“It was almost two weeks ago,” Joe says. “But we can still celebrate.”

“Let’s. A bottle of wine to start,” this one says. She’s dressed plainly in a light green sweater and dark jeans. Whether she’s modest or affecting an over all this attitude regarding meeting her matches, Joe can’t tell. And he also can’t stop thinking about it.

She immerses herself so deeply in the wine list that Joe might as well not be there. She points one out to the waiter. They smile and nod to each other. Their degree of familiarity elevates her claim that she knows a place to meet, to this particular place being her frequent hangout.

“It’s pricey,” this one says. “But what the hell. You’re only however old you are once.”

“Fifty-two,” Joe reminds her.

“Right. Your profile. I’ve read so many.”

Silence falls between them as they read their menus. When Joe looks up, she has folded hers and pushed it to the side. She’s looking at him. Expecting something.

Patience. Let things unfold. He has promised himself he will work on that.

The wine arrives with an uncorking and pouring ritual that looks like the waiter choreographed it to perform for Joe’s date. And then, half-full glasses of scarlet liquid rest in their hands.

This one sips her wine and returns to her look of expectation.

“Did you decide?” Joe asks.

“I can’t. I saw the Cornish Hen but it got me thinking.”

A nod of his head. A sip of wine. Let it unfold.

“It’s just that a few days ago I found an injured bird down the block,” she says. “On his side. Couldn’t use his wing. Some of his feathers were mangled. Teeth marks.”

She sips.

Growling in Joe’s stomach.

“I got a box to put him in. You know. Take him to animal rescue.”

They both sip.

“Too late,” she says and shrugs her shoulders. A sad look on her face. Too sad in proportion to the context.

“I’m not going to order anything,” she says. “But you should. It’s your birthday.”

“Almost two weeks ago. So just the wine for you?”

And the rolls. She’s pulling her second one apart while chewing the first one.

Jeff Burd

is a graduate of the Northwestern University writing program and works as a high school English teacher in the northern suburbs of Chicago. Mr. Burd’s novella-in-flash Hello, Joe is the “coming of middle-age” story of Joe as he struggles to understand who he is and establish meaningful relationships. Thoughts of W.S. Merwin’s “The New Song” haunt Joe at every turn: “For some time I thought there was time / and that there would always be time....”

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⚡ The New Song by W.S. Merwin, republished at The Merwin Conservancy from The Moon Before Morning (Copper Canyon Press, 2014)