Jealousy 2

The two of them being together consumes me. I don’t realize that I have left the restaurant until the cold Chicago wind whips my unbuttoned coat open and sends my hat flying. I don’t bother to pick it up. I am on automatic pilot as I enter the subway, running down the stairs, stumbling over the last few. I fall and my knee hits the cement hard. It is scraped and bleeding. I am grateful for the excuse to let my tears flow smoothly.

I slide away from the stairs and position myself on the wall, balled up, hugging my knee, and rocking. The pain I feel is so real. It stings much worse than the surface wound of my knee, although that hurts too. People walk by and pay little to no attention to me. There are so many homeless that with my newly torn pants and makeup smudged across my face, I blend in.

A small trickle of blood is moving slowly down my leg. I watch it, thinking about Giordano’s, my post high school pre-college job. John had been rumored to be a frequent patron, but I had never seen him. It was two years after the release of Say Anything. I was a fan and had watched many of his older movies. That night, he happened to be in the booth behind the one I was waiting. The elderly couple in my booth was flummoxed about the buzz and excitement in the restaurant. They were regulars and knew the atmosphere was more charged than usual. I bent down to tell them that a famous actor was sitting in the booth behind them. In trying to do so quietly, I accidently cut myself on the pizza wheel which was standing up in the pizza.

John heard my gasp and saw the surprise on my face as a few drops of blood began to trickle down my hand. He quickly offered me his napkin and empathy. “Oooohhh. That must hurt.” It was so unexpected. A big celebrity like him offering my young 18 year old self a gesture of kindness. That’s actually how I met him the first time. And even then, I was taken in by his deep brown eyes and soft smile.

I thanked him and went to the kitchen to clean up. By the time I returned to my table, he was gone. But the image of his eyes stayed with me. I began seeing them in my dreams, and eventually in my fantasies. I watched all of the movies he made to date and went to anything that came out in the theater. I began to truly appreciate his art. I read articles about him. He always sounded so sincere in the writer’s words. And he was funny in his late night television interviews.

Slowly, my admiration turned into a crush and I began looking for ways to see him again. Four years and a college degree after that incident, I was hired to work at Smith and Wollensky, a restaurant he was rumored to visit frequently. It’s the same one I left tonight.

*** I hadn't planned on continuing past the point I had written the other night. But, since my ghost story mojo has evaporated, I decided this would be interesting to follow for a while. ***