A Fifty-Five Year-Old Woman

Finally gave UP on waiting! Translated…

It was six in the evening, I was, sitting at a hot-pot shop, saw her walking in, in her snow-white sexy dress, heavy makeup. She’d sat, waiting, at the table for two by the windows, then, picked up her phone, dialed, “I’m at Changchun Road right now, I’ll wait for you to come, then, we’ll, order together”, her ways made her look a bit foolish. She’d put down her phone, picked up her makeup case, quickly, redid her makeup.

without the need of ANYBODY else’s company, NOT my photo…

My friend and I were, eating and sitting close by, and guessing everything about the woman sitting over at the next table to us. The way she’d looked, talking on the phones, she seemed like she was in love, and yet, there’s, that scent of, not quite comfortable with her. A large glass of watermelon juice, she’d gulped it down quickly, before the ice cubes melted, it’d become, this small game she’d played.

“She’d looked happy, and embarrassed”, my friend, S made a note about her. “Stop your character analysis right now”, I’d given S the eye, spoken very loudly to him, feared, that his words will, increase the anxieties of the woman sitting next to us.

The woman got up, looked at the fully packed up items inside the freezer bins, then, returned to the table for two. We’d started, worrying about her, why hadn’t the person she’d talked on the phones showed yet? She’d stared at her phone, pondering, whether or not to call, in the end, she’d, given up on that thought. And, she’d gotten up, to get her third, or was it, fourth glass of watermelon juice.

Then, thunder started sounding off outside, followed by the downpour. Outside the shop, a crowd hurriedly, trying to, dodge the rain. The woman started shooting the pictures of the goings-on outside with her phone. “Look at her, she’s using the pictures of people being beaten, to mask up how defeated she’d felt.” S, who was, chewing on a squid ball, made the note. I’d looked closely, at this woman of about fifty, at S’s mentioning, there was, that white powdery mascara on her face, with that look of disappointment, she does, look, a bit, sad. She’d taken a few photos of the outside, and maybe, it’s how the glass panes started fogging up, she’d, given up on that finally. She’d finally, dialed again, and still, NOBODY answered this time.

originally for two, but now, it’s, just for one!!!  Not my photo…

“That man may not be coming”, S dubbed on, writing the stories for her, and I, for some unknown reasons, felt stressed for her sake, turned my head toward the outside, and waited with her. There was a man coming, is that him? Nope, his wife and daughter followed closely behind. Another one came from across the streets, in a raincoat, is that him? No, it’s an elderly man, with his bicycle. A man ran in the shop with the overalls, could that be, him? Oh, that’s the plumber, coming to fix something in the store. The woman glared over at us, had she noticed, how we’re, watching her? Or, had she, already, gotten used to, the whispers of strangers?

The phone rang, “It’s okay, it’s fine, take your time. I’ll order a pot, they have kimchi, hot-and-spicy, tomato, which one do you want? Oh, okay!”, she’d hung up, and looked relieved. Picked up the plate, headed over to the freezer bins, picked a plate-full of food, sat down, kept waiting. And yet, another twenty-minutes passed, the man on the other end of the line, still, a no-show. And the hotpot the waiter delivered to the table was already, broiling, and rebroiling. Ten more minutes, the phone rang, the woman picked it up, “It’s fine, I’ll wait for you, I’m not really hungry yet, drive carefully.”, she’d put her phone down, put in food items into the red soup that’s broiling now, then, picked up her phone, dialed again, and this time, she was, routed into voice mail.

Toward the icy, cold voice mail, she’d stated, “Fine, it’d been too many times already. I’m not waiting any longer. After all, a fifty-five-year-old woman, can pose as a twenty-year-old.”

She was having a great time, eating, stuffed herself with the sliced meat pieces, and that expression of how spicy the food were.

And maybe, that, was her truest self.

And so, this, is the process of a woman, waiting, with her heart out on her sleeves for someone, and, that someone was running late, and she’d still held out her hopes, and, he didn’t come, and this woman was, adapted, to be by herself well, even if the person that was originally coming didn’t show up, and that, is that sense of being comfortable with oneself that comes only, as one ages…

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