I wrote this microfiction a bit ago, and I’d really love some feedback on it. I’m finally not terrified to share. So, be gentle, but tear it up:
We haven’t spoken a word today. Not to each other. Not one. You spoke more to the gentleman asking you “refried or black beans?” than you did to me yesterday. And now we’re sitting here, not even across from each other. We’re sitting, how do they put it, kitty corner? We’re sitting kitty corner to each other. Not eating, just staring. Not at each other, just staring.
You’re not mad, as far as I can tell. We don’t get mad anymore.
The girl that just walked in: She’s gorgeous. Or at least, I think she is. In my 20’s I probably would have passed her by. Not stunning enough. But apparently my standards have dropped. Or at least everything feels more attractive than what I have. We met in my 20’s, back when you had tits out to your elbows and a mouth that made me think of things I didn’t know could be done. Now I’m looking at this woman, this girl, wrapping her mouth around a taco and all I can think about is what her mouth would look like wrapped around a hamburger or a fork full of noodles. Not even a sausage or a hot dog, let alone all those things I used to think of. I want to blame you for taking away my once preternatural ability to envision sex in everything, but maybe it’s not your fault.
Maybe none of this is your fault. I want it to be, god damn I want to be able to say that you single handedly stole away all of the love in our relationship. But shit, maybe it is you. You never seem to think I’m good enough anymore. Not even good enough to sit right across the table from. Fuck.
She’s eating alone. Maybe she works around here. Her legs seem to wrap all the way around the chair. I want to imagine them unfolding and rewrapping themselves around my legs but I can’t because I should have a kid her age by now.
Jesus this is embarrassing, it’s obvious that we aren’t speaking. But then who can judge when we’re all here at this glorified fast food place sitting at tables like we’re going out to dinner. We used to really go out, I mean really. Do you remember? We used to drive to towns 40 minutes out just to get the best salmon or the best pinot. We used to be something, didn’t we. God I loved you.
I think we’ve spent the last year silently blaming each other for everything but never making an accusation or blowing the top that we’ve driven out any love or happiness we used to get from the other. So it is your fault.
She left. Why haven’t we left? If she can leave so can we. Anyone can just get up and leave, anytime.