Part 22

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I wonder if the prawn I'm about to eat would have struggled so hard to live if it had known it would wind up deep fried and swimming in soy sauce?

"Do you not like sea food? Sorry, I should have ordered something else."

Christine's voice breaks into my thoughts and it occurs to me that I have not spoken since the food arrived.

"Ah, no, I quite like seafood, I was just wondering if I was a prawn...?"

 "What?"

"It just popped into my head that this little guy..." I gesture at Christine with the limp prawn. "...probably lived a pretty hard life out in the ocean, every day a struggle to exist, and I thought, 'Am I like this prawn? Do I rail against the extremes of existence only to discover my efforts are ultimately futile and now I'm an appetiser for some uppity schmuck in a moderately fancy restaurant?'" I quickly pop my bite sized metaphor into my mouth and go for seconds. "Tasty little guys aren't they?"

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a little odd?"

"My mother. Every day for as long as I can remember."

As I go in for my fifth helping, I hear Christine chuckle and see the tension dissipate from her shoulders and face. Not her eye's though, it's as if they've seen to much to ever let go fully.

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Am I a prawn? Some days it certainly feels like it, awash in the human ocean, at the mercy of the tides of life... not tonight though, tonight is gloriously calm. I'm laughing!? Haven't done that in a while.

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"...and then I threw paint all over my mother's new mink coat. Suffice to say, I couldn't sit down for a while after that." Tears of laughter stream down Christine's face as my, stealthy, bespectacled friend appears from who-knows-where and starts clearing the table. "That's when I knew I was going to be a painter for the rest of my life. How about you? When did you know you where destined for a life in the arts?"

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"I would have been six years old and Mum had been hired to perform by some pretty wealthy folk for a fundraiser they were having, I think it was animal related, anyway, we'd gone and bought some really nice clothes for the occasion, mine was pink and red with little gold stars embroidered on the torso, Mum was all black and silver elegance. Low cut, but, classy. The hosts house was enormous, every room was the size of your average town house, the most opulent being the lounge room, and in the center of the lounge room was a full sized Grand-Piano. In amongst all this richness Mum seated herself and as she played the first few notes of Mendelssohn's Fantasy in F#, all eye's turned to her and you could have stolen everything in the place and no one would have known, or cared, so transfixed were they by the power of my Mum's performance." I can feel my hands shaking so I slip them under the table. "After that I ate, breathed and slept piano."

Part 21

After a week of seeing her walk around in a formless hospital gown, I didn't realise the Audrey Hepburn look-alike in the figure hugging scarlet number walking towards my table was Christine. Thankfully, as she was being seated, I had time to gather my composure.

"I see the wait was worth it."

Christine shoots me a puzzled look, so I grab my phone and pull up the message she sent me. "Oh." is all she says before her face nearly turns the same colour as her dress.

"Thank you. You look handsome yourself."

An awkward silence settles as my mind suddenly blanks on something to say. Small talk is not my forte.

"How come I've never seen you in a suit before?"

Christine to the rescue. I look down at the tailored grey straight jacket I'm wearing.

"I hate them, but mum keeps buying them every time she sets me up on my next 'date'. I have a whole cupboard full of suits, in every shade of grey imaginable, because mum insists that grey makes my eyes pop."

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"She's right." I think to myself as Stephen distractedly fusses with his hated suit.

"Pardon?"

Crap! I said that out loud?

"If you hate wearing them so much, why'd you wear one tonight?"

"Because I wanted to dress up for you and all my other clothes are covered in paint." He grins sheepishly and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks again.

"This isn't a date!" blurts out before I can stop it, but, Stephen just smiles and seems to relax.

"Good. Now that's settled, shall we order dinner? I'm starving."