Forkful by Forkful

My newly-named GPS Juliette directed me to the park where I met her – beautiful and wearing orange.  A lot has changed in the six months since I’ve last seen her – I’ve played blue when I should have played red and she’s played her share of unexpected cards too – but after speaking to her about commutes wet with more than the rain I knew we’d meet with me in a dress and her in orange.

The waitress had to come back three times before we were ready to order.  I apologized – “we’re catching up: it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”  When lunch came we ignored ettiquite and dug in – we were both famished.   We remarked about the weather, wondering together if it’s ever rained this much around here.  Neither of us – well, none of us actually – are quite sure what to make of it, but I suppose in situations like these there’s nothing to be done but laugh, grab an umbrella, and wait it out.

My mother told me the other day that leaving a good tip is a sign of a viable marriage prospect, and she left a great one – our soulmate theory once again confirmed.  We headed to the car as large drops began to fall, sitting and listening to a song that meant the world, waiting together for the short but violent storm to end.  We met then with another, newly pedicured and tattooed.  She kept making remarks and laughing at herself – “I’ve changed a lot” she said as we nodded silent and introspective dittos.

The lady in orange left, and she the newly painted and I were left.  The “P” in her took us to Albion, and we socwered the place for sisters or something we knew.

We found three – They were bright as the setting sun and we were weathered as the pavement that had seen an unseasonable amount of rain.  She and I could watch them in the rear-view mirror of her suburban SUV, but as we drove the back-roads of the Albion “suburbs” we declined commenting on the irony.

We ate dinner at La Casa, a surprisingly delicious Mexican restaurant and one of the few multi-cultural treasures that Albion can boast.  (The loss of New China was unexpected and devastating.)  The music was peppy and as vibrant as shades on the walls.  Her recommendation of the famed vegetarian quesidillas was an excellent one, but one a little too large to take in one sitting.  We asked for boxes.

She looked over at me, moving my fork between my plate and a white styrofoam container, rearranging small piles of rice from one to the other – She laughed as I spilled a few spicy grains each time.  “I’m glad I’m not the only one doing this bit by bit with my fork.”  I looked her; for a moment I was completely unable to comprehend that any other way to sort through these leftovers might exist.

She held a fork in her hand as well, but one across from us had thought to pick up the plate, dumping everything leftover with one quick and efficient swipe of the fork.  I furrowed my brow and thought for a moment – and we laughed together through it.

I’m with you one hundred percent. I said as I returned to my slow and somewhat messy process.  Bit by bit – forkful by forkful.

I think someone made a joke while a few others laughed, but we didn’t seem to notice – we just kept on going until we were done.

“You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” – E.L. Doctorow

yours.Rachel