(no subject)
She comes alone every second Thursday of the month, dressed in the same
olive green top, jade bracelet with a sunflower carved into it, her limbs
tanned and smooth, tall slim and beautiful, her wavy long hair perfectly in
place, and her big brown eyes still gleaming - with tears. She would sit at
the corner booth all alone on a weekday afternoon past lunch hour, when it
would be empty.
It was a tough month, the world was still in a mess, and she needed to
let it all out. Slathering wasabi paste on her sushi rolls liberally, like
cream on strawberries. Then she popped them in, one after another, four
entire plates of maki-zushi. Then four more.
She cried, and she cried good, she cried real. Sniffed and cried into her
green tea, cried for everything, for everyone, for herself, for her friends,
for the lovers she never had, for the friends she'd lost, for the things she
could've had, for everything - the charity in the malls for orphans, for
abused kids, for the kids with the sad hollow eyes with amputated knees on
tv, for the mother who lost her son in a freak accident, for the daughter who
grew up alone without her dad, for the withering trees in the heat, for the
sorry lost eyes she saw everyday in the mirror, for the sick, for the
healthy, for the dead, for the living, for the undead, for the ones who
didn't want to live, all of them, for the joy the grief the bitterness, for
the anger the resentment the jealousy, for the ugly for the pretty for the
fat for the thin, for everything you hated and for everything you could've
loved, for the pain the pleasure the hurt, for brokenness made whole, for the
wounds scars for bleeding hearts, for all of us.
She sobbed, and would've wailed, but didn't, because a nice waiter (Ken)
came to top her green tea up every three minutes, and politely offered her
another box of Kleenex, as he did, every second Thursday of the month after
the lunch crowd was gone.
This was the sushi goddess, and she sheds sushi tears.
Every second Thursday of the month.