Descriptive Essay - Original Writing
“You know, you’re not supposed to put it in the sauce,” I say, trying to sound bemused, but actually just trying to fill the empty sound of the room.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?” She doesn’t look up as she dissolves the paste with her chopsticks.
“I just don’t understand why you always have to eat during these sessions. Oh wait, yes I do,” I’m trying not to be biting, but I’m sick of her attitude. Patience. A sigh break through my lips. “You should stop being so overly defensive. If you hate being here so much, why do you even bother coming?”
She doesn’t answer. Though it honestly was a stupid question. She and I both know why she sits here, every Monday from 2-3:30 and Thursday from 1-2.
“So how has your week been?”
She still doesn’t answer, all consumed with carefully laying her maki into her soy sauce/wasabi mixture. I am so done.
“Look, if you don’t––“
“It’s been hell”, she cuts in. I raise my eyebrow at her. She finally looks up at me, chin set, gritting teeth, then she allows a falsely saccharine smile to sit on her lips. “Let me tell you why. . .”
The sun rises late during Indiana winter. I have seen one single sunrise in almost two years. Instead, my mornings are dark, cold, and devoid of colour. Turn off alarm. Turn on light. Pull on clothes. Brush hair. Brush teeth. Smear on foundation; brush on mascara. Pull on boots. Drive. This past Tuesday was no different.…