The Table

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The table rocked back and forth nearly spilling the drinks every time Cliff rested or unrested his hefty weight on it. He was trying to enjoy Angela’s eyes, enjoy her smile, enjoy her words that had a habit of making him laugh, but all he could think about was the pesky table leg and the threat of throwing cold beer into beautiful Angela’s lap.

This was hell for him. He could feel his blood boiling inside him. He’d already tried to bend a beer mat and place it under the leg to stabilise the situation but it had been to no avail - the table still lurched alarmingly back and forth. He bit his lip and tried to concentrate on what his angel was saying. She was telling a long story about her boss. Her words were wonderfully witty, turning a crappy day into a funny story but Cliff’s mind kept wandering to the threat of beer staining that pretty dress she was wearing. His brain bubbled with rage. The prices they were paying for these drinks the least the place could do was to keep the furniture in working order. It was a disgrace that an upmarket place like this could treat their customers so shoddily. Maybe they did it on purpose, spilled drinks meant more revenue. 

Cliff needed to cool down; he had a terrible habit of losing his temper, except losing his temper was a understatement. When Cliff lost it, Cliff lost it. He exploded with rage, molten anger showering the vicinity. People would run for cover but it was inevitable there would be causalities; innocent parties hit in the crossfire.  He had out of body experiences when that happened. He could see it happening, watch what a muppet he was being, cringe at how he was behaving, but he had no way of controlling it, no mechanisms to stop it. He leant forward to take Angela’s hand and felt the table rock and saw waves form in his drink. He was approaching breaking point, the point of no return.

The thing was this was only his third date, this wasn’t the time or place to reveal his short temper.

‘C’mon,’ Cliff said, his voice sounding just the angry side of neutral. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’ He took a startled looking Angela by the hand and strode out of the pub in a way that was only a shade below an angry flounce.  

‘Where are we going?’ Angela asked.

‘You’ll see.’ Cliff said trying to make his angry voice sound mysterious, but he didn’t really have a clue.

Then he saw it, the moon, full and big and beautiful. He pointed to it and kissed Angela’s cheek.

‘I wanted to show  you that.’ He lied, feeling his brain cooling down and his heart rate return to normal.

‘You’re such a sweet heart.’ She smiled up at him and kissed him tenderly. They kissed and then walked along the river admiring the moon. It was Angela who spoke next. 

‘I’m so glad we left that bar.’ She said. ‘the moon is lovely, you’re lovely but if we’d sat at that wonky table one second longer, I would have smashed it over someone’s head.’