The paths of nature had brought us here, a tale had been told where happily ever after was a choice and now here I was the embodiment of the tale.
He looked up and smiled at me “you do not meet strangers, simply different versions of who we could become. Your reservation is at table 1994.
He walked me past many doors onto the door with 1994 engraved onto it. He pushed it open. “Keep walking “, he whispered. I didn’t walk but my legs carried me through into a dark candle lit room. The table was rectangular, a strong wood shinny at the top with moulds by the side bars. It had no top and no bottom. Just the middle. The door behind me was slammed shut. He disappeared
A man dressed in a black suit, a white shirt and a black bow tie approached me.” that is your chair ma’am “. I walked towards the table and right then, by my chair another candle was lit. Opposite me sat a woman, her eyes were a hazel brown, her skin a dark chocolate, her hair. her hair was perfectly woven around her head into a thick crown of soft curls. To her left was a blue-eyed man with soft flowy blond hair. The candle light picked up the marks on his face. The lines that described and told the story of his journey. They were ugly but potent. Besides him was a young yellow girl. Her hair was also woven into a crown over her head. Unlike the other woman her curls were a lot more defined, her crown woven stronger and tighter. fitting in perfectly with her one blue eye and her other brown eye. She sat there glowing and expressionless. There must have been someone besides her, there just wasn’t enough light. Past her was eternal darkness and the hope that light existed beyond her.
To the dark-skinned woman’s right side was a little yellow boy. Much younger than the girl. He could barely reach the table. He was crying, demanding for things. Whatever he asked for, the woman provided. He was tiny but powerful, his tears were a form of authority
On my side of the table, to my left was an empty seat a woman in the second seat. She looked like me, I could have sworn she was me. Her face was held together, calm and composed. She was smiling at me. To my right was another empty seat and then a man. His nose was like mine and so was his hair, but that’s all I could see and nothing else
As I sat in my seat the man in black and white came closer. His voice was deeper, stronger, authoritative. “At this table we serve all kinds of delicacies, fine wine, dry wine. Tots of alcohol, words of gall and words of love, oppression and freedom, triumph, unity and peace. Tears, pain and heartache smoked salmon, fish and sushi too. At this table you serve, and you are served. You do not leave but you can change positions. You can move towards and away from people and people can move towards and away from you.”
My first meal was served. It was hot, sour and painful. My stomach was full by my it left me empty, left my heard longing for more, looking for something warm enough, something to give protection. The seats besides me were occupied by people who would reach out to touch my hand when the serving was harsh, people would give me a shoulder to cry on, wipe my tears and caress my hair but the people in those chairs constantly stood up and left. They continuously changed over time and sometimes the seats would remain empty for a while but that woman. The one, the one who looked like me she would always turn to look at me, give me a nod of reassurance. She never moved. Her position at this table was permanent. A seat somewhere close to me.
The yellow boy, at first, he had cried and demanded for things but as each day passed his wants became more but his tears not because he had all that he wanted but because they had taught him to live without it. They had taught him conformity and with it he had lost his power. The yellow girl, her different coloured eyes had developed into bigger and brighter sparkles but with each day she moved further away from the blue -eyed man until she changed positions. She took her candle and moved into darkness. The blue-eyed man had asked the man in the black suit for a bigger serving, a larger portion. After all he deserved it but daily the man in the black suit brought the same portion. He was supposed to serve us; he was put there to give us what we needed yet he acted like he owned the table. The blue-eyed man had told the man in the black suit that his was an injustice, it was unfair. The man in the black suit took the blue -eyed man by the collar, dragged him out of his seat. The blue-eyed man’s candle died. I never saw the blue-eyed man again nor did I see anyone else ask for a bigger portion. Now in front of me was left the dark-skinned woman, the yellow boy and two empty seats. A story only time can understand
A soul then sat in the seat on my right. I looked at him and I wanted him to stay. His Matt black hair was shaped in tiny coils that filled his entire head; it went on to run along the sides of his face onto his chin. It looked rough, spikes. His complexion. His skin was a dark bronze blended in with soft dark black spots. His lips were a mixture of brown and pink and from his bottom lip, across his cheek, towards his ear was a light brown patch. A birth mark. A sign of existence. His solid black pupil glittered in his clean white eye it was like looking through clear glass. His eyes met in the middle going on to create his painted nose. He was beautiful, a work of art. A mark of perfection.
He started by holding my hand and then explaining to me that I didn’t need to eat all the bitter food that was served at this table. I could simply pick the cherries and leave everything else. On the days that I ate the gall his face would soften; his teeth would glow, and his smile would transmit energy and strength onto me. He’d wipe my tears, hold my hand and tell me I’d be okay.
My body had been touched by many hands; he too had touched my arm. Left his fingerprints on it. Now he had gone in to engrave his finger prints onto my heart. His body was muscular,but his heart was stronger. He had sat on the seat to my right but now it felt like the seat on my left was occupied too.
On the good days he’d tell me what the lines on the inside of my palms meant and how the dimple on my right cheek made my smile look better. On the bad days he’d kiss my toes and my ugly fingers. He understood the intricate details of how someone as imperfect as me could be called beautiful. I fell in love with a stranger and a stranger fell in love with me.
At the table of life, I had watched leaders’ rule as their people demanded for more. I had watched children grow and leave their parents. Even though mine still stood by me. Once upon a time I had forgotten the troubles of being at the table of life, the injustices, the pain and all that made me cry because of a boy.
“Hello, my name Is Dion “He said.