Reflections of Shadows Carried

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


As I turned right at the old adobe building, Carmen's voice piped up from the back seat. "Grandma, where are you going?"

I was surprised that she had noticed. Usually her head was bowed over her phone, oblivious to the world around her.

"The Iron Skillet. I thought maybe we could split a Kitchen Sink." The Kitchen Sink was an overstuffed omelet the size of a fat baby, filled with mushrooms, zucchini, bacon, sausage, and cheese. I licked my lips thinking about it.

"The Iron Skillet's closed. Remember? We tried to go there last year."

Was it? I tried to remember but it was like reaching into a hole and trying to bring out the darkness with my hands. There wasn't anything there. "Are you sure?"

Carmen held up her phone and let me read the backwards text reflected in the review mirror. The Iron Skillet had been closed for almost six years.

A wave of sadness washed over me, not because my memory was going, but because I was remembering a dead place. Ghosts of restaurants gone with no one to remember them.


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Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

I feel for this grandma, driving around seemingly okay, sad at memories that are gone, but also not remembering having tried the same act before. You'd know something was wrong, yet be stuck feeling everything was okay.

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