HONORABLE MENTION: Indecision - Allison C.

Part I

I look over the menu at him.
He’s looking down at it, deciding which rolls to get.
I inhale sharply to hide my hesitance and fear
of making him angry over the decision
between eel and tuna.
Eel.
Tuna.
The space between his menu and mine
should have been filled with laughter and analysis, wit and charm.
Instead, silence and indecision.

His unintentional tone cut through me,
not from its searing malice,
from its utter apathy.

He’s not in love with me.

“Let’s get the tuna,” he said.


Part II

He said he doesn't like the way I speak sometimes.
He said he doesn't like the words I use.
He said I use vocabulary to try and assert my intelligence, to prove something.
I didn't know how to respond.

I stared at him. With consternation.

I didn't say the word 'consternation' because he doesn't know what it means.

(An example of the caustic sarcasm that permeated our argument last night).

He couldn't follow the logical progression of my analysis of our relationship.
...analysis being some unnecessary scientific word…
As if emotions and insecurity can be expressed in such diagnostic terms.
However, the distance and detachment that I feel from myself
In the course of this relationship can be accurately conveyed in the clinical quality of the word
Analysis.

I see the end in sight.

In a few weeks, I'll tell him we need to stop seeing each other.
In a few weeks, the full severity of his words will sink in,
If they haven't already: he is not in love with me.