~She Was Lavender~

(The internet's logic; how Distrust, housewifely duties, and acknowledgment are brought under one sweet name; lavender)

He didn't know her name, but he could tell by the way she moved her hair from her face that she didn't trust him, nor recognize him. "Will that be all today, sir?" She had probably asked this question a hundred times today, but for him it took his breath away.
He said yes, because the savory chicken fried steak and cherry pie were indeed all that he needed, today at least. She handed him the bill, enclosed in a thick black paper taco that seemed to say 'we are a classy establishment'.
He tried not to let his eyes linger, but he couldn't help notice that her hands didn't fit in with the rest of her body. She was by no means tall, her short dark Hair was tucked behind her ear- her ears were pierced with small purple studs that matched her lipstick. Everything about her said 'elegance', except her hands- they looked worn.
He felt uncomfortable and looked away; an elderly couple sat across from him, he hadn't noticed them earlier. "Alright, Well have yourself a good day sir- come see us again." And she was gone.
A moment passed.
And another.
And another.
 He had missed the sun set, but the sky was still light blue, and probably would be for another half hour. He imagined what the other passerbys thought of him; walking home alone in a dark blue coat, hands in his pockets, head in the clouds- or more accurately in the restaurant, as he wondered what type of woman hid beneath the clean cut courteous waitress.
 What was her name.. He couldn't remember seeing a name-tag on her apron, but she must of had one.
 "Can I interest you in some roses?" The old lady approached him everyday as he turned onto the street that he called home.
 "No, thank you, but I-" he breathed in deeply, the expression on his face changed.
"Ah, she is famous for taking breath away, doesn't she smell lovely?" He followed the old woman's gaze to an odd little bouquet with bright purple blooms.
"What is it?" Lavender.
And he decided that very moment that to him she was Lavender; the girl in the subway with the purple hat, the lady who sketched for pay in the park, the woman ahead of him in line for coffee every morning, and the mysterious waitress with purple lipstick. He had always known her it seemed, but he could never place her name.
Who would of known it would be such a beautiful name?
And so the man with the blue coat walked home alone, again. The only new thing about him tonight was that hope resided in his eyes; he breathed in just a little deeper; the word 'Lavender' rested on his lips.