Frying Pan Into The Fire: A Short Story

Words: 1215
Pages: 5

Chapter Two
From the Frying Pan Into the Fire

Oliver sat in a booth at a crowded restaurant called The Heart of Fire. I recognized again that tousled light brown hair. He didn’t appear to see me. I stood pressed against the wall trying to make my way to the table. He turned slowly to stare at me—his face was ridiculously handsome—and he waved.
I went over and sat down.
The waiter came over and said, “Two of the usual?”
Oliver nodded.
A few minutes later he returned with a heaping tray of food—burgers, fries, and a couple of strawberry shakes with whipped cream.
“You must come here a lot,” I said.
“What can I say, I like good food.” He smiled and then he bent his head to pray over dinner.
“So you’re a Christian?” It was a question, but it came
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And yes, I gave my life to Christ after the World Trade Center fell. I was at a youth revival and I felt His presence.”
Oliver continued rambling and I tuned him out. Finally, I held up my hand. “That’s great. You can give your life to whomever you want. Just don’t try to convert me. Because it won’t work.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I respect your beliefs but it’s not my thing.”
“I get it. So how’s the food?”
“The hamburger is delicious,” I replied, grateful that the subject had been changed. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Sure. So where are you from?”
“North Carolina,” I replied.
“That’s what I thought,” he told me. “Your accent kind of gives you away.”
I
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. . kind of complicated.”
“I think I can keep up,” he pressed.
I paused for a long moment, thinking about his question.
“My mother died,” I said. “And my uncle was an idiot so I left.”
“That sounds like a difficult situation,” he said, suddenly sympathetic. “I’m sorry. When did she die?”
“Last September.” My voice sounded sad, even to me.
“And you don’t like your uncle?”
“He used the Word of God to serve himself.”
He nodded understandingly. “I knew someone that like that once. It’s not right.”
The waiter came over and cleared the table. Oliver paid the bill and left a tip on the tray.
“I think you’re starting to trust me.”
I nibbled on a fry. “And so.”
“And so let’s do this again.”
“I have to go to work.”
“I’ll call you.”
Okay.
I worked for a couple of hours at the coffee shop and then I went home and slipped into the shower. The water was hot—a steaming spray that washed away the dirt and relaxed my aching feet. I stood in the shower, too exhausted to move, until the hot water ran cold.
Then I stepped out and wrapped myself securely in a towel. My long dark hair hung damply against my chest. I brushed out the knots and cast a glance in the mirror. I looked tired my green eyes were ringed with dark