Neither of us want to be here,
but Dad and I assume our seats
at the tacky plastic booth.
I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall
at any other table, watching the patrons
who also must dine here
on this sacred holiday.
Instead I stare
at the faded fake bouquet
of yellow Texas roses
and gawk as Dad grapples
with six sauce packets.
I don’t want to think of my mom
at the hospital down the road,
alone at her bed with only red
roses by her side,
riding through her aches
and haunted by Lysol,
Maybe I’ll sneak her in a burrito
or better yet, wheel her out
the backdoor when the nurses aren’t looking,
but guilt spreads in my stomach
like an illness
for dreading this impending visit.
I look up as Dad spills
a dot of hot sauce
on his white work shirt,
and now we’re both laughing
because even though my stomach aches
and he hasn’t slept in two days,
there’s still something funny
about wearing a suit and tie
at Taco Bell,
even on Valentine’s Day.
Rachel is a junior English and Public Relations double major from the suburbs of DC. In her free time, she dabbles in writing about music, covers various arts and entertainment events for The Underground and makes way too many Spotify playlists along the way. She draws much of her creative inspiration from observing her older siblings and listening to stories from her parents.