My sister, Sheri, and I are standing in a very red restaurant lobby. I am dressed for casual fine-dining and she is wearing a maternity dress with a baby bag on her shoulder. I can't tell if she's pregnant.
-Where are you headed? ,I ask.
She looks down at her shoulder-bag and rummages through it briefly, awkwardly, making sure she brought anything she may need.
-I'm sorry we couldn't eat together at Maddie's.
Quite innocently persisting, I say:
-Well, you're here now, let's just go now.
She nods once, and we continue together into the seating area. We sit at a booth and are immediately presented with menus by an unacknowledged server.
We open our menus and find that every line in it is highlighted, indicating to both of us, that it was prepared by wife, Kate. Neither of us mentions this.
In what has become an inexplicably awkward moment for me, I suggest turning on the radio, a converted napkin dispenser at our booth. Sitting face-to-face, both of us lean in closely to hear the weak signal emanating from it. A crackling, detuned static.
-What does it mean? Sheri asks, innocently.
I lean in slightly closer.
I wake up to a detuned radio. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata vs. Pink Floyd's 'Have A Cigar'.
True story.
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