Baroque

My dad asked me if I was excited. I told him 'sure' as I put down a book by one of my favorite authors and met his gaze. His smile wrinkled by the hardships and turbulent emotions that passed through him in his adulthood. I smiled back.

That warmth would have remained untamed had it not been for mom, who warned me to be nice. I showed no facial transformation, but I found it demeaning that she still treated me like a child after these past few years. I knew better than her that the mood of an atmosphere, especially social ones, always depended on me.

The building looked different than I remembered. In the past I recalled a myriad of cars in the parking lot, but not there were noticeable gaps between the Honda's, Suburban's, Tesla's, and Toyota's.

Stepping out onto the gravel with floating ease, I closed my eyes, taking the whiff of cold air. Within the odor, my minds eye manifested the leaking pipe so potent you could taste it, the rotting garbage of things edible and not, and even the lavender perfume Mom had chosen to match her dress this evening.

All things which I knew existed before, but had now grown up.

*

The entrance was less vibrant than I remembered as dad pulled the red-paned doors open for us. As mom and dad came forward to the concierge, I took notice of the water wall across from us, its reservoir bubbling above a purple hue. The appeasing mechanism extended throughout the walls of the restaurant and it quickly grew dull for me at that moment. 

Treading to the front, I continued to scan around the lavish restaurant, vitalized by opaque balled lights, and the families, couples, and middle aged erstwhile friends. All too engrossed too look up, even the ladies with no meals present.

Later, as our waitress, Sharon, led us past the bar and clothed tables, we arrived at the booth. As my mom's waist covered most of the seat, I could feel my right leg slowly cascading off the crimson cushion. Shifting against the booth's wall, she scolded me to strengthen my posture on the seat.

As mom and dad began to beam at each other and Jake rested his elbows on the tabletop to bolster his face, I looked around and strangely started to think the restaurant was more soiled in color before than it was now.

Was I missing something? Or was there something following me?

*

Is there anything on the menu that is not swimming in some exotic sauce?

After examining the hardback that Sharon gave me, I flop it on the table and brush the circumference of the empty water glass whilst cleaving my flat back. I know what to order.

As Sharon came back, I remembered to grin pleasantly and inject as much articulate crisp speech as I can when I order my filet cooked medium rare. Mom makes sure to stress the importance of asparagus as a side, which makes Jake roll his eyes. I do nothing, as was expected of me.

Once I send the menu to Sharon with a thank you, there is an uncomfortable awe filling the air. Mom and Dad breathe heavily while grinning, proud to call their daughter a lady. I do not meet their approval and instead resume watching children fiddling with crayons at the 6 seat table 10 feet to my right.

I wanted something to occupy myself.

*

My head found its way towards the sound of Jake's boisterous voice. He was talking about Nancy and debating the date of the prom with Dad. Jake was a good brother, and although Mom gave him credence to drive at 16, Jake felt his every move being scrutinized by Dad, especially when it came to Nancy.

Perhaps it was my imagination, but an evolving self-assurance grew in Jake in the past two years, and he seemed really ecstatic to take control of his life after Senior Year in some college I forgot the name of.

This is my year, boys. I am gonna soar!

Mom needed to remind him to keep his voice at a minimum for superficial purposes. Of course, that meant she didn't want everyone in the restaurant judging her makeup. But we all had a good laugh at Dad and Jake's debate which was so prone to absurdity.

You and Nancy don't be alone in the same room for more than 5, got it! Remember your boundaries. 

Too bad this isn't 1985 and we aren't dumb enough to do stupid things? 

For a moment the color I sorely thought was lacking had returned, and Jake gave a knowing brow raise when my teeth showed. For a while I traded the boredom for utterance, letting myself become absorbed in the conversation like the other affluent kids.

Taking a bite out of the sourdough, I nearly forgot the feeling that was lingering around me.

*

The intrigue died down after a while, and I desperately sought an activity other than staring at the restaurant, whose spectacle was down to fumes. Damn, when is that food--

When a Sharon piloted trolley cruised towards me, my posture was limping even more than my patience. I brushed a lock of hair out of my face and reposed before Mom could slap me on the wrist. I hated when she did that.

