My lost love invited me to share a meal, you see. I'd 
supply the vegetables and she'd provide the tofu and 
the tea. Her memory still haunted me, but Thursday 
seemed as good a time as ever. I arrived, standing at 
her door with a wet paper sack of carrots, sprouts and 
celery. She lead me to the kitchen in the back. I felt 
my composure crack when she turned and handed me the 
cutting board. All I want is for her blue eyes to link 
with mine. I vainly hoped that we'd pretend that things 
were still just fine, but she's ruined by society and 
I, by what's inside of me. Now she's pulling out the 
wine. She says it is a '60 Chardonnay. I wouldn't know 
the difference so I cough and fake the next line of our 
play. I know but will not say all the things she would 
have rather heard along the way. As we eat, her hands 
shake just a bit. I thought she might be nervous but 
she soon removes the last doubt benefit, and when she 
spoke she spit. She is on her seventh glass already. I 
watch my table manners. I won't provoke a fight but I'm 
walking on calm coals that threaten to come alight. My 
stomach's pleased and yet my mind, it does ferment just 
like the wine here on this painful night. Her eyes give 
me a glare across the feet between these seats, where 
we sit opposite and chew our bites like speaking was 
obscene. My train of thought careens and crashes into 
memories of us smiling. But then she speaks: She feels 
that we'd be better off had we added in the pepper five 
minutes into the simmering of the broth. I smooth the 
tablecloth and contemplate the least offensive words. I 
watch my table manners. I won't provoke a fight but I'm 
walking on calm coals that threaten to come alight. My 
measurements were all correct but now i see as i 
reflect, i was never really right. The table is 
prepared with delicate ghosts of moments shared at 
times when I didn't know I cared. Oh, but I'm such a 
sentimental fellow, because all these forks and knives 
I see are just figments of a relative history, 'cause 
they're only visible to me and not the girl I wish 
could see them. It seems she can't see anything at all 
beyond the half-empty plates that now cover the length 
of the table.