We almost said it. No, we did not really say it because the waiter interrupted the moment inquiring "chicken?” We both said "Here". He then put the pasta in front of me. A ghost of awkward silence sat with us at the table, but we tried to ignore him by resorting to the food. "Delicious?" I was asked. "Yes, and your chicken?” In a nice gesture, a piece of chicken was placed in my plate for a taste, but during the journey a drop of the saffron sauce fell on the white tablecloth in the space between our two plates.
Very few tables were occupied. Vague rumble came from far off. "Are there demonstrations today?”. I nodded. Although the question was clearly meant to only fill the gap of silence, my mind could not resist picturing the sweaty human bodies' wall in the misty square. I felt an imprisoned butterfly flapping in my stomach.
By then it was apparent that every attempt to avoid reaching the moment that we felt bound to go to, was useless. I let a sigh out. The saffron stain attracted my attention again. It looked like the sun in children paintings. Round, yellow, flat and lifeless.
I finally said "Well, we have to admit we can not get around it anymore, don't you think?” Few seconds passed without a reply before I heard "Did you enjoy the meal?" and the dark slim waiter with the wide fake smile started to clear the half-empty dishes off the table.
Hard when it seems inevitable but isn't...
ReplyDeleteThanks for the scene.