JonathanRyan.org

Over Dinner
Fiction by Hal Wierzbicki

Glasses clinked and plates clattered, adding to his tension. He wondered if he’d be able to do it tonight.

“So Mary-Anne at work was telling me about this great new show she saw on TV the other day, what was it, something about a lawyer and a cop solving crazy cases…“

He wasn’t listening. The waiter returned with their meals. It was the usual fare; a garden salad with Italian for her. A steak, medium rare, for him. He sawed off a piece of the meat, salted it, ate it. Before he swallowed, he went to work on a second bite. His knife slipped, grating across the plate. He cringed at the sound. She paused her monologue to sip at her tea and he savored the silence. A child shouted across the restaurant, repeating the same thing over and over. “I want the cake!” She started talking again, and he wished something as simple as dessert would shut her up.

“I want a divorce.” He said. She didn’t hear. He spoke too quietly. She never heard his thoughts anymore, not like she used to. He missed the days when body language told him more than her voice. How she did up her hair that day told him her mood, the tapping of her fingers betrayed to him her agitation. Thinking back now he wondered how she had turned into the woman who sat before him. She used to care about him, but it was all about her these days. Her job at the workout center, her friends, the things she did after work. He wondered if she remembered he had a life outside of her.

A waiter dropped a tray. Glasses shattered against the cold tile floor one after another. A hush came over the restaurant for a moment, everyone turning to see what had happened before dismissing it and resuming their meals. The waiter hurried out of sight. He chewed at a third bite, staring now at his plate. She continued to talk about her day.

“I want a divorce.” He said again, louder. She paused.

“Did you say something?”

He shook his head and cut off another bite. She continued her monologue, unaware that it was falling on deaf ears. He stared at the piece of meat on the end of his fork. Dull brown and dry. He put it down and stood. She looked up at him, and their eyes met. Her voice was silent at last, while her eyes asked the questions. For a moment, he remembered why he had married her in the first place. For the first time in months, her eyes actually saw him.

“Where are you going?” The first thing she had asked about him in days. He didn’t answer. Her voice cut through his memory, and he walked away.

 ~Finis

Author’s Note:   I don’t know how the formatting is going to turn out on the blog or on Facebook.  This is a second draft of a random piece of fiction I felt like posting to start getting my work out there.  If you’re reading this from the blog, feel free to leave a comment (C&C is welcomed), and if you’re reading this on Facebook…  Also feel free to leave me a comment, but be sure you do it in such a way I’ll find it, by which I mean not on Jon’s page.