I’m eating roast beef tonight; I do it once a year, on the anniversary of our first date. I don’t enjoy it, not like I once did. But the meat carries memories in its flesh, and I relish every bite, even if it tastes like ash as it slides down my throat.

I remember how she looked that night, as I chew my first bite, how beautiful I thought she was. I still think so, when I think back on her…but the surface beauty is nothing to what laid beneath. I didn’t know that at the time, though, as I stared at her from across the restaurant. I watched her raven-black hair cascade past her eyes as she looked around, waiting; for me, I mean.

I couldn’t move, watching her, thinking how beautiful she was. My legs were frozen, my palms were sweating, my chest tight with fear. I didn’t know how to face her, didn’t know how I could sit next to this beautiful woman, without falling to my knees. I wanted to run, and hide, crawl away and die, but I did nothing; just stood there, as her eyes traveled across the room, trying to search me out.

I even thought her eyes met mine, briefly. Thought I saw the flash of recognition, a hint of a smile, but than her eyes moved on, and she never said a word.

I’m on my third bite of roast beef now, remembering it. I think I had been right, now-I think she had known I was there. But she ignored it, allowed me to make my decision-to run without being seen, just another jerk who had stood her up, rather than a coward, or to brave the beauty that was Katherine and come to the table.

She never told me one way or another, and I never asked-never willing to admit my indecision-but it’s the kind of thing she would do.

I didn’t know that a the time though, as I stood staring at her frozen with indecision. I didn’t know any of it, as I stared towards her, and tried to make my brain work. I didn’t know any of it, but I walked towards that table anyway, and I sat down, and I ordered roast beef. I liked it then…

I finish the last bite now, happy to be finished for the year-happy to no longer be bound to the past, filled with its small talk, and fear. Glad to be done with this particular meal, if only for a year.

My memories taste bitter.