Eva.
I'll never forget her name.
I'll never forget her face.
Four of them walked in, all shiny and clean, dressed for prom. But I really only saw her. Two boys, two girls, ready for a night that could be everything or nothing.
I briefly thought back to my prom. Nothing. I hoped more for them.
She wore a stunning, pink gown, something I would wear, I thought to myself. Her long, blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders to her lower back. Professionally done, I thought. Just for this night.
Her body was amazing...and she was showing off more of it than a woman should, at least for a 17 or 18 year old.
Judgment. Harsh and cruel, from my head to my heart to my lips.
My husband's back was to her, so he could only imagine my description of her beauty and how her well-endowed breasts poured out of her dress.
I told him he was not allowed to look, my own insecurities pouring out as well.
Other husbands? Their wives were not so lucky. I saw a married man leer at her while having dinner with his wife. One look, then another. I wanted to give him a talking to. But he would have to wait.
For she commanded all my attention.
Quickly, my eyes found their way back to her. The other couple held hands and looked gooey-eyed at each other. Eva's boyfriend -- or whatever he was -- seemed somewhat disinterested and quite homely. Way too homely for a girl like her.
Judgment. Again.
Harsh and swift.
Maybe that's why she feels like she has to dress so seductively at such a young age, I thought. Disinterest. I could relate all too well, as years of not being enough flashed through my memories.
Soon, three more girls joined the table. The no-so-lucky ones, those without a date. Again, my mind flash backed to my prom. I wish I hadn't had a date.
The other girls looked happy, almost giddy, as they joined the two couples. I was happy for them. Every girl seemed giddy really.
Except Eva.
Bread was delivered and the teens ate like teens do: hastily. But not Eva. She tore off a small bite, barely enough to get a taste. This was an Italian restaurant; bread is everything. I'm Italian. I had eaten four pieces by the time she had eaten her tiny morsel.
Entrees came next. My husband and I enjoyed full plates while I gave him the blow-by-blow of the actions of those at the table next to us.
Soon their entrees were delivered as well. I waited expectantly to see what they ordered, not just because of my fascination with Eva, but also because I love to see what other people order when I dine out. I want to make sure I chose the right thing, mostly, but I really like food. Cross that out, love food.
One of the girls got what I got: gnocchi. Good choice, I said. Several others ordered steak. One girl ordered something I couldn't identify.
Eva's food was delivered last. I held my breath as I waited. A salad was placed in front of her. I hoped it was the first course.
It was not.
As the other six hungry teenagers dug into their entrees as they had with the bread just a bit earlier, Eva carefully cut her romaine leaves, taking her time. Forcing down each bite.
When all was said and done, she ate about half of it. My heart broke.
Judgment was replaced by empathy.
I looked at her, looked at my husband, looked at her, looked at my husband. He knows the look. He has seen it before. He has told me more than once to not get involved, to mind my own business. The last time he told me that he reazlied it was a mistake so he's a bit more cautious with those words now.
He didn't say a word when I gave him that look and said, "Remember Megan?" He nodded. Enough said.
After all our entree plates were cleared, theirs and ours, it was time for dessert. We received it complimentary and, several minutes later, they did too. Oh, the joy! Not just dessert, but free? I loved hearing their squeals of delight, echoing my own from just a few moments before.
I'd like to say that Eva plunged her fork into one of two large pieces of decadent chocolate cake placed in front of the seven, but that did not happen. She took a very small forkful, then placed her fork down on the table as an act of finality.
I knew I was supposed to talk to her so I plotted my escape. I silently prayed for an opportunity. Then, boom, just like that, she got up to go to the bathroom. I jumped up like I was shot out of a canon. I looked at my husband and saw a slightly concerned look, but no matter. I was off to the races.
Eva and I arrived at the bathroom at almost the exact same time. She started to close the door when she saw me. She told me I could go first because she would have to take off the dress and it would be "a whole thing." I asked if it was a single stall and she said yes.
That's when I confessed to her that I didn't really need to go to the bathroom at all. All I wanted was to talk to her.
Knowing I was risking a lot and that it may not be taken well, I spoke fast, choosing my words carefully. I told her that I wanted her to know how beautiful she is. I wasn't prepared for what happened next. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. She thanked me, and when she let go, tears rolled down her face.
Should I say more? Delicately, I told her that I was sitting close to her in the restaurant and I noticed that she wasn't eating much. I don't remember every word I said, but she knew exactly what I was saying. She thanked me, over and over again, hugging me again.
Just then, a restaurant worker with a foreign accent walked by, asking why she was so dressed up. We both said "prom" at the same time. She said that this was not something they had in her country, then told Eva how beautiful she looked. She then asked if we were related. We looked at each other and said no, but Eva looked at me and said, "I can see it."
What a compliment.
I don't know how the conversation ended and I don't remember every word that was said. I do know that I asked for her name and she told me: "Eva." Then she told me she liked my shirt.
Something I am quite sure of: this was a divine appointment, just as much for me as it was for her.
In those few moments by the bathroom, I saw Eva. I looked into her face, into her eyes, and no longer saw the girl I judged when she walked into the restaurant. None of that even registered now.
Once again, I was taught a lesson.
I hope and pray that she learned something, too, from a complete and total stranger: that she is enough, something that will stay with her for the rest of her life.
As she will stay with me.