Champagne and roses

Today started off like any other day. Woke up much earlier than I would have liked. Worked the breakfast and lunch shifts. Did some grocery shopping. Took a nap. Then headed off to the evening shift which didn't look very promising on the reservations end. One table of two. That's it.

It was painfully slow. The table of two arrived, a young Asian couple, and the three of us working were nearly fighting for things to do. I never thought I'd want to clear people's plates, but when the other option is to stand there with n-o-t-h-i-n-g to do but stare at the wall and overanalyze the newest dilemma in my world, I'll take clearing tables any day.

The young Asian guy got up from the table at one point and was gone for about ten minutes. Huh, that's rude, I thought. Or... Wow, he must have really needed to use the bathroom. But when he came back, a huge smile spread across his face, he was holding a bouquet of red long stem roses. No baby's breath. No filler flowers. Just roses. And they were gorgeous. I thought bouquets like that only existed in movies or in the synthetic flower section at Michael's.

From the bar, I had the perfect view of his girlfriend. You could see the surprise take over her whole body, her hands flying to cover her gaping mouth. And within the next five minutes, I watched his proposal unfold (though since he was speaking in Japanese, I made up my own version of his speech and declarations of love and commitment for myself--and I must say, it was damn good). She had tears in her eyes and mine were brimming, and we all relished in the happy couple's moment. I think I even let out a gasp when I saw him get down on one knee. Even the guys were watching anxiously, all of them completely engrossed in the scene as it unraveled. We served them champagne afterwards, and the moment lingered in the restaurant for the rest of my shift.

And while I was setting tables for the morning breakfast, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face--not that I wanted to. But for a person that doesn't necessarily believe in marriage--and my own beliefs stem from more than just my own parents' divorce if that's what you immediately assumed--I was shocked at how sentimental I felt. And how happy I was for them and for their mutual commitment to one another. When I went to wish them congratulations afterward and saw the blue Tiffany's box sitting there, the white ribbon dangling off the edge of the table, and the young woman starry-eyed as she couldn't make up her mind whether to look at her new fiance or the ring on her finger, I thought... I want that. And no, I'm not talking about the diamond ring. That moment that was overflowing with their history, the thought of a future together, the possibilities, the love, the hopefulness and the belief in all of it. That's what I wanted. And someday, I hope, that will come along. Though I haven't yet felt it for myself, I believe in love. I believe in its unyielding potential, in its purity, and in its instinct to know exactly when to track you down, knock you over, and prove you wrong about everything and more you thought you knew about yourself and the universe's plan for you. I believe in it because I'm too stubborn, too hopeful, and too naive not to. And that's enough reason for me.

For now, I suppose being the witness to a truly magical moment in two people's lives was a gift in itself. And to that couple, I wish you greatness in every way. And obviously love. A never ending, consistent stream of love, love and more love. Congratulations!

And just because...

"My great hope is to laugh as much as I cry, to get my work done and try to love somebody and have the courage to accept the love in return." --MAYA ANGELOU