The breeze was crisp and looming over the car-infested streets were trees, resembling granny smith apple slices dipped in sticky caramel. The sky was that pink-orange color that appears for only a few moments; before the sun starts to tremble, then dip from its place in the sky. The dark blue Camry with the rust spots smudged across the sides pulled into the restaurant parking lot. It found a spot in the shade, under one of the apple slices. The woman’s scarlet dress undulated in the breeze. The man, with a suit as dark as midnight’s kiss, took her arm and guided her to the front entrance.

The lights were dimmed and the air smelled of cinnamon candles. They were led to small table with a tablecloth made of white satin. Using her long fingers and heightened senses she took in the settings around her. The laughter from the corner of the room was young with girly giggling. Teenagers. The clinking of wine glasses and a familiar air was to the rear. Elderly women reminiscing. To the left, there were grunts, the smell of old paper, and the sound of pen scrawling a little too hard in a notepad. Lawyers.
Distant footsteps grew louder. The woman could hear the separated click of each heel as it hit the tile floor. Her heels were high; there was a slight wobble in her gait as she approached the table. A rustling of paper, and the uncapping of a pen, and… she waited for the voice.
“Can I start you two off with some drinks while you decide?” The voice matched the heels, young and contemporary.
“A Ginger Ale for me,” said the suited man with a voice as musical as a harp’s melody.
“Water please,” said the woman. She kept her head looking downwards, as looking down would keep her from seeing the world, and the world from seeing her. No one would see the way she sees. They see with their eyes, which is hardly a way to see at all.
“Sure thing,” answered the heels, “My name is Amy, if you need anything else.”
“Why do you always order water?”
“It’s the one item that doesn’t require a menu.”
Across the room, there was a clatter of falling plates and the whooshing of some sort of liquid against a solid surface. Then there was a gasp; the liquid had probably been chilled. Then there was complete silence. The incessant giggling ceased, the old memories floated away on a yellow balloon, and the whirling of pages and ink on paper were put on pause.
No sounds at all. The picture was broken. The vision that the women now saw was pixelated. There were white spaces. She could no longer tell where anyone was anymore, or what was happening around her. She moved her hand across the table and grasped the man’s hand. The palpable silence was unyielding.
Whispers starting to pop up like a deluge of spam mail on one’s computer. In the corner of the room, “I can’t believe she just left like that. I would have slapped him across the face.” To the left, “I wonder if she will press charges? We should refer her to Lionel’s firm, he was that new branch opening up for civil suits.” In the rear, “Oh my. That reminds me of when my friend, Sherry cheated on her boyfriend, he burned every photograph…”
“Everything’s alright now, a man just,” but he was cut off.
“I know what happened,” said the woman.
“You can’t know everything, you’re blind,” said the man gently. The women’s face twitched with resentment.
Amy the waitress, returned with their beverages. “Wow, you guys should see the mess that I have to go clean up,” muttered Amy bitterly. The whispers from the diners suddenly transformed into normal speech as the incident’s shock wore off. The clinking of glasses returned and the yellow balloon was caught mid –sky. The woman could hear distant groans as glass was being thrown into a crinkly trash bag
“I do see.”