"Inscription"
May. 7th, 2017 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ateolfNew Hon is mediocre, but he takes me here every Sunday. The chow mein is spectacular, he says. He orders it most every time and swallows in as few bites as the continuum of space will allow, while silently conceding to the warp and woof of time’s continuum, letting it stretch its feet afore and lean back its back in its chair and breathe in the stream of minutes and seconds and exhale, inhale deeply between each corpulent bite. I usually order orange chicken or the pork dumplings as they are not bad. The egg rolls taste good in the way fried things usually taste good by merit alone of having been fried. Today, dumplings are on my plate along with the crumbs of an egg roll since perished.
I allow my fork to push through the soft, pale, translucent skin, part the object to see the grey filling crumble into the new void. Now a half dangles limp and dripping from my fork as it undertakes the long journey from plate to mouth. I chew and swallow the silence as Dan smiles wide and shakes his head in admiration of the half-empty plate before him.
We have been here too long. The waiter drops off the check at our table as we continue to eat. The small, plastic tray sits still between us, shouldering its burden of thin, printed strip of paper, two slight wedges of orange, and two plastic-wrapped lumps of 330°.
Though Dan takes no notice of the staff’s pointed clue, I quickly finish off the rest of my dumplings to hasten the final act. I slap my credit card down against the paper. I take one wedge of orange and suck the juice between my teeth and tear the flesh from the strip of skin. I pick up one wrapped and rent a crinkling slash across one corner. I snap the cookie in half and chew both pieces thoroughly before glancing at the once-enclosed tape I now hold. The first thing I see is “10 16 18 20 23 28,” but this is meaningless. I turn over the strip in my fingers, no longer needing the glare of that indecipherable cryptogram and read the words of portent I had been looking for, “People in your surroundings will be more cooperative than usual.” I leaned back in horror.
The space across the table collapses in the gaze formed by our locking eyes. His grin spreads to reveal broccoli stuck between his teeth. I look back down at my empty plate. His hand extends and finds mine. It’s unresponsive but he squeezes it firmly nonetheless.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you were saying last month.” Oh god. “About time, you know, our time.” No. “How, yeah, you’re right, we do need to consider it and consider where we’re going, you know, together.” No, please, no. “The future isn’t just going to be there forever. There is a time, like you said, for taking what we’ve got, like, more seriously.” Dear god, no, no, no, no. “And maybe I should get things ready to move in with you.” What? Christ, no, no. “I think we’re important together, us being together. And I do love you so let’s go for it.”
I told him my head was spinning, which was not a lie, and excused myself to go to the restroom. I walked past the wooden door with caricatures of both sexes. I walked past and walked towards the heavier glass door with the metal bar crossing at arm’s height. I pushed into this door and stepped into the cool afternoon air. An unseasonal floral pattern spread and blossomed from my mouth, spilling that forgotten meal out among the bare branches of the spare garden tightly inscribing the wall of the building. I could see the back of his head, through the window, gently bobbing as he chewed his food. I staggered. Thinking. Tearing apart the closest reaches of my memory. Did I? Did I assent before quickly excusing myself? “Okay”? Did I really say “okay” in the instant that trailed his proclamation? I looked through my shaking hands to the shaking ground and focused on the burning sensation trickling down my cheeks. All I could do was turn around and walk. Walk past the car he drove us in. Walk past the laundromat next door. Walk past the intersection and traffic lights and parked cars and buildings and block after block of sidewalk and earth and sky and ocean and home. Walk until I find myself staring at an unfamiliar landscape in an unfamiliar part of town, facing the strange fact that he had been cooperative, he had stumbled into thoughtfulness, that on some level this is what I’d wanted, that in the most explicit terms this is what I’d asked for, that I’d had no choice but to agree to the corner I’d painted for myself, no choice but to initial the contract I’d already drawn. If my stomach wasn’t already empty, it would have continued to flourish and expand before me for the rest of all time. But I had nothing left except one thin string of saliva. For how long could I keep walking?
I could feel my phone quietly buzzing in my pocket. I already knew every word he had to say, across the line and through the air. I didn’t let him say them.
I allow my fork to push through the soft, pale, translucent skin, part the object to see the grey filling crumble into the new void. Now a half dangles limp and dripping from my fork as it undertakes the long journey from plate to mouth. I chew and swallow the silence as Dan smiles wide and shakes his head in admiration of the half-empty plate before him.
We have been here too long. The waiter drops off the check at our table as we continue to eat. The small, plastic tray sits still between us, shouldering its burden of thin, printed strip of paper, two slight wedges of orange, and two plastic-wrapped lumps of 330°.
Though Dan takes no notice of the staff’s pointed clue, I quickly finish off the rest of my dumplings to hasten the final act. I slap my credit card down against the paper. I take one wedge of orange and suck the juice between my teeth and tear the flesh from the strip of skin. I pick up one wrapped and rent a crinkling slash across one corner. I snap the cookie in half and chew both pieces thoroughly before glancing at the once-enclosed tape I now hold. The first thing I see is “10 16 18 20 23 28,” but this is meaningless. I turn over the strip in my fingers, no longer needing the glare of that indecipherable cryptogram and read the words of portent I had been looking for, “People in your surroundings will be more cooperative than usual.” I leaned back in horror.
The space across the table collapses in the gaze formed by our locking eyes. His grin spreads to reveal broccoli stuck between his teeth. I look back down at my empty plate. His hand extends and finds mine. It’s unresponsive but he squeezes it firmly nonetheless.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you were saying last month.” Oh god. “About time, you know, our time.” No. “How, yeah, you’re right, we do need to consider it and consider where we’re going, you know, together.” No, please, no. “The future isn’t just going to be there forever. There is a time, like you said, for taking what we’ve got, like, more seriously.” Dear god, no, no, no, no. “And maybe I should get things ready to move in with you.” What? Christ, no, no. “I think we’re important together, us being together. And I do love you so let’s go for it.”
I told him my head was spinning, which was not a lie, and excused myself to go to the restroom. I walked past the wooden door with caricatures of both sexes. I walked past and walked towards the heavier glass door with the metal bar crossing at arm’s height. I pushed into this door and stepped into the cool afternoon air. An unseasonal floral pattern spread and blossomed from my mouth, spilling that forgotten meal out among the bare branches of the spare garden tightly inscribing the wall of the building. I could see the back of his head, through the window, gently bobbing as he chewed his food. I staggered. Thinking. Tearing apart the closest reaches of my memory. Did I? Did I assent before quickly excusing myself? “Okay”? Did I really say “okay” in the instant that trailed his proclamation? I looked through my shaking hands to the shaking ground and focused on the burning sensation trickling down my cheeks. All I could do was turn around and walk. Walk past the car he drove us in. Walk past the laundromat next door. Walk past the intersection and traffic lights and parked cars and buildings and block after block of sidewalk and earth and sky and ocean and home. Walk until I find myself staring at an unfamiliar landscape in an unfamiliar part of town, facing the strange fact that he had been cooperative, he had stumbled into thoughtfulness, that on some level this is what I’d wanted, that in the most explicit terms this is what I’d asked for, that I’d had no choice but to agree to the corner I’d painted for myself, no choice but to initial the contract I’d already drawn. If my stomach wasn’t already empty, it would have continued to flourish and expand before me for the rest of all time. But I had nothing left except one thin string of saliva. For how long could I keep walking?
I could feel my phone quietly buzzing in my pocket. I already knew every word he had to say, across the line and through the air. I didn’t let him say them.
