The Last Supper.

The elephant in the room followed me out the front door of my apartment and into my friend’s car as I strapped myself into the passenger seat. There was a smile on both of our faces as we greeted each other normally and talked about how excited we were to get the evening started as if to shake off the underlying anticipation. 

Just a couple weeks before, we talked about how we should celebrate the end of the tumultuous term and eagerly agreed upon going out for sushi. Now however, we were going out for a completely different reason; to enjoy our last normal night out for what we could only hope would be a few months. 

As we drove, my friend asked me if I was worried, “Will it bother you being stuck inside all day?”

Admittedly, I didn’t really think about her question that much at first. 

“Being encouraged to stay home all day and not talk to anybody was my dream as a thirteen year-old,” I joked.

As the car trawled forward, however, I found myself sneaking long glances out the window until I was staring out at the world that had accepted my resignation. 

It was a beautiful spring night, the sun was shining warmly upon the earth, casting it’s orange glow upon the ground and all the people upon it. Such perfect weather was hardly befitting of the near ghost town we were driving through but yet the whole town had fallen under an eerie silence. 

Once lively businesses were now dark and empty and as I looked closer I found that each one was marked with a telltale white sign whose meaning was apparent; quarantine was here. 

The car pulled to a stop in Momijis small parking lot, that same white sign was present on the door as we entered and I did my best to ignore the silent feeling of dread that followed me inside. 

To my surprise, the usually slow-paced restaurant was busier than I had ever seen it.  In fact, almost every table was taken, and despite being a day away from quarantine, everyone inside seemed to have the same idea of making the most of their last night out.  

The night pressed onward as we sat and talked, casual banter felt like drawn-out discussions and when our meals were placed upon the table I couldn’t help but savor each bite despite having ordered the same meal many times before. It wasn’t until the waitress arrived with our check that I was brought back into reality, we paid and offered the best tip we could muster, knowing that soon the waitresses would be giving up their aprons and leaving their jobs. 

We lingered there in the cramped booth for what felt like another hour, there was no food nor drink left between us and I felt myself running out of things to say, but still neither of us could bring ourselves to move until finally my friend pointed out that she would be making a long drive home back to Lebanon and we should start heading out. 

The ride back to my complex was void of any words, only the sound of the car’s stereo saved us from a crippling silence. Though the drive was only a fifteen-minute ride through the suburbs I felt like I was heading towards something far more baleful than just my apartment. 

The car rounded the corner and all too soon we were pulling back into my subdivision. We stopped in front of my building and for a moment neither of us said anything, there was a certain finality that could be felt all around us and it seemed like nobody had the words to face up to it. 

Finally, one of us spoke up and my friend, still holding up the facade of normalcy, said, “We’ll hang out again soon.” 

I nodded in agreement and hopped out of the car with a smile, the music from the stereo was still beating along without a care as we bid each other farewell and I watched her wave goodbye one last time before she drove off. 

I remained in place until her taillights were gone, only then did I feel that I could truly call my night over. I ascended the stairs to my apartment slowly and reached for the door handle. 

That night I would fall asleep and the next morning I would wake up in a completely different world.