The two of them didn't do things together --not on purpose -- so the dinner was memorable just for that. Mother and oldest daughter, on either side of the table.. And then, Alice took her to the dark restaurant. Darkness and coolness seemed to always be at a premium in those days -- and food. Not food, which there was plenty of, but food with flavor. Alice loved the place for its elegance, for the fact of prime rib, for the clear ice in the cocktails and the soft cloth napkins. The food was, as people say, a matter of complete indifference to her. Lisa blamed decades in the kitchen, making do in Window Rock with food trucked up from Phoenix to the old Bayliss market there, making do in Phoenix itself with what was on sale and on offer Sunday afternoons when her mother finally got herself to the supermarket but the truth was Alice always saw food as a problem. Her problem. She had not asked for this, for being responsible in this way, for such a basic, simple thing, a thing everyone, even a small child, could really do for herself. That was the point of the dinner in the dark restaurant. Alice said, in so many ways, across the white tablecloth, in the dim light and under eyes of attentive waiters, Get out. Don't let this happen to you.
Listening, Lisa felt the sting of tears across the bridge of her nose and tried to concentrate on the blue cheese in her salad dressing. There were big bitter chunks of it, creamy and strange on her tongue.
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Your writing is just so lovely, so evocative! There's so much happening in this scene, just below the surface. Thinking back about your other pieces, I'm always impressed by your ability to convey subtext - and by the fact that every scene, even the simplest, has a rich subtext bubbling beneath the surface. Really masterful writing!
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