Part 1
Basilio’s Mediterranean Cuisine, read the menu, and that was all I understood. The dishes in the pictures looked delicious, but the descriptions were all in Greek. I had to page around the whole booklet like five times and I still felt no wiser.
I thought that maybe because we were in downtown Santa Monica they would have an English menu, but these business owners really took Mediterranean to heart. I gave it one last try. I could take that rice-looking pasta with what appears to be chicken on the side, or is it pork? Or maybe those meat skewers, or are they made of eggplant? I couldn’t decide.
“Good day to all of you, I will be your waiter today. May I take your order?”
“Hi. I will take the um...baked lamb with... Is that potato? Yes. I’ll take that,” said Claire.
“And I think I’ll take the fish over here.” Alex pointed at one of the pictures.
“Excellent choices. How about you?”
I looked up from the menu, and it was like looking at the sunrise.
The first thing I noticed were his golden, soft curls stretched back by a hair band, revealing his wide forehead and bright eyebrows. Underneath them, a pair of long, winsome auburn eyes met mine. He was wearing a white polo shirt, neatly tucked in and wrapped by a black belt around his slender waist. His skin was pale and soft and the hairs on his arms were almost white. His face was shaved and smooth, safe for a bit of his mustache, which was already showing.
How can someone be so effortlessly beautiful? I thought.
“Hey! It’s your turn to order,” Claire yanked me from my reverie.
The handsome waiter was holding a small yellow notepad with his right hand, the other holding a pen. He was staring back at me, waiting for my response.
“I- I’m here. I’m here,” I stuttered. “Sorry.”
I looked at him again and fought hard not to drift away for a second time. “It seems my friends have come to this place before, and have their favorite dishes already. This is my first time, you see... and the menu is in Greek. I have no clue.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He tilted his head. “I’ll help you pick. Do you eat meat or are you vegetarian? Or would you like something cold? Have you ever tried a gyro?” He proceeded to explain the whole menu for me and I wished it would turn into a whole anthology of menus.
“Would you please pick something already?” Alex has never been the patient one.
“I am famished,” Claire added.
The waiter looked at me. Don’t mind them, his twinkling eyes seemed to say.
“I think I will choose the gyro,” I finally said.
“You sure?”
“I am sure. And a chicken skewer, please.”
He picked up the menus and read his notepad one last time, “Okay! I have baked lamb with potatoes, a bourdeto, a gyro and a chicken souvlaki coming right up.”
A voice from the kitchen caught his attention. He replied in Greek. Then another voice from the counter asked something in English to which he replied, “My shift is until 2 o’clock.” I couldn’t help but to swoon at the sound of his voice. To me, it was as if Music and Virility had had a lovechild.
A few minutes later, he returned with our plates and pita bread. He settled them down with our drinks—which I had just learned were called a soumada—and asked if we needed anything else. We were doing fine and thanked him.
As we ate, the girls couldn’t help but comment on how handsome he was. I agreed with them, but kept my fascination to myself because I felt as if I had been struck by lightning. Besides, I didn’t want them to mock my naïve infatuation. It was simply that, and I was aware.
We called the waiter back, and asked for a refill and for the check. He brought the drinks and another treat. It was a bowl of yogurt with honey on top. He held it towards me. I instinctively grabbed it—our fingers grazed—and as he leaned forward I noticed his nametag: Benediktos.
“On the house. For the newcomer,” he said as he winked. Benediktos winked.
“Thanks!” I replied. But indeed, I was spiraling skyward, like fireworks in the New Year.
On the counter, we left him a good tip. I couldn’t help but stick my head beyond, towards the tables, to see if I caught his eyes again. He was already serving new customers, scribbling on his notepad as a pair of old ladies dictated their order.
The door closed behind us and the warm summer air engulfed us once more. A lazy breeze would caress our cheeks everytime a car zoomed down the avenue. Facing the street, with the flat Pacific in front of us, we discussed where to go next.
“Is there a music shop nearby?” Alex asked.
“I think there is a spiritual library down the corner,” said Claire as she scrolled on her phone. “Here it is. Fulminata Book Store, spiritual and mystic library. It’s on Santa Monica Boulevard, near 5th Street. They also sell stones, and—Hey! They have a huge statue.”
“It’s decided. Let’s go there.”
“How about the Pier?” I suggested as I savored Benediktos’s gift, the cool yogurt soothing my palate. “They have Pacific Park. We just need to cross the bridge past the street.”
“It’s always so crowded...” Claire replied.
I looked at the clock. It was 12:37pm. There was plenty of time left. “Okay. Lead the way.”
We made it to the library and the first thing I noticed was the huge statue. A crossed-legged Buddha with garlands hanging from its head. I walked around it several times, admiring it. It was beautiful indeed. Behind it, there were shelves with drawers over drawers full of a myriad of stones. They were categorized by color and functionality. Some helped with courage, others attracted good vibes, others repelled the bad ones, and some even claimed to help with your professional endeavors.
The books were on the section to the right, all the way to the second floor. They were classified by topics and geographical locations. Alex and Claire were already ogling on them and casually tossing them around when they lost interest. Normally, I would have been the first one to lose myself under a stack of books, but my mind was somewhere else. And there was nothing else I wanted to do more. I checked my phone again. 1:03pm. I still had time, but I had to leave soon. I checked on the girls again. They didn’t notice when I walked out.
I put my phone on airplane mode and hid it in my pocket. As I made my way back to Basilio’s I couldn’t stop asking myself again and again, What am I thinking? What am I thinking? Keep walking. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, like a dagger constantly poking on my head. Back in the library, the idea hadn’t seemed as crazy as it did now that I had decided to pull it off. What if I’m really being stupid? What if he thinks I’m a weirdo? A creep? Then the other voice in my head would soothe my angst by reminding me that I wouldn’t know if I didn’t try. Besides, it’s not like you are gonna see each other again... You are only here for a day.
I turned the last corner and the Pacific greeted me with its blue immensity. Ocean Avenue was bursting with traffic, lifting the dusty warm air onto the sidewalks full of pedestrians. I reached the restaurant and looked at the time again. 1:45pm. Just fifteen minutes left.
I looked through the window but didn’t see him, so I squatted by the corner of the store and waited. I started rehearsing what I was going to say when a pack of loud seagulls flew by, and I had the impression they were laughing at me. I stopped immediately, embarrassed. My hands were shaking and sweaty.
I was just about to command my legs to stand up and walk away when—Ring! Ring! I looked to my right. From the side alley, a pair of bicycle wheels rolled past me and riding them was Benediktos, with his golden curls and white polo. It was now or never. At that moment, Never wasn’t an option. I stood up.
“Hey! Benediktos!”
