February Writing Competition Winner: A Dinner for Two – Wayne Roux

She had lit candles.  

Seeing the way they danced their flickering light across the walls and ceiling of the sombre dining room brought a wet glimmer to my eyes.  It was as if I had forgotten to appreciate the beauty of such small things.  Candles, flowers in a plastic vase, a bleached white tablecloth – and somewhere unseen, the soft sound of music caressing my ears.  Italian love songs, I believe. The faintest smell of freshly cooked bacon and pasta hung in the air, and my stomach was already grumbling.  I couldn’t remember when last I had eaten Italian food, even less so home-cooked. 

I straightened in my chair.  She had told me to wait – there was a surprise.  

I had always loved surprises.

When Marcia and I had first met, it had been nothing short of a whirlwind.  Things had moved so fast, so unexpectedly. Admittedly, it had taken me longer to fall for her than it had taken for her to do the same.  She had obviously been smitten from the first moment – I could tell by the glint in her eyes every time she had looked at me from across the room that first night. It was strangely beautiful being the center of someone’s attention, it flattered the ego in ways that very few other things did.  But as with all things, even those painted in the beauty of attraction and infatuation, they eventually fade. 

The years had passed so unexpectedly, and time itself has a way of dulling emotions.  I guess it’s akin to the way a brand new chef’s knife would slowly lose its edge, a fraction each day, unnoticeable until the day you try to cut an over-ripe tomato, forced to use unnecessary force until all that is left is a sticky mess. Feelings – like the fine edge of the blade – need to be sharpened and renewed repeatedly over time. I will be the first to admit that I failed to do so consistently.  But here she was, trying to rekindle that fire again.  A romantic dinner for two.  Something we had not done for as long as I could remember. 

I almost felt guilty.  In my generation, the responsibility for nurturing the relationship lay with the man.  Be strong, yet gentle.  Show strength, yet care.  Make the effort.  Open that car door.  Buy flowers even if there was no reason for them.  Remember anniversaries…  

God that was a big one!  

These were all unspoken rules, passed down through books and television shows, when chivalry had still been alive and well and the young mind was eager to absorb them. But times had changed, I guess.  I had somewhere along the way forgotten those lessons.  

I heard a metal dish being dropped noisily into a sink in the kitchen, and then a few moments later the sounds of her footsteps on the wooden floor as she made her way down the hallway towards the dining room.  It was strange, but I swear I would recognize her footsteps anywhere. There could be a hundred people walking down that hallway, and I would know exactly the moment she would pass through the doorway.  Most people would remember smiles, or eyes or the curl of a wayward strand of hair across an ear, but for me, it was the way her walk sounded.

She smiled when she entered the room and her eyes caught mine.  She was carrying a plastic tray with two steaming bowls on it.  She had tied one of those silver helium-inflated balloons to her left arm, and it danced wildly just above her head, restrained by the cord, the words ‘Be My Valentine’ printed boldly in bright red on it. There was a single rose in a thin-necked plastic vase balancing precariously between the two bowls of as yet unknown pasta.  

“Surprise!” she beamed.  

I smiled.  It was a really sweet gesture, which only amplified my own guilt.  This should have been my idea, right?  

“That smells amazing,” I said.  And it did.  My grumbling stomach agreed.  

“Do you know what today is?” she asked, placing the tray carefully on the table between us, and straightening her dress with the palms of both hands.  It was a summer frock, cute little painted flowers and thin shoulder straps.  

“Um, Valentine’s Day?” 

“Yes, silly,” she giggled.  “But it’s also our nine-year anniversary.” 

I nodded slowly. 

Jesus, nine years?  It felt like less.  And more, at the same time.

“Ah, wow.  That is… well, unbelievable.”

“Do you like your surprise?” she asked, frowning and pouting her mouth just a little more dramatically than necessary. 

“I do.”

She skipped hurriedly away into an adjoining room and turned up the music.  When she returned she held out her hand.  “Dance with me?”

My heart sank.  I hadn’t danced in years.  She knew this.  “I, uh…”

“Come on!” she pleaded.  “Please.  It’s our special day.” 

I sighed.  I could hardly refuse her, now could I? 

I pushed my chair back noisily, sliding my feet out from under the table, but the rattle of chains as they dragged across the floor boards was accompanied by a solid metallic thud as they caught on the large ring fastened to the floor, preventing me from moving more than a meter away from it. 

“Oops,” she giggled, covering her mouth innocently. She sighed then, long and drawn out. I had heard that sigh one time too many since she had taken me. “Eat your food, darling.” 

I felt the shift in her tone, darker than the dancing shadows embracing in the corners of the room. I had experienced that shift more times than I could count on my seven remaining fingers, and I knew what usually came next.  My hands shook ever so slightly as I picked up the plastic fork, the tongs in the candlelight casting shadowy reminders of my cell below the kitchen floor.  

At least my hunger had escaped.