sage-whisker

[sage-whisker]

"and what side would you like with that?"

I stare blankly at the girl and the boy on the opposite end of the food court. They are laughing over burgers and shakes, smiles lighting up their faces. They are perfect, blindingly so, and maybe they wouldn’t shine so brightly alone, but together? It’s as if the entire mall revolves around them. Like in the books, they don’t notice the envious stares pointed in their directions, at both the girl and the boy, but mostly the girl. Such a perfect couple, I can imagine their parents gushing. Just made for each other.

When the boy isn't looking, the girl turns around, giving me a smile and thumbs up. Then she's talking to him again with grin.

I look down at the now cold crinkle-cut french fries in their red-and-white striped cardboard boat. Just ten minutes before, right after leaving the line for food, she had shoved them towards me, a grin on her face.

“Want my fries?”

It was the same question everytime, almost everyday for past seven years. She knew she could never finish her sides, and, as a charitable gesture, offered them to me. How generous. I was sure she’d donate to some non-profit food pantry any day now. I had given her a nod and my best impression of an encouraging smile as she went to join the boy at the table.

There were no other empty places except for at the other side of the room, near the improperly sanitized wall, where I sat in thought, lost in all the times I had done this, picking at her leftovers. Always the same.