Edward sat alone. He was eating a free dinner, on a grease-stained bench, in the lobby of the Plaza Single Resident Occupancy hotel, under a sign that reads, “No eating, No drinking.” I wanted to talk to him. I walked over, introduced myself and, wearing a smile that, regretfully, has become all too rehearsed, asked him, “How’s dinner?”
“Oh it was very enjoyable. I’m about to eat my second serving.” He took time between his words and continued, “You know, the second serving can taste different than the first?” He said, speaking with care and slowly alternating his gaze between me and his food.
I answered, doing my best to seem like I understood, “Huh... I didn’t realize that. That’s interesting. Does this serving taste different?” I asked, as I watched him move his fork around his food.
Edward, holding his plate, closed his round, blue eyes, revealing only their red, slimy outlines, surrounded by deep wrinkles, starting at the corners of his eyes, crawling up, into his forehead. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and finally took a bite. I repeated my question, a little confused. He answered, “Yes.” Trying to probe deeper, I ask, “So how’s your week been going?”
“I’m eating.” he curtly answered. Feeling like I’d done something wrong, I quickly spurted out a few confused apologies. Edward allayed my concern and told me, speaking in an uncomfortably slow voice, “I really appreciate food because food comes from nature and nature comes from God.”
Edward continued to explain for about five minutes, progressively inching closer to my face. I looked at him and listened as he repeatedly touched my shoulder with a strong hand, intensifying his words. And after listening to why Edward didn’t feel right talking to me while he was eating, it was he who thanked me.
Nice scene. The picture of him eating and you dealing with your own responses were well-considered.
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