Without Narration

Posted on August 6, 2006 in Eating

The waitress took an unusually long time to bring out my Chicken Katsu because the kitchen staff was two cooks short. I saw plates that didn’t resemble my order twice before she came with the correct one. I sipped my water and kept my temper because the sun shone but did not boil the air.

While I sat there, I peered (if one can call that force of mind peering) into my forehead and witnessed a clearness I was unfamiliar with. All my life, I have seen the world through a lense of dirty dish water. Here I saw just the parking lot, the potted plants, the people walking into Kohl’s, a few clouds, and the sunshine. Just those things without narration or expectation of a plot or emotion.

Was that what I’d been missing all these years hidden inside my illness?