Nilsson's Daughter

nospam@example.com (Johnny Elbows) — Mon, 12 Dec 2005 09:42:54 -0700

I first saw Ericka Nilsson in person the day she celebrated her twenty-first birthday. It wasn�t much of a celebration.

If you have a reservation at Fiorini�s, you don�t give it up, no matter what happens. And so it was that I found myself in Fiorini�s that Wednesday night, despite the fact that my date had called me to cancel our date scant minutes before I was supposed to pick her up. I sat at a small table in the corner, hoping that no one would notice me sitting there by myself.

Since I had no one to talk to, I started listening to the couple at the nearest table. I recognized the man. He was a Psychology professor at the nearby University, and a noted rake. The woman had her back to me, but they were sitting close enough that I could still hear her clearly. �It doesn�t have to be like this. If you would just let it��

He interrupted her, his tone pedantic, �actually, it does have to be like this. Relationships are all about communication, right?�

She nodded.

�Well, look at the word. Communication. It�s right there in the word. You can�t communicate if you have nothing in common.� He paused. �Can you think of anything that we have in common?�

She shook her head. I felt sorry for her, but I was just an observer, a mute witness of her pain. They sat in silence. I tore off a piece of focaccia and dipped it in the saucer of balsamic vinegar, waiting to see what would happen next. I could see her shoulders shaking, and guessed that she was crying. �I hate you,� she said.

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Nilsson's Daughter