Depositing the meats and salads with all the graceful training a wealthy owner could afford, Sharon's tiny mouth curved more and more as me, Jake, and our parents said our thanks. She then wheeled away with a speed that I thought was unusually calm for a waitress.

I examined my filet, covered in sauce, and sizzling with flavor, while the others plucked their utensils and quite literally dug in. This appeared to have awakened me somehow.

As I regarded them with regret, I recalled a time when I would have followed them, to get lost in gossip and to allay our worries. But for some reason, the weight of the world followed me here when it wasn't supposed to. What's more, it became more present within the past two years.

It wasn't long before the arousing scent of our collective meals provoked me to get my knife and fork.

*

There was something curious about the absence that alienated me from the indulgence my family was relishing in: why hadn't I felt it before.

Perhaps it owed to my maturity, my own self awareness growing inversely with the mysticism that I saw the world with. But in my case, the change in perception seemed painfully terse, no doubt the result of this feeling which I was now certain was a notion.

Acting on the instinct to uncover this emotion, I observed the parties at the booths behind and across from me. One table constituted of a lady in a Valerie with high boots, a stubbled tuxedo gentleman, two boys, and another older woman. I could guess at the others' roles, but I was at a loss for the second woman.

The gentleman and his wife seemed to be getting along famously, while giving little regard to the second woman. The other woman tried to interject, but she didn't get ten seconds before her lips were drawn tight as the gentleman’s brows raised and his mouth opened wide to say something so indistinct. But they seemed polite and well adjusted as far as I could tell.

The boys were whispering unspeakable prattle to each other with innocent yet mischievous grins. It was all over them, the liberation from this unmitigated thought. Youth is the best type of ignorance.

I couldn't help but smirk at the trio's predicament when an incoherent quack called me back to the conversation. Jake offered to eat some of my asparagus which I was grateful to lend him.

Then I remembered, Why haven't I gone to the bathroom yet?

I wanted it to stop. I wanted to bring back the veil that polarized the colorless reality I was now facing.

*

With each bite, I felt as though I was tasting music, if there was such a thing. The dark sauce, initially unappealing, did not diminish its flavor but added an awareness to the food. It was as though the exact ingredients and steps taken to cook the meat had been laid before my eyes and origins became more apparent.

Rather than Sharon approach the booth, the restaurant manager and Mom's friend strode next to me to greet us. It was aberrant that I recognized the slender man, his oiled hair, and clipped smile. As he said hello, I reexamined myself, which remained firm, and shook his coarse hand. His voice was soothing as mom brought his attention to his business and began to converse about their hardships since they last met.

It was surreal. I remember my younger self, no higher than his elbows, standing at the exit of the restaurant the last time we dined here. Too youthful to handshake, I jumped and waved, bearing my mishappen teeth. The fine dining experience had been like vacation to me at the time, yet the former mystique seemed to have vanished, and in place of the tall friendly specter, just stood a man.

But I remembered not to stare. So I fixed myself and leered.

*

The bill was paid when I got back, and Jake dipped the last of his father's french fries into the ketchup cup adjacent to his plate. Mom's hands were folded on the unspoiled cloth, Dad took one last guzzle and examination of the Chateau Latour, and Jake prattled on and heeled the back of the booth. Most times he was oblivious to the fact that he had no class, although this time in his formal navy collar, he actually looked the part.

I didn't need to go to the bathroom, I wanted to blaze my own trail alongside the walls, around the tables, and capture a taste of each conversation. More practically though, my left leg was frozen from my crossed position an hour now and needed circulation. But as the blood returned, my walk refined itself as I carried my chin high and face relaxed.

Before I left, I turned on the Baroque glazed restaurant. Looking around, I remembered that I was an older girl now. The reflection in the monotonous waterfall wall told me so. That was the only new aspect the restaurant told me.

***

Back in the car, I stared at my book. Even the most convincing of theatrics cannot truly conceal the grim brilliance of the illusion.