The Luncheon

Fish was alone. Eighteen of his closest friends were in the room with him, or out on the sun porch, but Fish was alone. He was staring at the party platter filled with meats, cheeses, olives, and sweet pickles. And in his solitude, Fish was mesmerized by the stack of Swiss cheese that occupied the center.

-Has anyone eaten a piece of Swiss cheese? Fish asked, but there was no response.

Everyone was talking, and no one was listening.

It seemed as though the Pike's Peak of Swiss had not been disturbed, as though not one person had even contemplated adding the crater filled cheese to their cardboard Dixie plates. This was absurd to Fish, not that he would ever dream of adding Swiss cheese to his sandwich, yet the synapse in his brain were firing too slow to make any logical conclusions. He just stood, feeling almost ashamed for the Swiss. Had the cheese in some fashion lost it's edge, it's coolness? Were the fashion police of Paris and Amsterdam snuffing the commodity at all of their shows?

-Has anyone eaten a piece of Swiss Cheese? Fish asked this time with a louder, more projected tone, feeling he had emphasized some degree of urgency while not crying wolf.

Everyone was talking, and no one was listening.

Something was ravishing the very essence of life that Fish held dear. A drop of sweat started to creep down his brow while his mind started racing through incalculable math equations. "How many slices would a pound of Swiss cheese provide if each slice was cut in 1/16 inch units?" "Would the company that made the party tray err on the side of less cheese, hoping to curb their profits, or would they risk their marginal gain in hopes of return business?" Fish was alone in these thoughts, and he started to curse everyone in the room silently, knowing that they could care less about the existence of this cheese on the kitchen counter. He fervently walked to the staircase and stood on the second step. And as Fish shouted the words across the room, desperately hoping for a straight, real answer, time seemed to stand still.

-Has anyone eaten a piece of the Swiss?

The only response came from his friend Ashley who, after remaining still for what seemed an eternity, walked over to Fish and grabbed his hand.

She did not speak. Neither did anyone else for a few moments. Fish just stared at his friends, holding them in contempt, with his mouth slightly open. Anyone of his friends would have read "stupidity" in his face rather than "contempt"; and as they found themselves continuing with their earlier discussion, snippets of laughter in the air, Fish found himself releasing Ashley's hand and walking back to the party tray.

He stared down at the Swiss.

Fish was alone.

And everyone was talking, and no one was listening.



The Luncheon
New pieces of art by bo odom