It was like I’d forgotten how to make words. I nodded to her but that didn’t seem like it was enough. I freed up one hand so I could run a finger down and across my chest and then down again the other way. Cross my heart and hope to ... oh!Danielle seemed to accept that. She slowly nodded back at me and then drew away. Faith wrapped her arms around Danielle and held her. Pearl stood behind the two of them and gently rubbed Danielle’s shoulders and neck. Her face was still completely white. Her eyes still fixed on mine.I watched them do this and knew how much I’d upset her. I felt bad about that, really bad. I felt like shit. Here was someone I only met tonight and I hurt her. I hurt her terribly. I felt so ashamed. I hated myself. I hated myself more than I would ever have believed was possible.I huddled back into Dan and laid my head on his chest, watching Danielle all the time. Dan squeezed me gently with his arms and kept stroking me, stroking my back and my head. He was stroking. They don't seem to want to smile or even acknowledge a man's presence, lest we try to solemnize them right there on the threshold of the double doors into Panera. "Why do I fucking come here?" my mind screams.Once I get in, I remember. As snotty as they seem, they still intrigue me. Lean, slender, elegantly, elegantly coiffured women of all ages seem to be able to walk with their noses in the air; unseeing men around them. Others are on their cell phones; oblivious to anybody around them. Is it them or me? As a young man, driving a Porsche or Corvette, I thought I could approach almost any woman I was interested in. Now, in my seventies, they hardly see me. Occasionally I am amused / mildly insulted when an attractive sacker at the grocery store asks me if she should carry the groceries to my car for me.Having worked in an office doing drawings all my life, I am not used to daily conversation. I am not that good at it. Never the less, I seem to be drawn to places like Panera's to see.
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