Phoenician

On Saturday we encountered a beautiful human being dining at the bar.

As soon as we arrived, he indicated there was an empty stool next to him if I wanted it for my purse.

Shortly after we'd been seated, he complimented me on my dress in a natural, sincere way. As I have said before, the kind of conversation kids start in kindergarten with no agenda and no reservation.

We got to chatting. Turned out he was working at the Pride event at the park nearby in the heart of the city. We briefly discussed food and drinks. He was very relaxed and open, not the cloying kind of positivity that's piled on.

He had rhinestone stickies on his face and piercing in his ear that resembled candy cane. Such slow-burning energy, the kind that the young exude which the old find enchanting to feed on. I understand now.

The event needed lights. A quick problem solver, he'd decided to Instacart it and have them delivered to the restaurant. And why not grab a meal (and a cocktail) while waiting?

He loved burrata, he said. He would never let it go to waste.

I thought, if I had a son, I would love if he was like this young man. I would ask for nothing more, not a thing to change. I'd be so proud of him.

On his way out, he stopped to extend felicitations to a birthday girl situated next to RJ. Lively conversation ensued. Such kindness and warmth.

I wanted to be friends. How I would love to stay in touch. But... what do you say these days? How to ask? It would all be awkward. 

There is no protocol on platonic overtures. I haven't been trained.

And so it was all I could do to watch him walk away and out of my life. Forever.

I did not even know his name.

As he strolled to exit, carrying his takeout box of unfinished supper like a good boy, the setting sun was on him, rendering him backlit, like a legend. He was to work till midnight, maybe past it. His evening was only beginning. And ours was ending soon.

A metaphor of life as well.