At The Table

The restaurant smells like a fish market. The splintery wooden chairs, the velvety dirty red backs of the booths, even the air outside the door has the smell. Like too much time was taken moving seafood on a humid day. I wipe my feet a couple times before I make eye contact with the host. His face takes a second to get used to. He is a round man with a few deep wrinkles. Two warts are placed slightly asymmetrically on either side of his face. His small mouth is closed. He must be waiting for me to say something. Not a lot of people are in the restaurant but it feels pretty loud. I don't know what to say. His mouth, almost imperceptibly, opens.

"Just you tonight sir?"

It takes me a moment to realize he is talking to me. "Um." I take a second to make sure the right words are going to come out. "Yes, yes I would like a table please."

I wonder why I chose this restaurant. I really want to open a window but there are none. The host walks me past a few booths and tables, some filled with quiet couples eating. The room is spacious enough but the red thick curtains on the wooden walls make me feel claustrophobic and anxious, like I am about to go on stage and don't know my lines. The host stops and crosses his hands at a small table near the back left corner of the room. I place my jacket on the chair facing the door and the portly man leaves a menu.

I am sitting at a small table with one plate and a candle that looks like it could burn out at any moment. The table is made of a soft wood. There is a man walking up like he knows me. He is a tall man and when reaches me and lets out a breath I have to look quite a bit up to meet his eyes. We both sit at the table for a few seconds while his face makes a couple expressions.

"Where is Terry?"

What a strange question. It catches me off guard. I don't respond.

"Ok... how are you feeling?"

Why does he want to know how I feel? I try to wipe a stupid look of my face and respond, "I-I'm doing well, it's a beautiful afternoon, you?"

He sighs and combs his hand through his hair.

"Nothing is getting done and I'm starting to lose it."

"Well, what needs to be done?"

The candle flickers a little more and I hope it doesn't go out.

"You don't want to hear about that" he says through a smile. His teeth are very white but his mouth looks a little stained like he had a glass or two of red wine earlier. The portly, warted host comes with a glass of water and sets it down in front of me. He looks at the man in front of me for a moment, I expect him to say something. The man at my table has become occupied on his phone. I don't say anything. The host lets out a breath and leaves. I haven't looked at the menu yet. The man picks up and takes a sip from the glass of water. He drinks too fast and a little bit of water drips down his chin. His lips look a little purple

"Grapefruit?" I say loudly startling a couple people around us including myself. Why did I say that? The wax of the candle is slightly whiter than the table cloth. I think this man ate my grapefruit.

"What?" the man looks confused. "What about grapefruit?"

I am thinking off the time when he was a boy and ate a grapefruit I had cut in half for myself for breakfast. I noticed I was missing one of my shirt buttons so I left the kitchen to grab another shirt. His face was still covered in juice when I came back in. I was mad. I asked him why he ate it when he knew it was mine. He said he was sorry and that he was hungry but that just made me madder and I knew I was going to be late now. I picked up one of the empty grapefruit halves and asked him again why he ate it. Before he could answer I shoved the fruit into his mouth and told him never to eat what is not his again. When I threw away the rind I told him he had made me late again. I wasn't late though. I showed up to work on time that day. I was still fired a month later though.

We are still sitting at the table when I start to cry. Underneath the table I can feel that grapefruit juice and his saliva on my hands, dry but still sticky.

My mouth opens and closes a couple times before I can let out any words. I think I tell him I am sorry and he can have as much of the food in the house as he wants and that he shouldn't be afraid of me and nothing was his fault. He is talking to me though and he looks concerned. He touches my shoulder and speaks calmly but his voice is a little unsteady. He repeats something to me but I can't tell what it means and forget it anyway. Only a couple tears came out of my eyes and I wipe them away. This man across from me doesn't have a plate and the table only has one menu, he must not be eating anything tonight. Neither of us say anything for a while. Then he blinks a couple times and shifts in his chair.

"I think it's probably best" He says.

The red curtains and wooden walls make me feel like I am backstage in an old theatre. The candle in front of me is flickering like a stage light telling me to exit.

I am sitting at a small table in a restaurant that smells like fish.