soy sauce

When I was 16 years old I would go out to eat with one of my friends, Matt, every couple of weeks.   He and I would head across town to a little Chinese take-out place.   Every time we went there I'd order a tiny carton of steamed rice and pot stickers and then we would sit outside at a plastic table and soak up the California sun.

No, that last part is a lie.  He and I were two of the palest people I've ever seen in my life.  Let's try again...

We would sit outside in the California sun only slightly wincing as it shined on the parts of our face not covered by our hip sunglasses and dark hair.  The rest of our bodies, fully clad in black, were safe from the harmful rays.  There we would lounge in white plastic chairs and try not to touch the dirty plastic table that had seen too many meals and not enough cleaning rags...

I'd forgotten about it until this evening when I put white rice on K's plate for dinner.  I reached into the fridge for the bottle of soy sauce and realized we were out so I pulled a little packet of soy sauce out of the silverware drawer.  It was no doubt left over from one of our take out sushi dinners, but as I tore it open and sprinkled it over her rice dinner with my family is not what came to mind.  Instead I had a flash of my friend smiling at me from behind the purple lenses of his Doggers.

I hated my teenage years, I wouldn't relive them for anything, but when I remember a moment like that I'm reminded that there were times as a teen that I really was happy.

Even if it was just for a moment.