This Salad Tastes Like Shit
By Anelyse Pfeiffer
It’s almost 9:43 pm and the bartender is pouring me the Jack Daniels and coke that I just ordered with the chicken salad. I knew I would make myself purge after drinking enough so I had to eat something. The hotel bar is empty except for my Grandma and Great Aunt, myself and the bartender. The bartender is so quiet I don’t think she’s really even here. The salad came out quick, so I get to chase the iceberg lettuce with a cold drink that warms my stomach. I need something warm on a cold night like this. It’s Dec 20th today and I turn 26 tomorrow. The air is stiff and heavy, crisp and cool. The tip of my nose stings a bit. But it’s quiet. Oh, so quiet. Every conversation is muffled and distant. I don’t know how I’m answering their questions or why anyone is asking me anything anyways. I was just with Ryan getting a tattoo that he paid for. How could today turn out like this? It’s only been 6 hours and 22 minutes since I heard you were gone. Fuck you for leaving me and fuck me for not coming up here when I had the chance. But no, I’m too goddamn selfish. I think grandma just asked me how my salad was. I’m going to tell her ‘fine,’ but this salad tastes like shit.
Anelyse Pfeiffer has been a student of PCC for the last year. She is a single mother going back to school to show her daughter that it is possible to do what you love while working towards your goals. Poetry is usually the form her writing takes, but most recently she's been exploring the short story.
