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The Invisible Woman

Alison Ogilvie-Holme

    Catherine cannot remember when last she saw him. It was somewhere in the late nineties, right before graduation. Of course, at the time, she assumed there was a whole future waiting to unfold between them. That life was one long Hallmark movie without the extended commercials.
    Presently, she watches from a distance as a waitress approaches his table. Her long, dark hair is braided; her face nude but lovely. Such a natural beauty, marvels Catherine. Suddenly, her own choice of smoky eyes and painted lips seems cheap. Desperate.
    “Would you like a top up?” asks Young Waitress.
     “Love one, thanks,’ he replies ‘Did you just start working here?”
    “Yeah, just moved to the city, actually.”
    “Are you a student?”
    “Yes. I’m taking Psychology at U of T.”
    “A Psychology Major. I’ll have to watch what I say. Soon you’ll be analysing my behaviour.”
    Young Waitress throws her head back and laughs, louder than necessary.
    “Nothing too incriminating, so far. Except for that shirt. Your team is going down!”
    “Really?! That’s pretty confident coming from someone who’s barely been alive long enough to watch them play.”
    Catherine views this exchange with muted jealousy, unable to pry her eyes from the carnage. Despite being virtual strangers, there is something almost intimate about their well timed banter. It is a primal mating dance and Catherine the reluctant voyeur.
    In escape, she allows herself to relive the feeling. All of that attention focused squarely on her. The thrill of bumping into him on campus. Pretending to ignore his advances. Knowing with full confidence that he would mentally undress her, long after waving goodbye. And finally, anticipation of the next encounter, forever building towards climax.
    Back then, Catherine used to fantasize about marrying him, certain that his approval could solve every problem in the known universe. She would imagine the two of them growing old together and reminiscing about University. How fate had nudged them forward with a million chance meetings. Until, one day, fate took a permanent vacation.
    “Here’s your bacon and eggs, Ma’am. Would you like some more hot water for your tea?” Old Waitress inquires.
    “Um...No. Thank you. I’m good,’ responds Catherine, as if emerging from a trance ‘I’ll just take the bill, when you have a minute.”
    The next time she glances over, Young Waitress has moved on to a new table. He sits alone and reads the newspaper, taking periodic sips of coffee and smiling to himself. Just as Catherine is about to turn away, he looks up. For one brief moment, they lock eyes. Is there a flicker of recognition? Does he recall that blithesome girl hidden beneath the curves and crow’s feet of advancing womanhood?
    Without hesitation, his eyes return to the paper, unseeing. Tears gather and threaten to rain down Catherine’s face in streaks of black and grey. Her heart beat quickens. After all these years, everything that she has accomplished, the person she is today. Why should it sting so much? The fate of becoming invisible.

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