a dialogue

Not feeling particularly hungry, the girl glances about the restaurant, inspecting the people at the other tables. Her eyes stop at a table of four middle-aged women. Though she cannot make out anything that they are saying, she presumes them to be four old friends, now wives, mothers and home-makers, meeting up for a sort of girls’ night out. Although each one is different in features, they all appear as if dressed from the same closet and done-up much more so than the casual restaurant necessitates. They seem to be taking equal turns telling stories, each one wearing the same enthusiastic expression that oddly strikes the girl as fraught and lonely. They giggle in unison whenever called for by the conversation.

She looks across her own table and asks, “Do you think I’m mean?” “No,” the boy says quickly, “not at all.” She looks back at the other table and focuses on one of the women who is eagerly listening to the other with an open mouth smile and slightly nodding her head periodically in anticipatory agreement. “But I’m hateful,” the girl says, still looking at the woman and barely realizing that she has spoken. The boy continues chewing and though still not looking at the girl, his face changes into a thought-filled, distracted expression. After swallowing he says passively, “You just don’t say what you’re thinking. That's all.” He plunges his fork in for another bite. She looks away for a moment, then drops her eyes down to the plate on the table, expressionless.