The Curious Case Of Defining McVie

“We are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.”

We were in a meeting outside Café Via Mare in Rockwell Mall when he stepped out of the mall exit and caught my eye. He was tall with a lean frame; he wore a tight tee and relaxed khaki shorts that showed off his casually defined muscles that hinted of afternoons on the tennis court instead of lifting weights in the gym.

He took the empty table beside ours and ordered. He wasn’t drop-dead handsome, and his face bore some scars of adolescent acne problems that thankfully were all behind him now. Yet I couldn’t help but glance at him, admiring his trim chest, the tight thigh muscles, and lean, strong arms. He glanced at our table and saw me looking at him, so we both averted our eyes. Oops back off, I warned myself.

Our brainstorming went well, with much laughter and excited rising of voices. He finished his meal and took out a stick to smoke. I kept glancing at him. He would look at our table, see me eyeing him, and we’d break off our glances. This went on three, four times.

When he paid his bill, I noticed he borrowed the waiter’s pen and wrote something on a piece of paper. It took him just a little too long in writing for it to be a signature (if he paid using his credit card). He gave the pen back to the waiter who then left, and he lingered for a while.

When he stood up, a car pulled up beside our table (the tables outside Café Via Mare are beside the driveway). Several of our other officemates were inside the car, and they engaged us in conversation. I noticed he stood up from his chair, walked towards us, and passed behind me. I looked at the table he just left; there was something placed underneath the napkin holder.

But our officemates in the car asked me something, so I couldn’t leave my chair. I watched helplessly as the waiter came back and immediately bussed the table. This I cannot forget: the waiter picked up a discarded pre-paid card that was re-inserted back into its torn plastic cover; he turned it over, smiled and shook his head in puzzlement. Then he went inside and talked to his fellow waiters; they had a laugh, and he proceeded to throw the card along with the other trash in the trashcan.

That night I kept replaying that scene over and over in my head, wondering if there was anything written at the back of the pre-paid card, and a lot of other what ifs.

(And I really, really have to watch The Curious Case of Benjamin Button as soon as possible.)