign; and to bring forth that love to me.

Then I handed the moonstone back to her. I thought that she was a little nuts but interesting enough. Maybe because she was kind of bonkers, Stefan decided not ask her out and made up a story about having another. As far as I knew, he had no steady girlfriend so concocting someone out of his league would be the perfect excuse.

After she left, I called it a day and proceeded to close up the restaurant. When I was walking towards my car, I glanced upwards at the full moon. She grazed earth gently with her bright light and I took it all in with a deep breath.

...

My one and only assistant, Lena, does not cook. I only let her wash the dishes, clean the table, prepare drinks, serve customers and manage the cash register. Lena really is quite satisfied with this arrangement, for she loathes cooking. When she first came to me, I asked her why she even bothered working in a restaurant if the idea of cooking repelled her. She said it was the tantalizing aroma of the food which attracted her, and she told me this - the aroma from your restaurant. She grew up frequenting the restaurant when she was a child and the aroma of the food here really got into her. She came often with her parents who worked night-shifts at a spa resort in Bad Holburg. Now she is twenty-five years old and has been with me for six whole years.

One thing about Lena is that she is not curious. She notices my time sheet hanging on a clipboard on the wall but she never questions. I guess it must have occurred to her now and then why certain orders deserve a tick while others do not. I am a bit shy with my interest in precision; which is why I omit to explain the existence of the sheet to her.

She is also impatient and unpredictable; virtues which perhaps limited her job opportunities. There are times when she would sulk and leave early without telling me why and also moments when she told customers to hurry up with their food because she wanted to start clearing up. Yet sometimes I see Lena as the younger version of myself. It could be due to the fact that she chose to stay in Thor instead of seeking greener pastures elsewhere.

We have an easy-going work relationship. I give her a lot of freedom as to how she manages her workload. Most of the time, she is a pleasant companion. We chat freely and I learn from her that for the past month she has been dating a guy called Klaus from Bad Holburg. He was a tourist bus driver ferrying tourists to different sights and sounds around the region. That was how they met- here in the restaurant.

One evening at an odd hour, there was no one at the restaurant except Stefan, Lena and I. She was in the kitchen washing up. Earlier on, Lena had attended to him while I cooked in the kitchen. I kept quiet as I usually did with him except for a brief moment of eye contact when I approached his table to clear up.

"Hey there, I have never known your name until now. I mean, like, I've got to know your name. I've been frequenting here for months now and I'm not an inch closer." He said, in a gruff voice but I did detect a softening at the edges for once.

However he was staring more at the wall clock behind me than at me. He had not bothered to look at me, not since that night two weeks ago when he paid for both the lovely woman and himself. He had frequented the restaurant a few times since then, but he appeared oblivious to my presence.

Not looking at me is fine, for many customers do not look me in the face. They look at the menu more, pointing at their chosen dish. When they pay, they look at the money. I was like a machine sometimes. Good for precision and accuracy. I could do mental calculations in my head very well now.

I looked downwards in his direction, a little surprised that he should want to talk to me apart from barking orders of his favourite dish, which was the standard fried cod with potatoes, no salad. He must have been really bored tonight.

"Tessa." I said, trying to give him a friendly smile but the smile would not come because I was thinking of how rude he had been.

Without meaning to, we both stared hard at each other. A sudden jolt of electricity zapped through my body. For a second, I fumbled with his plate and nearly dropped it on the floor had it not been for his quick motor neuron skills. He caught the plate midway between table and floor. He was in possession of acute precision, to say the least.

"Here you are." He said, passing me the plate.

I grabbed the plate quickly without looking at him. I mumbled an incoherent thank you.

"Tessa." He said in a low voice.

It was the first time he said my name. My eyes darted to him for a second, and I nodded at him before focusing my attention on clearing the table again. I must have been much too overworked to have dropped the plate like that. Therefore I should only concentrate on my task.

However I thought it rather impertinent that I should not want to enquire his name. I had already known his name, but then, to be polite, I asked. Was there not an age-old adage that people love hearing their own names?

"And you are...?" I asked.

I made sure that I placed the plate on the table, just in case I were to fumble again. I never make the same mistake twice. Once bitten, ten times shy, in my case.

"Stefan." He replied, in a deep voice.

The lush, unfathomable blue in his eyes seemed to pull me in. I blinked a few times to get a grasp on reality.

"Stefan." I repeated.

Thereafter I looked down at the table again, proceeding to clear his cutlery and drink.

"I transport livestock at the moment. Chickens. They're calmer at night so I have to make the journey at ungodly hours." He said.

"I understand." I said in reply.

"Quiet night, eh?" He remarked.

He sounded like he was complaining that it was a quiet night. His fellow truckers were nowhere to be seen tonight. I regretted that they could not give him the stimulating conversation he so craved.

I nodded, looking at his face somewhere at the spaces between his eyes. I always looked at customers when they talked to me. My parents told me that this was their golden rule for hospitality.

His gaze was plastered at the wall clock behind me. I wondered if he was bidding his time to leave.

"The fried cod is really fresh and the spices go very well together." He said.

He made a conscious effort to look at me now. I realized that this was the first time that he was attempting to speak to me civilly and it was all about the cod.

The words sounded like they were spat out but he was complimenting the fish at least; and me, indirectly.

"Thank you, Stefan. To be perfectly fried in the cast-iron skillet, it takes precisely 9.3 minutes. Not more, not less." I said.

"9.3 minutes? Right up to the seconds?" He asked after me.

I nodded. I did not mention that this was one of my guilty pleasures. I love counting right up to the seconds. I had experimented with the timing before and nine minutes plus the decimal points of three seconds made all the difference for the perfect cod fillet.

"It's almost unbelievable that you are able to achieve such a feat." He said.

This time the lush blue in his eyes were on me, and for a split-second, I was mesmerized all over again by how ethereal his eyes were. It was like the worlds beyond thrived on Earth, and gosh, what an old soul he was with those eyes.

"I have a clock in the kitchen which tells me how long I have to fry it. Otherwise I can also use the timer on my cell phone." I said.

I could not help a smile. The truth was I needed no clock nor timer. I knew exactly how long 9.3 minutes were. My biological clock responded to 9.3 minutes.

"You're smiling." He said suddenly.

His statement caught me off-guard and I blushed like a giddy schoolgirl.

"I..." I started, but I did not want to divulge into the extent of my precision. He had already thought me strange enough.

He waited patiently for my answer. When there was none, he proceeded to speak again.

"I would have liked to be more aware of time just as it comes naturally to you. It seems to me that I have wasted a lot of time around here. I've not done what I set out to do." He said.

I suspected that he was speaking more to himself than to me. It was a spoken aloud inner thought.

"I'm sorry that your friends are not here today to keep you company. They were here yesterday and I guess today they are making their way across the border." I said, in a quiet voice.

His eyes widened as they pierced into mine. I looked at him in curiosity.

"You misunderstand me. I meant to say that generally in my life, I have been fooling around. I do not want to be that person anymore, and who should I learn from to better manage myself than from the expert herself?" He said.