Photo by Jacek Dylag on Unsplash
by Anne Anthony
In the nearby booth, a man and a woman sitting opposite each other sign in rapid gestures, spelling out words, and the force of their flutter suggests an argument. When the woman turns away, her back becomes stony silence, a wall of disquiet, a shut door refusing the man’s waving fingers, suspending conversation.
He exits his side of the table, squeezes next to her, holds her shoulders, and tries turning her to face him, and though she jerks away, she’s trapped against a paneled wall without escape.
The waiter arrives with their burgers and fries, described as handhelds in the menu, and which now extends their conversation pause.
When ketchup drips to her chin, her companion raises a napkin to wipe it away and her shoulders go slack, the weight of fury too heavy to bear. He signs slowly, tenderly, in what must be an apology and takes her hands in his, and without words, without flashing fingers, we know they’ll carry on.
Anne Anthony credits her steady diet of comic books for her ardent belief in superpowers. She lives and writers in North Carolina. More here: linktr.ee/anchalastudio.
