He eyes the table near the buffet.
“No,” I say. “Over there. By the window.”
I sit facing outside.
“You’re not going to eat all that,” he says.
I watch him eat.
I pull the big girl camera out of my purse.
As long as I have to wait, I might as well see what art I can see.
What art I can create.
From where I sit.
“You are not taking a picture of the water in your glass.”
“No. Well, yes. But look at the pretty design.”
He nods. “Mmmm hmmm.”
I point here, shoot there, ignore the eyes of the other diners. They should be glad I don’t turn my lens on them when they look away.
“See?” I show him what I’ve seen.
“Oh,” he says. “That’s nice.”
I don’t know how much he really sees.
But he smiles.
We don’t always like the same food.
Yet I know he likes watching me eat.
I forget to get my buffet money’s worth, and my stomach is still a little hungry when he’s finally ready to go.
But I feel full.
Even if someone lived a thousand years—make it two thousand!—but didn’t enjoy anything, what’s the point? Doesn’t everyone end up in the same place? We work to feed our appetites; Meanwhile our souls go hungry. ~Ecclesiastes 6:6-7