the look.

she answered the phone. i had called the pizza place to order a pickup.
i had sensed her roughness on the phone itself. could only have been her.
when i reached the restaurant, i was confirmed. not that i was surprised.
i thought it must be her on the phone. not that i remembered her face, but i knew it was her.
and there she was. with her expertly sculpted beautiful face. the face wearing the look that was.

while the other waiter served me and i paid, i gave her the best of my....ignorance.
i thought as i headed out, what, if at all, i'd say to her should she come out from behind the counter.
"i have a question", i'd say.
"i don't have an answer", she'd say.
"you most certainly do", i'd say.
and before she'd have any chance to respond: "what bothers you?", i'd say.
"nothing", she'd say.
"that look on your face", i'd say.
"what about it?", she'd say.
"what is it that might be on a woman's mind when she wears that look you wear?", i'd say.
"i don't know, why do you ask?", she'd say.
"because i had a friend and she puzzled me with a similar kind of look", i'd lie.
"i don't know", she'd say. like i was expecting her to say anything at all.

"does it mean that i'm pissed off bad, stay off me?"
"does it mean i'm not in the mood?"
"does it mean something more specific, like, i really love guys who order a personal size pizza with two toppings?"
and she'd laugh.
"or does it mean something even more specific, like, the guys who order a personal size pizza with two toppings, can't be served by the hottest waiters in the restaurant?"
and she'd laugh again.
and look at me with that look of hers.

the look that she gave me now. as i finished my pizza and walked over in front of the counter across from her.
the look that she gave me now. as i walked out the door and left.
the look that she gave me now. before i could ask any of those things that were.