"It's good to be out," I say.

He does not look up. He stares at the words. His eyes are like a clock that ticks. They loop the page in dull time.

"What looks good?" I ask. I gaze at the words as well. There is little need though. I know what I will get, the cheese plate and a dish of greens.

He lets the page fall to his lap, a sign that he has made a choice. He looks to one end of the room and to the other. The girl is not in sight. He tugs at his tie and toys with a spoon. Then, in case she is in the back, he turns in his chair so that all I see is his back. This is what the food will taste like my head says. It will taste like the back of his shirt--dry and blank. My head speaks more. Who cares where the girl is? Who cares if she finds us? And who is he to her?

"I saw her duck down the hall," I say. "I'm sure she'll be back soon."

"How was your day?" I ask.

"Good," he says.

"Good in what way?"

He lets go of a sigh, like the kind you would if your house burnt down. Just past the grave sound, our girl finds us.

"How are you?" she says to him.

"Good," we say at once.

"What can I get for you?" Her eyes stay on him.

The girl sees me as gone; this is part two of the blank. Part one of the blank is that he sees me the same way but first. The last part of the blank will be the taste of the food. How can I taste the food if am gone? I plead with my head to stay calm.

He tells her what he wants. He adds that on this day he had lunch with Kay, who is a joint friend. They laugh and share tales of Kay. This talk goes on for some time. I watch him speak to her, I hear him speak to her. This is how I learn about him and his life. I point to a chair to see if she wants to sit down. My head says that if I get up to wash my hands, she will be in my chair when I get back. So I stay. She leaves and does not ask what I want. I am gone, to him and to her. Just my head sees me as here.

When I was young, I had a friend who would play with me (no one could see her but me and my head). Thank God for my friend back then. Thank God for wine now. I take a sip. The man who owns this place walks by. He stops to talk to him.

"How are you?" the man says.

"Good," he says.

"This is a nice blanc." The man points to the wine.

My head says, you mean a nice blank?

"It goes well with the Wild Gulf Prawns. I will have Rhaz send you out some."

"Thank you," he says. "That sounds great."

The man leaves with a small wave of his hand. The girl comes with the prawns and sets them in front of him, not a place to share from. It is hard to look at him while he eats. It is hard to look any place. The base of my wine glass is where I rest my eyes. My head plays a tune from an old song, What did I do in a past life that was so mean?

"How are the prawns?" I ask.

"G--"

"Good," I end for him. "I'm sure they are good." My head is in charge now.

"The dogs need me at home. Stay here. I will go take care of the dogs."

I get up and pull on my coat. My head knows that we have two cars on this night. There is no need for me to stay. I walk by the man who owns this place and out through the door. I do not give a small wave or a look back.

It's late fall and the air bites my skin. My head tells my feet the way to the car. My head shows my hands how to turn the key. My arms know how to hold me as the car warms. I watch my white breath. I sigh now the way the moon would if it lost the sea.