Yesterday, I stood sweating outside a restaurant waiting for a friend. Another waiting woman and I were positioning ourselves in the tiny slashes of shade under and around the awning, not talking to each other, but in a clear conversation: Breeze here, shade, turn, yes! Better.
I was wearing a dress, but it was made of a fabric that should be illegal, something synthetic and clinging. I might have looked good until you got close and saw the way it grabbed me and made me hot and irritable. Thank goodness my friend arrived and we were able to go inside where it was air conditioned, the place sucking up its fair share of the universe's energy.
Nothing really was how it looked yesterday. My dress looked nice, but it was hot. The restaurant said it was serving me swiss chard, but it turned into little delicious, artery clogging dumplings served in brown butter sauce. The chicken was a chicken, but by then I was so full from clogging dumplings, I had to take it home. My friend and I talked and wandered around the black hole that always comes along with us now, this place that we don't really delve into because it has caused us so much pain. From the outside, we looked like two good friends having a clogging meal, but we were two good friends trying not to touch the live wire.
Once upon a time there were four friends, but then someone said something to someone else. There were accusations and lies and then a love affair and then a gigantic fight. Several, mostly between two of the friends, but a few between the others. One person seemed to get everything she wanted. The others, not so much. There were car rides in the middle of the night. Weeping. Belongings delivered to doorsteps. Hotel stays. Emergency overnights. Not so nice emails. Then we all raised a white flag, but by there were crisscrosses of who wouldn't talk to whom, friendships that were broken, careful constructions of conversation to hide the mess.
So while my friend and I might have looked like things were okay as we ate the dumplings, we weren't, really. We were the black dress and swiss chard dumpling of friends, trying to continue onward, while looking back about three years earlier to a time when everything was exactly as it seemed.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org