Loss of Appetite

The world shifted a bit when I walked inside, my resolution blind to the choke of memory. It wasn't even you, just your little sister.. I still wanted to turn around, and walk right back out of the restaurant. Go home. **** lunch. Hungry for solitude, I fumbled with the menu and meditated on the restless scabs of a beer battered soul. My father watched my jaw clench and squinted. Mumbled his query, but didn't push it. I couldn't speak, bloody tidal waves surging toward my eyelids, blurred the menu. Brinzano? Sea Bass with a Chipotle sauce on a bed of rice. Unsure of my palate, my tongue slowly shoveled the words out and I ordered despite my appetite for closure. We locked eyes for a moment, and she smiled. I nodded. Stroked my beard, and looked toward the truck. Stuck. It was probably rude. A bit pathetic. It wasn't even you, just your sister. But a relative of a butcher, still sometimes smells of blood. The food, flavorless in the mouth of bitter reflection wasted. The wait for the check, ticked slowly across my spine and I wondered if you ever saw the flesh of my posture in a crowd; If it stood out? Made you hungry? Or if you have forgotten, the way I've been trying to for so long. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.