Kismet: Last Night to Live

“Wait.” I whisper to the late winter-cold air on my bedroom’s balcony as I see James standing beside his Sedan. He is wearing white button-up shirt under a black classic coat, semi-fit dark-colored pants, and his newly-bought Nike shoes. He ordered me earlier to dress myself up for we will have our Valentine’s dinner. I cover my body with a simple white short-sleeve skintight semi-backless cotton dress, and my feet with a pair of black-strapped 4-inch-high stilettos. My straight hazelnut-colored hair has its latter part curled, and my lips are colored dark mahogany. I enter my bedroom and grab my purse containing my phone, wallet, and a half-full pack of Doublemint. I head toward the shiny wooden stairs as I exit my bedroom, hold onto the metal handrail and carefully go down to the ground floor. The stilettos are fitting my cold feet. The heels are pounding on the floor each step I take all the way to the dark brown mahogany main door. I take a breath, then hold the knob, and twist it to unclasp the door. His Adonis-like face, square-shaped chin, American- European defined body, pointed nose, graceful hair ー his perfection welcomes me as if a beautifully graceful wind blows on my face. "Hey babe, Happy Valentine"s Day!" he says, with a Canadian accent. "Aw, you look so handsome, big guy,” I say to him. “Happy Valentine"s Day, too!" He"s 23, two years ahead of me, and almost half-foot taller. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting for that very long time. I just…” “It’s okay, baby. No matter what you look or how beautiful you are, I’ll forever love you. Shall we go?" he asks after he interrupted me. "Well, I guess, I have no choice." I say, feeling romantic. We kiss. My lipstick paints his lips. He is holding my hand, his left on my right, as we walk through the pathway of the lawn to his Sedan. His wealthy father bought him that when he was 20, a graduation present. The New York sky is dark. Snow has almost faded out but the trees are still bald. Streetlights are aglow at 7 in the evening. I already feel the chills into my flesh. He opens the door of the passenger"s seat and takes me in. I thank him for being a gentleman, and then he shuts the door. He turns to the other side and then gets himself in. As he sits on the driver"s seat, he turns his body to the back seat to grab something. He then offers me three pale pink roses. I thank him again for his effort and love. "Seat belt, love." he cautions. The engine starts, and the car begins to growl. He clicks the buttons on the stereo of the car radio, and it starts to play The One by The Garettes ー my favorite band. We move and take the way. It feels like we are too old for the cheesy things that teenagers do. We both are grown, already at 20s, and about to take the world with our own selves, together. "Where are we going to eat?" I ask. He looks at me, my eyes, and said "Just be surprised!" ― ― ― He parks the car at the front of Bonne Gout Restaurant, its "Great Taste" in French. The restaurant is just a couple of streets away from home. The door of the driver"s seat opens as he unlocked it. He offers his hand to help me get out of the comfortable seat, and off his Sedan. I leave the roses lying on my seat. We now go in the restaurant. He pushes the glass door, and lets me in first ー gentleman quality, ladies" first. It is fairly lighted, and has a romantic ambiance. It is colored red, from its sign on the roof, to the tabletops, as well as the cushions of the wooden chairs. It’s not that dense, unlike the other restaurants that I have been to. It has enough space to comfortably walk widely between tables, and to help waiters and waitresses serve their customers their meal properly and decently. He heads to the reservation desk and talks to the guy, somewhat like a concierge of the restaurant, in front of him at the other side of the counter. I hear that he had already reserved a seat for two, three days ago ー I bet he knew that there will be a ton of lovers and couples that will check in on the restaurant, that"s why he reserved us a seat as early as possible. The concierge leads us to our table, we follow him ー he, James, holding my hand while smiling, then I. We walk between the equidistant rows of tables to the reserved one at the left side of the restaurant, near the glass wall. James pulls out the chair and lets me sit on its comfortable cushion, and then he sits on his side, in front of me. Smile has not get out of his face since he rang the doorbell of my family"s house ー his face was fixed since then, bright smile under the dark night sky, the light and love I had found through the dimness of times. A waiter gives us the menu. It looks like a large old story book with limited pages. Each page is substantial. It has the restaurant sign on its cover. I open the menu and browse its content. As I read the French names under the picture of the French food, I hear the song of The Garrettes playing from the loudspeaker of the restaurant, entitled My Love. I look at James and he is smiling, very wide. "Did you do this?" I ask, pertaining to the song playing from the loudspeaker. "Did what, exactly?" he asks. He"s giving me a smile showing he knows what I am talking about. The smile that tells that he organized the playlist of the restaurant, arranged the songs that should be played as we are in. "The song playing?” I clarify. "Well, I asked them if it will be a good idea,” he