The Meal

No one liked him and he did not like any of them, either. Reginald had to listen to them because they were family and they were meeting at the same restaurant that they always ate at, with the same people, at the same set of tables where they always sat at exactly 6:30 on a Friday night. But this was an interesting coincidence. They were not supposed to be there and they could not stand Reginald (Reggie to his mother and at least one aunt who cared), but to show a good face on such an occasion was very important. It was, of course, his birthday.

His father, Horace, raised a glass and tapped it lightly with a dessert spoon.

“Please, could we all acknowledge the birthday boy?” He looked over at his son, but tried to not smile too widely. “He is now a teenager and will soon be off to a private school well known to the Worschaft family line, and so, we celebrate.”

Some fork tines tapped out a response on cups and plates; a few clapped. The wait staff watched and waited to see if they were going to order. They already knew what the family would have, but they had to be patient.

“Oh, father?”

Mr. Worschaft was surprised that his son wanted to speak to him.

“Yes, dear boy?”

“I believe that I have to use the facilities.”

Mrs. Worschaft, within earshot, thought that her guests would be mortified by her son’s words.

“Reginald! Some discretion, please!”

“Prudence, he did not say ‘John,’ or ‘can,’ or even ‘watercloset,’ so give the boy a break. It is his birthday.”

There were now some dubious looks on the faces of the aunts, uncles and other relatives there (one distant cousin smirked and guffawed and received a sharp pinch from her mother under the table, yelping at the pain).

“Please...”

“You gotta go, you gotta...”

Reginald was already up and looking for the restroom.

*

There was no reason for him to get up and leave. He knew that his parents would order the meal for him and he was also quite aware that the cake they thought would be a big surprise was being lit by the waitstaff (he could see the candles being lit as he passed the back work area; not even an attempt to hide it). He could deal with their control and their making a big deal of his first teen birthday. That was what he expected. He did not even mind when he had to deal with all of his relatives acknowledging the big day (they usually met at the restaurant at the same time every year, so he was set). No, all of that was fine. He washed his hand unnecessarily and ran the hand dryer while listening to the staff shuffled plates, glasses and silverware. What bothered him the most was the menu.

Reginald’s parents were strict vegans. This meant that he had to become one when he was “of age”. His father would often mention this over the breakfast table while he was finishing up his corn flakes or scrambled eggs. “Soon, you will have to watch your diet. Best to not let your body fall apart when you are young. Save it for a rainy day.” Usually, the Worschafts would eat salads, soups, plain rolls and some sort of meat substitute that he had to suffer through with the rest of the clan.

No reason to suspect that tonight would be any different.

He opened the door to the narrow hallway. Reginald could hear the diners, waitstaff and some cooks in another passage.

He needed a plan.

*

Where was he going?

It was as if his legs and his heart were running the game now, with his tie and jacket flapping around him as he ran. As he walked down the corridor, he could smell the matches being lit and noted that some of the wait staff were practicing their vocals. He was going to get his cake; his special birthday cake; his special healthy birthday cake to introduce him to his thirteenth year. And he could not take it.

The main door to the alley was in the other direction to the back area where the food was prepared and Reginald had to be careful that no one noticed what he was doing next. After staring down that darker space, and noting that there was no “Exit” sign or security system noticeable on it, he slowly walked down the space, opened the door, and found himself on the top step of a set of stairs leading to an alley.

And then he ran.

But the same question would not leave him alone.

Where was he going?

He could see that there were street lights in one direction and knew that the town car with their driver would be parked right across the street with Charles behind the wheel still wearing the hat as he waited for the dinner and celebrations to end. So, the run brought him even deeper into darkness. There was a little light from certain motion-sensor systems, but he could see very little ahead of him.

He tripped once, but quickly gained his balance when he found himself near a park entrance. From the other side, he could hear some traffic and the lights of a very different neighbourhood. If his parents knew that he had found this area, they might have moved, he thought. As he ran through the park, he saw that the crowds in front of him were thicker, louder and maybe even...happier? There was singing and laughing around a street performer who was chanting some of the most beautiful vocals Reginald had ever heard. His mother appreciated opera, but would not have approved of such a robust performance in public. His father would not have noted anything beautiful in such a song. Reginald just looked at the man who was gesticulating and gazing up at the heavens. It really was beautiful.

And then his stomach growled.

A few of the people on street heard it. It was unfortunate that the noise occurred as the singers tried to catch his breath. One woman looked deeply offended as she stared at him; others felt more sympathetic.

“You gotta eat, kid.”

A man with what he guessed was his wife or girlfriend spoke to him and pointed deeper into crowd. Reginald could not really speak, but he did nod and jogged past the crowd and their laughter. As he moved through the other people, he wondered what he was going to do when this night was over. What if he was reported missing? What if his parents actually did miss him? What if...?

What if he did not have money?

Well, no problem there. He felt in his jacket pocket and found the envelope. That came from the Beauregards with best wishes for his future. Reginald managed to grab it from the pile without being noticed as he went to the bathroom. He could not seriously explain why he took it at the moment. Something just compelled him to...

Something compelled him to do this.

And here he was.

Another restaurant.

As he stepped in, he heard a bell ring above the door and his presence was noted by a young man who looked rather tired as he handled the menus.

“You would like a table, young man?”

Young man... Good thing that he was wearing the tie and jacket.

“Uh, yes. If you have any space...”

The young man stared at him for a second, and then laughed with a cough.

“Take a look around. Whole place is dead tonight. Pick a seat.”

It really was quiet. One couple was seated deeper in the restaurant and there was one man nursing a glass of wine at the bar. Reginald chose the table nearest the window and sat down.

“I’ll be back when you make a choice.”

“Thanks.”

As the waiter walked deeper into the dark of the restaurant, Reginald looked around. The tables had check tablecloths covered in plastic. Some had candles that were unlit or melted; a few had cutlery that was unaccompanied by dishes. There were even glasses uncollected from previous diners.

Reginald Bryce Worschaft wanted to cry. He wanted to stay here and just cry and cry and thank the staff for letting him come in on that night, his very special day, and order anything that he would not be allowed to eat as long as he was living with his folks.

Folks?

Was he really calling them that?

He looked at the menu, looked for the waiter to return, and made sure that he was smiling from ear to ear. There really was no need to read through what was on offer. Reginald knew what he wanted.