Her boyfriend went on about whatever movie they just sat through and how the actors were either good or not, how the director was competent or not, pointed out gaping plot holes or applauded the tightness of the story, complained about how if he could just sell one script, just get in his foot in the door, how he could revolutionize the movie industry.
Between his self-absorbed talk he stuffed fries covered in globs of mayonnaise into his face and chewed with his mouth open. Samantha cradled her chin in one hand while the fingers on her other hand explored the underside of the diner’s table. She found a piece of gum, almost as hard as cement, and began picking it at.
A memory bubbled up. Overexposed. To much light and no focus. She picked at the wad with more intensity. Her boyfriend’s talk turned into a calming murmur. Like the din of the freeway from across town.
The recollection bubbled up. She tried to grab it, it flitted through her fingers. She dug harder. Her fingers strained. Samantha pried the gum loose and finally grasped the memory.
“Have you been listening to me at all?” her boyfriend said, and the image from her past fell apart like ash through her fingers.
“Of course I was,” she said.
He didn’t even wait for her to finish those four words before starting in on whatever else he needed to say out loud to validate his existence. Samantha sipped her root beer float and told herself to remember to dump this self-centered asshole.
Although she could probably wait until after her birthday next month.
Prompt courtesy of the Trifecta Challenge.