To Eat Food and Nerves

The dishes are set before us. I am not hungry, though. She picks up her fork and digs into the food. She doesn’t dig, no. She’s more than that. She’s eating whatsoever, and I try to do something sane. But the food doesn’t look any good. I breathe in and out, and though I am sweating like crazy I smile at her, as to tell her everything is fine. She smiles back, and eats with delight.

Everything is not fine. I thought this was going to be a good idea, as I seat here, with her in front of me, so beautiful I’m intimidated. Her clothes are so precise and fit her so well, and I picture my clothes, and perhaps I’d rather be naked.

She has been the only one talking, throughout the night. She’s happy and whatever is brought to her she eats or drinks. Unlike me, because I really felt like puking and almost chocked when I drank just a bit of water.

Now that the food is here, the odor burns my nostrils, and I feel like I want to drop dead, just right there. I’ve never been too much into elegant eating. I wasn’t really hungry, but I just couldn’t eat. It was as if nerves famished too. I don’t know where to look because the food will make me sicker, but she will make me sick too. I finally pick up my fork and shiver at the touch, for it was so cold, untouched. I cut the meat into moderate bits. I didn’t remember for cutting to be so hard. And yet I pretend it’s easy, like if it was something I’d do everyday. Well, it IS something I do everyday. I just don’t usually do it seating in front of my favorite girl.

For a second, finally convincing myself, I examine the food. There’s the meat I’ve cut, and some bits of it are bathed in this yellow sauce, with red bits of something. There’s rice, but it’s not white. The salad is so full of little green things I don’t want to eat. I have to, though.

She is already finishing when I eat the first mouthful. Immediately, I remember my grandma, and how she used to make this soup of weird color that was supposed to cure anything. I hated it, and so I sort of hated my grandma. I was surprised, though, because I munch this food, now, and would’ve given anything, for the soup instead.

Perhaps is was so horrible, though it was more than that, because of nervousness mixed up. So nasty, acidic, bittersweet, and I really wanted to throw it up. Her always-smile tells me to hold it, to be a gentleman, or to try to be one. And so I smile, with hideous crap in my mouth, and mumble an excuse me and run to the bathroom.

I thought, to go out on a date, never again, a restaurant. If I’ll ever be able to date again, I admit miserably. I decide I’m going to stick with the movies.