Lemon Chicken

My bus should’ve been here two minutes ago. I’ve been shivering for the past seven. I worry that it was early. That it drove past here, picked up its passengers, and departed eight minutes ago. Bus stops, airport terminals, the waiting room at the doctor’s; a few of the places I find myself nervous at. As though my being in a place where people are always moving, I too might be whisked away. I’d question if it was my turn. Or if I had missed it. When I boarded the bus, was it the right one? A stop would be announced over the speakers, and I questioned if that was mine. Or if mine was the one after. Or maybe the one before. It did not matter how often I looked at the schedule, or the travel guide, or asked the receptionist if the muffled voice over the loudspeaker might’ve been referring to me. Nothing eased that corner of my mind.

The bus did arrive though, and I made my way to the Chinese restaurant.

Rain had started to fall as I walked the rest of the distance. I liked the rain. Be it the soft pitter-patter or a harsh storm punctuated by thunder. I found both somewhat calming. I walked into the shop and was met with a fairly short line. After a bit of waiting it was my turn.

“What do you want?” There was a trace of an accent in there. I don’t know why, but I always found it kind of friendly.

“I’ll have a—”

I was going to order lemon chicken and noodles. I thought I’d decide what noodles exactly at the counter.

I had not realised that I would be ordering the same meal she would order for me.

Or that it had been my first time here since she left.

I also had not realised that I was tearing up.