Nonfiction Observations


She was a petite woman. She thrust her shoulders back and her dark hair cascaded down in waves towards her slender waist. Her burgundy and white dress gently bounced with each step she took in her four-inch heels. Her arms and legs had the girths of tree saplings. A designer handbag swayed on her left shoulder and pearl-accented earrings dangled from her ears.

It was crowded at the buffet. With purpose she walked past the glistening hunks of prime rib, the pink slabs of baked salmon, the heaps of bacon, the blobs of scrambled eggs, the bowls of romaine lettuce and spinach, the rounded cubes of honeydew, pineapple, and cantaloupe, the bundles of fried egg rolls, the vats of noodles, the pot of egg drop soup, the bowl of quivering red jello, the trays of walnut brownies, lemon cake, and chocolate mousse pie, the racks of barbecue ribs, the oozing discs of pepperoni pizza, the rows of chocolate chip cookies, and the limp triangles of French toast.

She carried her plate with both hands, her fingers tightly gripping the edges. Her eyes scanned the buffet, but she was not looking at the food. The only item on her plate was one roasted red potato.