The Uncooked Chicken Dinner

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. This phrase has been [overused] by my lovely nephew (on suspicion that my sister put him up to it...love you!) and it hadn't crossed my mind for months.

Until this morning.

I wake up at a table with friends (I believe they are my new "big sibs" in the theater group, P, S, J, as well as my "bros," MH, D, T, and MS). We are having a blast at this fancy restaurant (crisp white tablecloths, wine, candlelight...beautiful) when our [attractive] waiter comes to take our order. Everyone gets either salad, soup, or steak. I, however, will have the chicken. This huge piece of tender chicken. Mmmm...It's almost like a chicken steak. That's how big. So the waiter smiles at us and goes off to get our food and we continue discussing whatever is on our minds. Minutes later, the waiter returns with our meals.

He places the salads and soups down. Simple pleasures, look delicious. Then the steaks. My mouth begins to water. Finally, my chicken. Without looking at it, I immediately fall in love with it. There's one small problem: it's completely raw. The waiter does the typical, "Is there anything else I can get for you?" I smile and say, "Nope! Thank you!!" He smiles and walks off. I put my plate to the side, and the group begins to converse.

After a while, I get hungry, and grab my chicken. Almost as if I had forgotten, I am baffled at its rawness. "Guys, my chicken's raw."

"Yeah, we know! We were wondering when you were going to send it back!"

"Here, I'll try to eat it." I took a bite, cautiously, like when you try a steak that is a bit rarer than what you had asked for. I spit it out. Signaling the waiter, I wonder if this would ruin our connection. He says with an eager joy, "What is it, sir?"

"Hey...I hate to be knitpicky, but is there any way you could take this back and just throw it on the grill a bit longer...?"

His electric smile immediately turns into a disappointed frown. He takes my plate and takes it back to the kitchen in a huff. I am in awe. I give my friends a look that says, What did I do? They ignore me. Suddenly, we have a guest. It's someone from my past, someone who I have loose ends with...I just stare at them. They expect me to say hello. I do not. That would be faking. I'm done being fake. Why is that waiter mad at me? Where's my chicken? I'm hung---

I wake up to the sound of cars driving in the rain.