Table for One

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Was I ever that young?

I spend the short course averting my eyes from the lovers hooked up like IVs to one another. A third wheel to my own belated celebration, I quickly calculate the time to pay the bill and make the trip home before the snow. I fill the silence with a reporter’s questions, occasionally lit up with mutual interest centering around the children. A part of me, between the knobby knees and the rape, crawls into a hole and tries to die quietly, so as not to disturb the Renoir painting come to life for the blessing of others.

I grab a bag of cheddar popcorn to go from the 7-11.

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