brunch with a friend

They meet for brunch at a restaurant named Turning Point. Typically he avoids eating anywhere where the name sets unnecessary expectations, but for his friend he is willing to make an exception.

After the usual pleasantries are exchanged his friend asks him about her.

“I’ve been to her house a few times recently, but she’s never home.”

He friend looks at him with a mixture of surprise and exhaustion. “We’ve been over this. She moved almost a year ago.”

“I know, I know” he says, “but the new place is too far a drive.”

His friend tries to choose his words carefully. “So you know she’s never coming to the door. To that door anyway.”

“You never know” as all he can come up with.

“Let me try to explain it with a joke” his friend continues. “A man goes to church and prays. “O Lord, please let me win the lottery. The next week, he’s back again and prays “O Lord, please let me win the lottery.” This goes on week after week, month after month. Suddenly one night a booming voice sounds from above. “Be reasonable. Meet me half way. Buy a damn lottery ticket!”

“Are you trying to be my booming voice?” the man asks after a moment.

His friend smiles and shakes his head.

“The thing is” the man explains, “Lotteries are a tax on people bad at math. The odds of winning are so low as to be an impossibility.”

His friend thinks about arguing the point but is hopeful the man can work through the metaphor himself.

The man tries to work through the metaphor himself.

“It doesn’t cost me anything to go visit where she used to live. Driving an hour would be like buying a lottery ticket.”

The waitress interrupts the proceedings and they both order.

His friend debates changing the subject and letting deluded dogs lie, but he can see the sleepless nights it’s causing the man so he sits quite and waits for him to pick up the trail again.

The man sits gazing out the window, no doubt retracing the steps back to her old house. Doing some time-traveling along the way. The look on his face makes it clear that he will be back at her old door the first chance he gets.

Finally his friend speaks up and asks a very sensible question; “What are you going to do when somebody new moves into the old house? Knock and then explain to the new residents that you’re a lunatic that doesn’t want to buy a $1 ticket? Tell them you’ll be stopping by now and then until they involve the authorities?”

“Maybe…?” The man laughs softly. A laugh that is slightly more sigh than laugh.

His friend just shakes his head again. No smile.

The food arrives.

The food is eaten.

The plates are cleared.

The man’s friend is single, which perhaps explains his next remark; “Love is a sucker’s bet Roger.”

Roger being the name of the man seated across from him. A little late in the story to mention it, but perhaps it’s never too late.