Joshua

I think it was winter. It had to be - there was a party at the restaurant and it must have been for Christmas. They never gave us parties except for big occasions. And he was wearing a cherry-red jacket. What other holiday could it have been?

His name was ... Joshua. "Not Josh," he always told us. I was waiting tables in one of those "casual" family restaurants, the ones with things hanging on the walls. Things that looked like they'd been tossed out of an attic. Oars, antique frames with stern-looking strangers inside, cracked mirrors.

But way before that night, Joshua showed up looking for work. I looked at this kid (I was all of twenty-six and much more worldly-wise, of course) who appeared at the host's station. I still remember it -the sun was shining behind him and ... silhouetted his figure in the doorway. So bright I had to turn away. Since the staff was replete with college kids always dropping out (of college and the restaurant) the managers would usually take anyone who came calling.

Joshua was about 5'8", maybe shorter because his shoulders were so tight and hunched they brought him down a bit. He had a strong upper body which I subsequently learned was from wrestling. I didn't really care which sport it was. Dirty blond hair, quiet, very shy. So shy that he could barely look up at you. I guess that's why even today I can't remember the color of his eyes. They hired him and I was told to train him. Sounded good to me.

Behind our salad bar, bets were immediately placed about his sexuality. What else was there to talk about? Scampi?

I felt a definite Boy Vibe but I'd been wrong before. And usually at the worst moments. After a couple weeks Joshua started dating this mousy, fragile slip of a thing whose name was Emily. Well, that was that, people said. That was that, was it? Emily was another one who could barely make eye contact, but I could, and did. I scrutinized my little trainee and his girlfriend. Something smelled fishy, and it wasn't the catch of the day. That was Joshua's title, at least in my mind.

Weeks passed and my protegee and I grew close. Walking too near each other, our hips would touch. Leaning over me to grab some knives, the backs of our hands slid across each other's. Always standing by my side at our pre-shift meeting, I could smell a faint aroma coming off his skin. Cinnamon? And soap?

Well, back to the Christmas party. After two or three drinks we found ourselves down in the wine cellar looking for champagne. I turned quickly and as usual he was right behind me, but this time too close to avoid. He was drunker than I and he stumbled into me. But this time we didn't break away.