Dinner at 7:30

Julie sat alone in the semi-circle booth at the small round table by herself. She sat away from the table, as if she was melting into the floor. Her body pressed into the cushioned booth seat.

She stared at the lone candle burning slowly in the center of the circular table. The flame fought its battle against the darkness of the restaurant. Julie fought against the urge to touch the still burning and painful flesh around her eye.

She waited. She checked her watch: 7:30. Her parents would arrive soon.

She touched her right eye, wincing. Her fingers gently probed the taut, puffy smooth skin.

She wondered what her parents would think. It suddenly occurred to her that arriving first was not the best decision; it was a terrible decision. She thought she could avoid a scene by not making her own entrance. But how was this alternative – giving her parents the long walk between here and the door - better. She reached to her right and rifled through her purse, forgot what she wanted, and gave up.

Maybe the darkness would shade most of the bruising. Julie began pecking through her purse but gave up, decided it was too dark to locate whatever she might have wanted to find.

Her stomach growled, but she wasn’t hungry. She realized she was inhaling quick, short, ragged bursts and tried consciously taking longer breaths. She removed her hand from the warm flesh of her eye and placed it on the cool smoothness of her water glass. She ran her finger up and down the slick, condensating surface. She gave up on breathing altogether.

Movement caught her eye and she looked up from the table. Even in the dim light she could recognize the figure coming toward her, her mother’s shoes clip-clopping along the floor as she closed the distance in a controlled power walk.

Julie tried not to raise her head, tried to avert her eyes, but it was too late. Once her mother caught her eyes the facade of control disappeared and she covered the last bit of distance in an explosion of clips and clops. Couldn’t she have worn quieter shoes, Julie thought to herself.

Her mom grabbed Julie’s head in her hands. Julie could see her mother’s eyes wet with emotion as her mother leaned in too kiss her eye. Not even the darkness of this place could hide her eye at that distance.

“Oh my god.” Julie’s mother pulled away, taking a deep breath. “What did he do to my baby?” she wailed, stroking Julie’s eye.

Her father arrived at the table. “Oh, would you quite it. I told you. That kind of treatment is exactly why she’s in the place she’s in.” In his navy-blue suit he was nothing but a large shadow in the darkness minus a dissected V of white where his tie cut through his collared shirt.

Julie's mother shot a look in Julie’s father’s direction, but otherwise didn’t seem to hear him.