Shot in the Dark

This writing exercise is to describe a ‘blind’ meal. If you don’t know what that is, neither did I until I took a refresher French course and we watched a scene in French with people having this sort of dining experience. Basically, you are in a pitch black dining room with other diners and you eat your meal like that. Actually sounds interesting and I’d like to do it, not sure my SO would be as on board. Here are my first few paragraphs describing such a scene:

The smells were overwhelming that of juices and gravies and the salty air that surrounds the cooking of a good meal.  His nose hairs itched with the flood of scents as if they had never smelled before.  The waiter spoke quietly over her shoulder to watch their step but still he tripped on their way to the table and a hand came out to help.  He had held her hand countless times, held it and dropped it, ignored it sometimes when she asked for it to be held, but that night, her hand on his arm steadying him, the soft, familiar texture, cool and smooth, sucked him like a vacuum to another time, when they were young and this sort of entertainment was sought after and not a reluctant concession to a lighthearted gift. 

The clinks of flatware against china magnified and he felt sure if they listened hard enough the unsettling sounds of the soft flesh of cooked foods being cut by knives and forks could probably be heard.  His ears were ringing in alertness absorbing the cringing noises of people eating, chewing, subdued laughter at their unusual experience.  Oddly, the voices of the tables they passed were muted and he felt it must be for the same reason he refrained from saying a word of thanks to her for offering her help a moment ago when he tripped.  Like the tables they passed mumbling to each other words from his lips would only sound like the bellowing shout of a giant in this oddly subdued place.

Their table was found at last and they fumbled to sit with hands reaching blindly for the sturdy chair arm, the wood scrapping the floor as they scooted closer to the table, all of it sounding like loud echos in a deep silent canyon.  A puff of air filled with the scent of a strange human, he did not like this, invaded his nose when the accompanying arm covered in a scratchy polyester brushed him fleetingly as it poured water into a glass, the sound of the cascading wave easily picture in his head as it rounded and curved before splashing into a still pool.  He felt her lean into him and away but it was so dark until he realized what he felt was the smell of her perfume strengthening and fading as she swayed toward him and away from him while her fingers explored the terrain of the table trying to place the familiar items for her memory.  Her energy bounced around him and without knowing he knew she was excited for the moment even though she had indulged his surly outlook on the evening earlier.  This was her thing.  He sighed mentally and sat back and waited for the next steps of this new experience.

Published by miasotowrites

Wannabe Writer Tired Mother Aspiring Slacker

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