reveals. “And they thought it was really a good one.” "You are such a clever man! That’s why I love you" I said, very well-amused. I re-browse the menu and search for my Valentine meal. There are lots of choices to choose from, chicken fillet, grilled pork or beef sirloin, to steamed fish with a little French touches. While still standing, the waiter keeps on waiting for our wants, holding a pen and a little notebook. I close the menu and ask the waiter "Can I please have the chef"s choice?" "Are you sure?" James assures. I nod my head, "Well then, I would also love to have the chef"s choice." The waiter quickly writes something on his notebook about our orders. His shaky hands make me feel like there is an earthquake. "So your orders are chef"s choice, dinner for two. Would you like to add some drinks?" The waiter asks. "Champagne?" I ask James. He just nods and then smile." And would you please add some romance-for- 20-year-olds on our meal? Please tell the chef." James pleases, smiling. “I will." says the waiter, "So your orders are chef"s choice, dinner for two romantic 20 year olds, and a bottle of champagne. Is 10-minute preparation okay with you?" "Alright." says James, while I nod again. Smile can"t take away itself from our lips. The waiter then leaves and heads to the double-swing door of the restaurant"s kitchen. ― ― ― As we are waiting for our dinner, another waiter offers us a plate of cupcakes. He says that those cupcakes are stuffed with thoughts, just like a fortune cookie, but thoughts, not fortune, inside a cupcake. He also says that it is a combination of European and Asian tradition. So we get one for ourselves and dig the words of wisdom inside the soft and fluffy caramel cupcake. "Mine says: Cherish everything. And be happy because you have it." I tell. I do have many things to cherish in life and I"m already happy with it, my friends, my love. My parents are the least things that I have, which I should have the most. They are always nowhere to be found when I was younger ー out of town, sometimes country. I have grown my life with my aunt Geneva, mom’s older sister, who stayed with me in our house. They are always in their own businesses. I don"t know what their businesses are about. I"m just happy that we are financially stable. But as I grew up, the care that I gained from my parents were insufficient. At least, those situations taught me on how to stand on my own feet, make decisions for myself and be responsible for its outcome, and be independent. "What did you get, James?" I curiously ask. “Seize the moment. Do anything as if it will be your last night to live.” he reads the content of the small piece of paper from the cupcake he dug. “This is deep.” I see his face, full of confusion. "Well, it’s like do all the projects before deadline or do all the things you have to do before time runs out." I explain. His face is now free from confusion. The meal is ready to be served on our table. Waiter places a bowl of soup over a plate. He says it is called Soupe à L"oignon or Onion Soup. It has pieces of baguette, the long French bread, placed in the bowl together with sautéed onions, tomato purée, cheese, butter, and salted water, then baked. He then places two plates of Magret de Canard which is duck breast, according to him. And then, he places a small plate of chocolate éclairs for dessert. He then adds the bottle of champagne and gives us two flutes, a type of wine glass that is only used for drinking champagnes. As the waiter leaves, he says "The chef wants to say that the romance can"t be found in what you eat, but by what you feel as you eat. Enjoy!" It makes us smile. We enjoy the duck breast and onion soup as we take each sip and chew. It’s time for cherishing and seizing ー cherishing the love that we give and share to each other, and seizing every feeling every time our brown eyes meet, and hearts beat as one. ― ― ― We then stand after James paid the bill. I head to the female"s bathroom. As I open the door, the scent of French lavender comes out. I face the wide mirror above the sink and do some retouch on my face. I add some foundation, and lipstick after I ate it together with the food. I groom myself, and re-stretch my dress. I then head to pick up James on our table and we leave the restaurant with stomachs full of something worthwhile. We head back to his Sedan. As we are sitting down on our respective seats, he plays The Garrettes then controls the car and takes the way ahead. "I had fun tonight." James said. "I do, too." I affirm. “So we are joining The Garrettes’s concert on March.” James clears. “Oh, yes!” I shout happily. Our last date was not as happy as this. Two sweet drinks turned bitter that time, and tears went down from our eyes. That sad moment still lingers inside my head, and forever it will. Then just out of the blue, our eyes meet again. Our hands clasp, his right and my left. Our faces are near to each other, and then I feel his soft lips on mine. My eyes still open and see the traffic light on red. I let go of the sweet kiss, and then shout "red light", he then pulls the break, and the car turns a little right. And with a great amount of force, the nose of the Sedan enters a brick wall of a one-storey building. His face, that suddenly slammed the steering wheel, is full of blood that swiftly runs to his suit. I could not feel my left leg. I still hold the roses which he gave me earlier. Our eyes closed as we live our last night.