text: Katie asked Artie to meet her at the Mexican restaurant, the bright yellow, stucco building just down the street from her house. It was a place they often went to eat. Artie sat on the plastic bench across the table from Katie. Katie’s blue eyes looked larger, even more beautiful than usual. But though her eyes were wide, they had less depth. It was as if the deep pools of her eyes had dried up, leaving pure calcite rings of white and shallow puddles of blue that had once been seas. Artie stared down at the table top. The surface was brown formica with a fake pattern of wood grain. He looked up at Katie, she brushed a lock of her auburn hair away from her face. “Are things going to be OK between us?” Artie said, his voice was flat. “I don’t think so” Katie said. “What did I do wrong?” “Nothing” Katie said. Her voice was flat too, but it had an edge like anger. It wasn’t anger, “It’s over between us. You left some of your stuff at my house. I put it in a box on the porch, you can come get it whenever”. Artie’s right hand was gripping a little plastic arch with the number “12” on it. Just then a voice came over the intercom, “Number 12”, the voice said. Artie moved to slide off the bench and stood up, he looked down at Katie. “Are you going to stay and eat?” “No” she pulled her purse over her shoulder and slid off the bench and stood up. For a moment she and Artie stood close to each other. It didn’t help that she looked unusually beautiful. Artie didn’t reach for her. Even the habit of a parting embrace had dried up, his insides felt dried up. He stood feeling awkward for a moment. She looked very straight and dignified. Suddenly perfect. Then she turned and crossed the restaurant toward the door. Artie’s eyes followed her as she pushed open the glass door and walked out into the parking lot. There was a big, arched window on either side of the door and he saw her as she crossed the parking lot. The warm March sun fell reddish on her hair. It didn’t help that she looked very beautiful, even at a distance, walking across a parking lot. “Number 12”, the scratchy intercom voice said again. Artie went up to the counter and exchanged the plastic arch for a tray with their meals. The tray held two lunch specials; tacos, enchiladas and piles of beans, orange rice and shredded, colorless lettuce. Artie set the tray down on the table and picked at the food. Then he got up and walked to the restroom. He cried a little bit in the bathroom stall then came back out. When he came back from the bathroom, he saw one of the restaurant employees dumping the tray with the two lunch specials into a garbage can. She looked up at him. She must have thought he was done eating. Artie smiled at her vacantly and walked toward the exit. He crossed the parking lot. That’s one thing that’s hard about being alone in the world, Artie thought as he got into his car; people throw your food away.