Chinese Fire Drill

A poem about when I was at a fancy restaurant and a waiter and I had been exchanging glances. But once he made a small mistake, he looked like he no longer felt like he should look at me.

He dropped the bowls.

Everyone laughed. 

I felt so bad, knowing I'd been looking his way since I'd arrived.

I'd been craning for his attention.

A simple action can switch the roles of two people in an instant.

He was older, taller, working.

I was younger, more timid, a guest.

I would smile and look away shyly.

He'd stare my direction bravely.

But,

He dropped the bowls.

Suddenly, it was as if the world turned around.

I turned around when I heard all the clatter.

There he was, picking them up.

Ashamed, embarrassed, worried.

When he glanced up at me, his face had changed.

His demeanor turned to that of a child before punishment.

He blushed, so scared my mind had changed from such a simple action.

It hadn't.

He was still older, taller, and working.

He still sent a small pang of nervousness through my abdomen.

He was still on top in the social situation, to me at least.

Nobody else saw it that way.

He didn't see it that way.

All of the sudden, he was at the bottom.

Hoping, praying for his mistake to be overlooked.

He avoided me the rest of the evening.