Hello my little chickadees,
Last night I was talking with sig other about my most recent post and he had some very interesting insight, well once we got past the fact the story had nothing to do with us;) He brought up a very valid point when we were discussing the narrators belief that both parties felt the relationship was over. He questioned how did she know he felt the same way if they never talked about dissatisfaction. Maybe she was done but he thought though things were tense it didn’t mean they were through. Sig other is a firm believer in the idea that two people are not usually done with a relationship at the same time, there is almost always one of the two holding out hope. Well of course this got my muse all hot and bothered thinking about how to tell the story of the other half of this duo. So here it goes.
Unedited and Copyrighted by Janet Eckford
I look up from my plate to see her staring at me and I smile. She is lovely tonight as she is always lovey. I place my steak into my mouth and moan my appreciation at the tenderness of the meat. I love this place, always have, and they never seem to disappoint. With my mouth full I point to her soup that she has been swirling absently for some time and not eating. She takes a spoonful and smiles in appreciation. There is something off about her smile and I open my mouth to ask if she enjoys it but decide against it.
Things have been tense lately and tonight, our special night, I don’t want to have one of our arguments. I look back at my plate because I don’t want her to see that I’m thinking of that tension that has begun to permeate our life. I feel it like a great bleak fog that clouds my words and actions, making little things I say distorted and complex. I want tonight to be good like it was in the past. A past that had us eating and laughing at this very restaurant, at this very table, until the place closed down around us.
“I love this place,” I smile at her, hoping the memory of that love will infuse a joy in the evening I’m starting to feel lacking.
“It’s the best,” she replies with a smile that is lacking the luster she once had.
I don’t know what to say now as that fog grows thicker around us. I can see her but it is only the vague outline of what she used to be, of what we used to mean to each other. I feel a ball of frustration form in my chest because it doesn’t seem fair that it has become so hard. She is still so lovely to me but there is something happening that I don’t understand.
“Do you think we should plant roses this year?”
I want to shout that I don’t give a fuck about roses. I want to ask her what’s going on and why won’t she talk to me. I want to say whatever I need to say to not have us fighting but to clear up this pallor of gloom that has taken us into its cold embrace but instead I breath deeply and say, “That’s something to think about.”
It isn’t something to think about but I have no other thoughts left. I can’t help a small sigh of frustration escaping from my lips as I fork more food into my mouth. Food that has lost it’s initial vibrancy and tang.
“Yes, something to think about,” she murmurs as she catches my eye.
As I look into the face of this person I love, the person I have given and taken from in equal parts, I see something there that shouldn’t be. It is as if the fog has cleared for this briefest of moments and I have to look away at what clarity has brought.
“I love this place,” I say, trying desperately to get back to what we once had.
“It’s the best,” she replies.
The sight of her small sad smile is too much for me and I go back to my food and listening to the sounds of this place that used to be so safe and realize I’m okay with the fog for now.