Love is Dangerous
Love is dangerous. It is fraught with emotion, and emotions are fraught with miscommunication. Love is dangerous, and I don’t intend to risk it.
I limit myself to leaving for work each day. I don’t see any risk on the subway. Once every two weeks, I allow myself to go out for dinner. Even then I avert my eyes. I see love as a pandemic. It has affected people in every area of every country.
This is my week to venture out for dinner. I have had such a tremendously successful day at work so I am allowing myself to try a new restaurant.
I enter and look around because this is such a novel experience. The venue is exquisite, and I pat the pocket with my bonus from work. This may be an expensive undertaking.
“May I take your order, sir?”
“I believe I will start with a house salad with French dressing. Follow that with a baked potato and the sirloin steak.”
“What would you like to drink, sir?”
“I’ll just have a black coffee and ice water.”
“I’ll have that right out, sir. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
Everything is pleasant thus far, and I doubt it will change. I pull out my book to pass the time while my meal is prepared. Just as I turn the page, I hear —
“Clive? Clive Henry! Is that you? I haven’t seen you since commencement!”
I look up and then remove my glasses, wiping them thoroughly. I perch them on my nose once again and rub my eyes, unwilling to trust them. Could it really be Brenda Liess? She was right. We hadn’t seen each other since commencement, and I thought we never would see each other again.
The last I had heard, she was working at an accounting firm in D.C. I am employed at an accounting firm in NYC. I invite her to sit with me since we are both dining alone. She sits ever so gingerly on the edge of her seat and leans forward in a manner of confidence.
“I got a promotion. I was moved to the NYC branch,” she said with a hint of excitement.
“I got a bonus today, so that makes this a bonafide celebration. Allow me to get the bill.”
Brenda began to reply, but the waiter appeared, looking surprised that another patron had appeared in his absence.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
She gave him her order, and the waiter disappeared to get our salads.
As we sat and as we ate, we caught up on the time since commencement. It was amazing how our lives had run parallel until her career brought her to NYC, even to our beliefs that love was dangerous.
By the end of our meal and a couple of drinks, we were willing to believe there might be an inoculation for Love.