Stories at Lunch

"What if I became a famous writer and one day you'd see these tales you told me on the pages of my bestselling novel?"

It was lunch time on a Friday which was usually way relaxed than on any other day. I was chomping on my broccoli and he was munching on a ham sandwich.

My colleague, a young Dutchman, was both voluble and vivacious. He'd breeze into a room in springing steps and expansive mood. He'd talk  cheerfully at dour faces and constipated grunts. He'd talk as if words were water cascading from a waterfall. And  he'd talk to himself if there was nobody to talk to!

Today, though, he had a willing ear. Stories have forever enthralled me and my friend was an incredibly eloquent storyteller. That, and his English accent, made for a truly captivating show.

"I would be honored if that were to happen," he answered earnestly sounding like Sherlock Holmes in Elementary, facing me in his swivel chair, legs crossed, his half-eaten sandwich in one hand.

It was pouring hard. I could hear the rain lashing at the concrete walls of the building, drowning the usual chatter of young voices outside the staff room. The cold, and the wet whirling of water on the glass windows must account for this vibrant feeling in my heart. The rain always did that.

"Really!" I said rather thoughtfully. "But you'd probably be publishing your novel yourself by the time I get to even write the first line of mine."

That was not a lie. He wrote every chance he got. I, on the other hand, was lazy. My question was in truth a rhetorical one. Listening to his tales of his days as a health care worker in the Netherlands made me think of how these vignettes could very well be fascinating scenes in a story bursting with life. But the idea that I would write them seemed to sit well with him. Which made me kind of embarrassed for myself--I knew very well I wouldn't be writing any time soon. A new series on Netflix just made sure of that!

"I once cared for a sweet old woman who used to be a great prostitute in her day," he began.

My ears pricked and my eyes brightened.

"Tell me about her!" I cried gleefully.

He immediately launched into a storytelling performance, spurred on by the soundtrack of the steady rain, rolling thunder, and a delighted audience of one crunching on a half-boiled carrot.