Take Away

I remember her name, and how she laughed easily, chatting like the rice frying in the back kitchen. I was not used to it - the attention, I mean. She looked back, over her shoulder, she was nervous too. Her father, she explained, raising her eyes towards the ceiling fan.

I nodded, I understood, or at least, I thought so. But maybe that was only superficially, sudden media images of inscrutable Asians and family bonds much tighter than blood throbbing in veins or dripping on floors.

Her sleek careful fingers touched mine as she gave my change. Such dark eyes. She smiled and then we both knew.

She took one step back, looked down, away, as the back door opened and her father thrust the hot brown paper bag, neatly folded, without a glance at his daughter, he smiled, briefly, at me.

I smiled back, hoping he would not notice my real desire, not notice whom I really wanted to take away.