A Return to The Half Shell

A blind man revisits his favorite hometown seafood restaurant with his daughter.

It had been a good long time since she had stepped into this place. From what he could tell, everything was fairly the same, but that was limited to his ears and nose. Nonetheless, he could still, with some help, navigate his way around the old joint. He remembered the lights being somewhat dimmed, so as to create a sense of a calm atmosphere. It was also kind of a small place, but it had always felt roomy and, despite him lacking his sight, he was able to get a sense of his surroundings. His daughter led him to the booth on the north side beside the window and helped him take his seat. The waitress shortly arrived at their table and asked them what they would have to drink. “Water,” they replied simultaneously.

“I’ll also have a Ghost River Red,” he added. The waitress asked them if they were ready to order yet.

“I’m ready if you are,” his daughter said.

He gave a slight chuckle, “Ready? Ha, I always have been. I’ll take a bowl of your gumbo and could you also bring out a bottle of Tabasco Sauce with it?” The waitress kindly said she would, took his daughter’s order, and left. There was a moment of silence mixed with the hum of the conversations from the other customers. He instinctively looked out the window and laid his hand on the sill. “They replaced the wood.”

“Yeah, it was beginning to rot, so they thought it was best to do so.”

He let out a sigh and kept his head turned left. “Tell me, what do you see.?”

This was something he had picked up the habit of doing, but she was growing used to it, knowing that it would come more frequently the older he grew. She took the hand that lay on the table in hers and began, “We are in our usual spot. Outside, the world continues on in the night with the passing by of cars and hustle of pedestrians. In the restaurant, there are people sitting here and there, some eating, some not. All of them appear to be merry, except for that one man sitting that bar in the center. Remember that?”

“What is that man doing?”

“Well, his head is hung down and in his right hand he holds an emptied bottle and has it rested on the table. It seems as if he’s been going through a hard time and is almost at the end of his rope.”

“I was once like that.”

“You were, but now you’re here. So let’s just eat our food and enjoy ourselves while we can.”

The waitress returned with their meals. The wonderful scents wafted over both of them and caused them to inhale deeply through their noses. He picked up his spoon, put it in the gumbo, and brought it up to his lips. He paused for a moment, savoring the taste.

“Just like I remembered.”