At the restaurant, three booths over, a cockroach crawled across the wall. It seemed in slow motion. We were eating salmon, and I was telling Amy about my desire to own a food processor. For soups, I explained.I can see that, she said.
To own, I amended, and successfully operate--nothing fancy.
The manager made his way to the cockroach booth. The couple (beautiful) had just received their salads. In one practiced flick of the dishtowel, the bug was gone. The manager apologized. This never happens, he said.
It seems like something you'd write about, Amy said.
The roach?
No. The food processor.
Hmm...
So much for thinking my subjects are: 1) great love and 2) the painful disconnect between all things human, a disconnect which can only (and only momentarily) be bridged by paying terribly close attention to the moment, such close attention that the moment expands so beautifully and exponentially that it begins again.
It just sounds so you, Amy said.
The walls of the restaurant were bare except for paintings. My salmon was gone; I eyed hers hungrily.
2 comments:
I love this one...
i am jealous: of the lunches you eat without me, of the things you say and the way you say them, of the way you can make me jealous without making me hate your guts :) that probably didn't come out right (seldom does)... what i meant to say is that i love you so and miss terribly. you, AND the writer-you, i mean.
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