i put the menu and wine list on a patio table and he sat down and thanked me and i started to walk away. “oh, hey, do you want something to drink?” i said, spinning around to face him, but when i spun around i slipped and my foot folded in half and i heard something pop. i grabbed onto the patio cart to keep myself from falling.
“hey are you okay?” he said, looking up from the menu. i didn’t move and it hurt so i said i guess i’m not okay and he helped me inside. i couldn’t walk. they took off my shoe and put ice and heat on my foot and i was crying.
and then i was sitting at a table by myself waiting for my dad to come get me. everyone else rushed back and forth holding drinks and food and empty plates, waiting on the tables i was supposed to be waiting on. martha gave me some napkins so i could blow my nose and wipe my eyes. you were standing nearby. “hey,” i said, “i’m sorry about the dog water.”
“it’s okay,” you said. i looked down at my foot. it was red, and it hurt under the ice.
we went to the doctor’s office, and my dad got me a wheelchair and pushed me into the waiting room. while we waited i tried wheeling myself around. it didn’t work. “i don’t know how to do this,” i said.
“sure you do,” my dad said. “you took physics.”
“i was good at physics,” i said, turning the wheelchair in an awkward circle.
the lady that x-rayed my foot asked me if there was any possibility that i was pregnant. “no,” i said. then i asked her how they would x-ray a really fat guy. she said their machine wasn’t new or strong enough to x-ray a really fat guy. they’d have to send him somewhere else.
so my foot probably isn’t broken, they say, but i’m supposed to stay off of it for a week. i’m on crutches. if i want to make something to eat i can do it myself, but if i want to actually eat it i have to do it standing up at the kitchen counter, or else someone has to bring it to me. i live by myself and i make a living bringing people food. i don’t like needing people to bring me food. i don’t like needing people.
when my dad came to pick me up from the restaurant you had to help me out to the car. i was gripping my dad’s arm on one side of me and holding your hand on the other, hopping on one foot in between, and the whole time i was thinking about how disappointing it was that your hand felt exactly the same as it always did. i was hoping it would feel like dust.