Water under the bridge

Christmas dinner: a month late, at sushi restaurant. It is fitting for the small, dysfunctional family.  There is a member who is missing; the void left by his absence is palpable.  It is almost tangible, like a forgotten thought, half remembered.

He’s lucky. The tension is high and tight, making it hard to breath. There is so much water under the bridge, the tresses are about to be wiped out.  The women speak through filters, carefully straining out anything of substance, while the man studies the menu and wishes his brother-in-law was there.

“Sake,” he requests from the waitress and quietly prepares to wait out the flood.

Filter

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