Standing outside the 49ers’ stadium, I intently watch a woman selling hotdogs. She works in a cramped space. The aroma of sizzling sausages and onions fills the air, mingling with the smoke that constantly emanates from her cart. I can’t imagine she enjoys this—being wrapped in smoke and yelling in her hoarse voice. A long line of hungry football fans are impatiently waiting for their turn. Amidst the crowd, I spot a couple locked in a tight embrace, their laughter and whispers carried by the wind.
Two years ago, he and I shared a hotdog outside this stadium. The sizzle of the sausages, the tangy smell of mustard, the warmth of the bread, and the crunch of the onions flood my mind. He gingerly wiped the remnants of mustard sauce from my lips. The brush of his cold fingers sent a shiver of delight through me. Later, we watched the 49ers emphatic win against the Rams and celebrated with beer. But now, all that remains is the echo of our laughter and the ghost of his touch.
As I watch the woman efficiently making those hot dogs, collecting cash, and giving back change with a smile plastered on her face, I can’t help but wish I were more like her. I wouldn’t be here alone battling the cold fall weather, longing for the warmth of companionship. I wouldn’t be standing here watching those happy faces around me, experiencing the pangs of envy coil around my stomach like an ugly serpent. I wouldn’t be cursing myself for being stubborn in wanting my space after those long working hours at my tech job. The last straw was on that July 4th weekend when he urged me to attend his friend’s barbecue while I preferred to retreat to the solitude of the mountains. He called me selfish and inconsiderate. I called him insensitive, needy, and clingy. And then he walked away from me forever.
Today, fifteen months after that ugly episode, I am still single and laid off from my job. I wish I could turn the clock back and have another chance to redeem things. He is probably in the vicinity—a tall, muscular figure with sculpted arms wearing a red and gold 49ers’ jacket, sharing a steamy hotdog with mustard sauce with someone more patient and effervescent. As another gust of wind blows, I imagine them locked in a passionate embrace. I bite my lip so hard it bleeds. I run my tongue over my lips. The bitter taste of regret and envy continues to swirl inside my mouth.
