A Table for Two
The dinner crowd at Bailey’s bustled in, . After standing at the entrance for a moment, the woman glanced at her watch and walked cheerfully up to the maitre’de. She dressed simply- a long, emerald green shirt cascaded over the classic silk skirt and was belted to show her waistline. Her chestnut hair was pinned neatly at the nape of her neck, with only a hint of gray at the temple. She was a reasonably attractive woman, possibly early 40’s and obviously successful in her chosen profession. Her manners and her attire were elegant and understated.
“I had a reservation for two at 7:00. Kirkland. Is my table ready, by any chance? I know I am a little early.” As she awaited a reply, she shuffled her briefcase to her right hand and toyed with her ring.
"Your table will be ready shortly, Madam."
“That's fine. I'll have a drink while I wait.” And, after a short pause, “ Have there been any messages left for me at the desk- often my fiancée’ is running late- the price of success, I guess.” She smiled a genuine smile of admiration.
“No, madam. No messages.” The maitre’de looked away as he answered her query.
Nodding a thank you, she walked in to the lounge and took a stool at the bar. After ordering a glass of chardonnay, she glanced around the smoky room. It was a comfortable sort of room, fitting for the fine restaurant to which it was attached. Large leather chairs and inviting bar stools complemented the mahogany tables and trim. She sat at the bar, looking over notes from the office and occasionally glancing at her Rolex.
“Could you tell me the time, Samuel?” she asked offhandedly, nodding at the empty wine glass. The bartender poured another.
“It’s right at 7:00, Ms. Kirkland. Are you enjoying the chardonnay?”
“Fine, fine, Samuel.”
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in here in a while.”
“Here and there.” She looked casually about the bar and eyed her watch.
“You seem to be mighty busy today. Working on something big?”
“Another book deal in the works. NO rest for the wicked.” As they laughed, the maitre’de called for her table.
His eyes suddenly growing soft, Samuel lightly touched her hand. “You are a lovely woman, Ms. Kirkland, you shouldn’t work all the time. All work and no play…”Samuel’s comment trailed unfinished, he smiled and waved discreetly to her as she made her way to dinner.
“Table for two, Madam.”
“This is lovely, as always. Criston- any messages for me? Grant is awfully late.”
“I’m sure you guest will be here shortly, Ms. Kirkland. Would you care to order an appetizer while you wait? The waiter’s reassurance convinced her, and she ordered some stuffed mushrooms and continued perusing her notations from the morning meeting.
“I’m sure he is only caught in traffic, or with a patient. He is so dedicated. I suppose I should accustom myself to the life of a doctor’s wife.” This time she spoke to herself, for the waiter had delivered the mushrooms and gone. As she sat alone at the table, she looked closely around the dining room. Families celebrating graduations, engagements, promotions, new babies- they all looked so happy. She wanted a family desperately…and she remembered her family.
Being the only remaining daughter of her congressman father, it had been her duty to carry on. Her brothers had both been highly decorated in Vietnam, and they both had never come home. Their glory was in their deaths. But she had lived. The day they had buried Thomas, the newspapers had dealt her fate. “Constance Kirkland left to carry on family honor and tradition.’”
Her reverie was broken by the sound of the dining room.
“Would you like to order, Ms. Kirkland?” The waiter cautiously approached, suggesting the stuffed halibut.
“What time is it?” she retorted instead, gazing at her watch again.
“A quarter of 8:00, Madam.”
Constance paused. “I’ll have the halibut. It sounds divine. He can just hear about how scrumptious it was.”
The waiter left, and Constance considered the hand she had been dealt. Father was demanding, but fair. He was less pleased with the books than the professorship, but she was in the news because of the stir her subject matter created. He would call each time she appeared on television. Her books on the Vietnam “Police action” seemed to vindicate the deaths of his sons of whom he was so proud.
But the books and fame weren’t enough to satisfy Congressman Forrest Kirkland. Nothing was ever quite enough. She was beautiful, talented, independent- she was good at most everything, including being alone. She could do many things, but she couldn’t carry on the family name. Thomas and Brett had taken that gift with them to the grave. And in the end, she would always be a disappointment.
As Constance enjoyed her dessert, she wondered if her father knew why she was so driven. It wasn’t the money or the fame; they could actually be a bother, in the end. The degrees hung on a wall in her office that very few people ever even saw. They weren’t for her. But to her father, appearance was everything. And she appeared extremely successful. And just for a while, she thought she could have the life SHE wanted. Just for a while....
“Dinner was lovely, as usual, Criston. I’ll take my check now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Constance Kirkland spied Samuel slowly drying a glass and looking at her with a somber expression of understanding and remorse. Turning away, she paid the check, sent a compliment to the chef, and prepared to depart for home.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, Constance Kirkland walked back to the maitr’de. “Were there any messages left for me? Did anyone call?”
“No, I’m sorry Ms. Kirkland.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes Madam.”
Constance Kirkland claimed her coat and hat, and began her brisk walk home.
The lady, head held high, walked up to the two flights of stairs to her apartment, unlocked the door, entered and lock it again. Crossing to her bedroom, she looked at the glimmer on her finger, removed the ring and placed it carefully on the dresser. She undressed and, in only her underclothes, stared at her own reflection in the mirror for a very long time. And cried bitterly.
……………………………………………………………………
Glancing at her watch, the woman stopped in front of her favorite Italian restaurant, thought for a moment and entered. The warm smile of the old Sicilian that ran the place, as well as the aroma of garlic, olive oil, and wine greeted her. A friendly sort of smell.
