Elijah and Max had been together for a long time. A very, very long time. Too long to remember. They think they started dating when they were–17? Or was it 19? They couldn’t remember. But here they were, 56 and 54.
When they’d started dating, everything was new and exciting. Neither of them had ever been in a serious relationship. They certainly hadn’t thought they were going to be each other’s forever, but here they were. On a date at a pretty, little restaurant.
The same date. At the same restaurant. In the same booth. Served by the same waitress. Eating the same things that they would always order. For the third time that month.
When they’d started dating, it had become a tradition, a cute little place to have their cute little dates, to remember how in love they were and to celebrate how long they’d been together. But that was almost 30 years ago. Or was it 40? Maybe even 50 at this rate. Who knew—they certainly didn’t.
Not that they weren’t in love. They still were in love, painfully and desperately so. But things had grown… cold. Stale? Deflated. Use any other word for boring, that was what had happened to their relationship. Max knew when Elijah would wake up, what time he’d brush his teeth, and what time he’d use the bathroom. Elijah knew what time Max would go to bed and what time he had to have dinner—he even knew when he needed to stop drinking caffeine in a day. There was nothing left to find out about each other. Everything done, everything explored, everything spoken about.
So here they sat, in silence, in their restaurant. In their spots.
Max let out a huff of air as he looked out the window. The restaurant overlooked the sea, their little booth perfectly positioned to have a perfect view of the harbor. How boring, Max thought to himself. He looked back to his husband. His Elijah, who was sitting with the same bored expression on his face and pushing his cold food around his plate with a fork. Neither of them attempted to make conversation with the other. What was there to talk about anymore? Was there anything left? Someone would have to invent new topics because they’d truly spoken about everything. Every film, every song, every TV show. They’d seen almost every country and lived everywhere they’d ever dreamed about. Tried every food under the sun. They had well and truly done anything and everything together.
“The weather is nice today,” Max said, reaching out to hold Elijah’s hand over the table.
“Doesn’t it always look like this?” Elijah glanced out the window, before turning back to his food.
Max sighed and let go of his hand. He dropped his palms onto his knees and stared at the floor. What could he do? What was there to do when everything had been done before?
The door to the restaurant dinged open, and a small couple approached the hostess stand. Their little waitress hopped over to them and guided them to a table. As they passed, Max couldn’t help but listen to them talk. In Spanish? Or was it French? He couldn’t tell, all he knew was that he didn’t understand what they were saying. Oh, to speak another language, one only I knew. He thought to himself as he watched the couple sit down a few tables from theirs. Talking in their language, the one that Max didn’t understand. What were they talking about? They must have a million and one things to talk about in a different language, a million and one different topics.
He looked back at Elijah, who was completely unphased by everything, as per usual.
A large grin stretched out across Max’s face as he stared at Elijah, the most glorious idea popping into his head.
“Astral poptin guard?” Max said to Elijah, who looked up from his plate.
“Sorry?” He stared at his husband in confusion.
“Astral poptin guard?” Max repeated, waving his hand around Elijah’s face. Elijah dropped his fork onto his plate and reached out to grab Max’s hand.
“Honey, you’re not having a stroke are you?” he asked with genuine concern.
“What? No, I’m fine”
“Then what on earth are you saying?”
Max pointed to the couple,
“I’m speaking a new language, one no one’s heard of before, play along”
Elijah looked at Max, back to the couple, and then back at Max. Before he began to laugh—a loud, glorious laugh.
“Okay, okay, sorry. Ask away.”
Max sat up straight and cleared his throat.
“Astral poptin guard?”
Elijah nodded his head enthusiastically. He pointed to a car passing by outside.
“Skeptman hans upton,” he blurted gibberish to his husband, giggling behind his hand. Max feigned surprise as if Elijah had said the most outlandish thing he’d ever heard.
“Perf mun at woodbend!” Max exclaimed and slapped his hands onto the table. The two of them giggled widely like little kids.
“Can I clear that away for y’all?” the little waitress asked, tidying up their table.
“Sendo mulchtimeness,” Max replied, Elijah nodding his head in agreement. The waitress didn’t say anything to them, just slowly nodded and walked away. The two of them burst into a fit of giggles as they watched her leave.
Elijah reached his hand over the table and held Max’s, staring at him with renewed adoration.
“Max… I—” He paused, drawing a blank. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say? Not in English, not in their new language; he couldn’t say anything.
Max squeezed his hand and smiled at him sadly.
“I know, Ellie, I know.” They said nothing to each other. There was nothing left to say. They looked out the window, watching the clouds roll past. Max looked back at his husband.
“Wets no pant qens”,
Elijah laughed and smiled. “I know. I love you too”.
Madelin Gonzalez Franco has been an avid writer since she was able to pick up a pen. A recent graduate from University with a degree in Creative Writing and Screenwriting, she spends her time drumming up ideas for her next script, excited for what the future holds.
Featured image by Igor Starkov on Unsplash.
