There is always something relaxing in washing dishes I’ve found. Maybe it’s the simple repetitiveness of it, the sound of water ringing against the metal pots, or maybe just soaking your hands in the hot water. But this time my mind could neither focus or let go. I dried my hands and removed my only bit of modesty of an apron. Hanging it up I sat on a stool and nervously awaited to hear my fate.
All my hopes hung on a plate of filet mignon, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables and a Dessert of rich New York Cheesecake. There I sat alone with only my racing thoughts. “Why is this taking so long? Why am I even here? Did he mean it when he said I’d have to live here? This is all nuts, I’ve got to g..” Suddenly the door opened, snapping me back to reality.