“Table for two, please.”
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
Football and Faith
Football and Faith
Here in Texas we take our football very seriously. Just take a look-every small town has a football stadium. They may not have a library, but darn it, they’ve got to have a playing field. Electricity moves through a crowd at a Texas high school football game. It’s not just a game: it is a metaphor for life. Dressed up in the garments of support and loyalty, we cheer on those who participate in the struggle. We even have a halftime break for entertainment- a time to relax, regroup, and consider our options, albeit hot dog or Frito Pie.
From my own high school experience through my days as a high school teacher, I was an enthusiastic participant in this revelry. I attended every game- yelling, clapping, and crying with our boys. Likewise, I took part in another activity with equal zeal- church services. I sat in the pew very Sunday – singing, clapping, and praying with fellow worshippers. Commitment was the key in both of these activities, and I sat in both places wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself, yet feeling completely isolated as the crowd roared with enthusiasm.
Don’t get me wrong- at first I was very present- I was moved by the emotion and excitement the struggle represented in both venues. Slowly, however, things changed. I found myself going through the motions, less and less touched by the upheaval of passion that existed on the football field and in the chapel. As I watched the struggle on the field, I listened to the jeers of “fair weather fans”; in the chapel I felt the stinging, silent judgment when I declined an invitation to join the choir, teach Sunday School or lead the puppet ministry.
I stopped attending football games- then I stopped attending church regularly. I didn’t miss the football games; I spent Friday nights doing personally nurturing things like reading, dating, or grading papers. And I didn’t always miss church. I missed the singing. I missed the personal messages from the pulpit that I remember from my childhood. I missed the reverence. I did not miss the hypocrisy, or the guilt and judgment sometimes associated with “holy” people.
I look back now to ponder the reason for the sea change in my heart. I am an observer, and I observed many people who would dive into football season with zeal, but have lukewarm relationships with their family and friends. A conversation of depth and meaning was fleeting, taken over by halftime statistics and scores. Religion can also serve as a substitute for genuine connections with those around us. Over and over I experienced relationships involving a façade of faith, dedication and service. I have known true people of faith, but too often these are overshadowed by the self-serving parishioners, not unlike the over zealous fans of the gridiron. You‘ve seen them, with banners held high, turning on their “team” at the first sign of weakness or imperfection.
How sad that both venues have the potential to create a cocoon of faith and support, but so often end in judgment and subtle ridicule for not being “good enough.” Both football and religion produce raw and vibrant emotions that move people to do, well, amazing and unspeakable things. Why else would a person paint their whole body blue, or strap themselves with explosives?
In my observations, I have come to some conclusions. Anything that personal and emotional has the potential to morph into something unlike its original incarnation. Second, if people are in any way involved, this will happen. And finally, until we can move beyond the football faith of extremism, our lives, relationships, and even our final score, will suffer.
Here in Texas we take our football very seriously. Just take a look-every small town has a football stadium. They may not have a library, but darn it, they’ve got to have a playing field. Electricity moves through a crowd at a Texas high school football game. It’s not just a game: it is a metaphor for life. Dressed up in the garments of support and loyalty, we cheer on those who participate in the struggle. We even have a halftime break for entertainment- a time to relax, regroup, and consider our options, albeit hot dog or Frito Pie.
From my own high school experience through my days as a high school teacher, I was an enthusiastic participant in this revelry. I attended every game- yelling, clapping, and crying with our boys. Likewise, I took part in another activity with equal zeal- church services. I sat in the pew very Sunday – singing, clapping, and praying with fellow worshippers. Commitment was the key in both of these activities, and I sat in both places wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself, yet feeling completely isolated as the crowd roared with enthusiasm.
Don’t get me wrong- at first I was very present- I was moved by the emotion and excitement the struggle represented in both venues. Slowly, however, things changed. I found myself going through the motions, less and less touched by the upheaval of passion that existed on the football field and in the chapel. As I watched the struggle on the field, I listened to the jeers of “fair weather fans”; in the chapel I felt the stinging, silent judgment when I declined an invitation to join the choir, teach Sunday School or lead the puppet ministry.
I stopped attending football games- then I stopped attending church regularly. I didn’t miss the football games; I spent Friday nights doing personally nurturing things like reading, dating, or grading papers. And I didn’t always miss church. I missed the singing. I missed the personal messages from the pulpit that I remember from my childhood. I missed the reverence. I did not miss the hypocrisy, or the guilt and judgment sometimes associated with “holy” people.
I look back now to ponder the reason for the sea change in my heart. I am an observer, and I observed many people who would dive into football season with zeal, but have lukewarm relationships with their family and friends. A conversation of depth and meaning was fleeting, taken over by halftime statistics and scores. Religion can also serve as a substitute for genuine connections with those around us. Over and over I experienced relationships involving a façade of faith, dedication and service. I have known true people of faith, but too often these are overshadowed by the self-serving parishioners, not unlike the over zealous fans of the gridiron. You‘ve seen them, with banners held high, turning on their “team” at the first sign of weakness or imperfection.
How sad that both venues have the potential to create a cocoon of faith and support, but so often end in judgment and subtle ridicule for not being “good enough.” Both football and religion produce raw and vibrant emotions that move people to do, well, amazing and unspeakable things. Why else would a person paint their whole body blue, or strap themselves with explosives?
In my observations, I have come to some conclusions. Anything that personal and emotional has the potential to morph into something unlike its original incarnation. Second, if people are in any way involved, this will happen. And finally, until we can move beyond the football faith of extremism, our lives, relationships, and even our final score, will suffer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
