Yuzu

Last night, I had one of the best meals in quite awhile. Starved, sleepy, and piled under an atomic bomb of work, I left the studio in pitch dark. I took a train, and wobbled along in tandem, ran an errand at the bank, and walked towards home in search of something good to eat. I walked into 7-11. There was nothing there, apart from some soda and condoms. And everything else was closed.

A few more steps, slightly dazed (but mostly hungry), I found myself at the door step of Tatsuya. I asked to be seated, "For supper?", they chirped. "No, overdue lunch", I replied. 

My givenchy antigona and I then promptly sat at the bar to order. I was too hungry to read the menu and was restraining myself from munching on my arm. I looked up and a familiar face looked back. I was unsure if I had indeed recognized the face, or if it was my stomach grunting in delirium, "Food, Head Chef, food...". I would've been quite sure it was the latter if not for my other consciousness suddenly yelling out, "Oh hi! I know you from the Japanese restaurant at Pines. It's been a while hasn't it?"

We were both stunned. 

17 seemed like such a long time ago, it could've been someone else's memory. I remember so little of it- I could barely claim it to be mine. But I'd reckon what's truly yours, will always find its way back to you- regardless of however much you deny it. He belonged to my memory of 17, when I used to frequent a Japanese restaurant not far from my old place. He made me feel important with the sushi treats he made in secret off the menu. I could bet you the sushi wasn't all that great, and I'm probably right (because that restaurant is closing down now.) But a certain emotion of warmth and delight would always well up inside of me at the very thought of this friendly chef. He remembered me as the girl with the fisheye camera (I had once taken a photograph of him.) with hair wrapped in a bun. 

I sat through a sushi dinner crafted by him as I quickly scribbled through some work for awhile. Then we gradually spoke more and ate some more. A quiet conversation unfolded through the subtle and fresh flavors of the food, gently torched, kneaded, lifted and held. And at the end of it all, I couldn't help but find myself comforted, and glad. Because for a brief while, I was 17 again, and I would give anything to live through one more day.