I drove by a Japanese steakhouse where I had eaten dinner with an old boyfriend. It was where we had missed the flames flickering recklessly in the hot grease, the vegetables sputtering, the aroma of seasoned meats searing against the hot steal, the chefs’ dazzling sleight of hand.
After almost three years together, increasingly plagued by bickering and resentment, the two of us ended things. We had no more to give. The thing was, we had made no effort to turn it around, even though there was so much potential at the beginning.
In retrospect, it’s clear that we blew a good opportunity to create and enjoy something rewarding, exciting, long-lasting.
At the restaurant, we sat in a booth by the door. We ate and then left generally unimpressed, save for the decor. It was only later that I found out that the restaurant had a back room where all the good stuff happened. Stuff that made the trip worthwhile and memorable: there were teppanyaki tables as well as performing chefs cooking behind an open hibachi.
I wonder if my ex ever went back with someone else.