I didn’t think it was possible be dumped by your cat but Tina hasn’t slept in the shack for days and it’s beginning to feel like a break up. She used to return each day for food, now it’s every second day. She lets us pat her while she’s waiting to be fed, but only for a few seconds and then she sticks her fur up and starts hissing.
Frankie jabbed the air with his finger as he spoke and his face was pinker than usual.
“I told the tall goofy looking fucker in the kitchen the soup was too thick. So the customer didn’t have to pay for it. He told me I had to give him a docket. I’m the supervisor. He’s just a fucking cook. You never question my authority. I tell you what to do.”
The inside tables were starting to fill up. There were orders to take and drinks to deliver but I couldn’t move. I was stuck in the tractor beam of Frankie’s rage. I’d never been good with other people’s anger. It froze me to the spot. It made me smaller.
It’s easy to become stuck in a rut of thinking. You notice your reflection in a car window and see that your face looks fatter than you remembered so you spend the next half an hour thinking of all the pretty friends you have and how you wished your body was a different shape.
When I was 12 years old I played so much playstation that my eyes became adjusted to the blocky, pixelated world of Crash Bandicoot and my whole world was reduced to the four walls of the glowing television screen. If I walked outside and picked a jasmine flower from the vine that grew wild on our fence and held it up towards the sunlight I’d be amazed by the high resolution graphics of real life. There was so much detail. Each tiny petal was perfectly defined.