The Neverland Project ✎

━━ nine

There was almost no restaurant in the food court that didn't have a line of at least nine other people. We wandered around for a while, circling the food court, looking for places that appealed to us. Most of the restaurants were extremely expensive or gave massive portions, served up on white styrofoam plates. The lines also deterred us from going to a few restaurants before we finally gave up and lined up in front of Tim Hortons.

From where we were standing, we could see the case containing all the baked goods. Donuts, Timbits, muffins, bagels, croissants and scones. My stomach grumbled in eager anticipation as we moved closer and closer to the front of the line. 

The food court around us was loud and filled with people carrying out their own conversations, some shouting to be heard over everyone else. I saw mothers pushing their young children in strollers and spooning bites of fried rice to hungry toddlers. I saw more teenagers skipping school and hanging out around the New York Fries, hotdogs in hand and ketchup packets shoved into the pockets of their hoodies. 

Finally, Curtis and I made it to the front of the Tim Hortons line. He ordered a medium black coffee, double chocolate donut and a breakfast sandwich since it hadn't turned 10:30 yet and breakfast was still being served. He smiled at me and then went to stand off to the side to wait for his food. 

I was next. I ordered a white hot chocolate with peppermint, a crispy chicken sandwich and a chocolate chip muffin. Once I'd handed the cashier the ten dollars to pay for my meal I went and stood next to Curtis, who was holding a paper cup filled with his coffee and a paper bag that contained his donut. 

We waited for a few moments while the busy employees put together our food. Once we were both carrying multiple kraft paper bags and precariously balanced coffee cups, we made our way to a booth in the centre of the food court. Curtis slid into the seat across from me, peeling the plastic lid off of his coffee and letting the little curls of steam rise from the bitter liquid before they dispersed into the air. 

I removed the lid of my hot chocolate and pulled my sandwich out of its paper bag. The ciabatta bun was still slightly warm from being toasted and the chicken had some small tendrils of steam escaping from it. A singular piece of lettuce lay limp on top of the chicken with a slice of tomato and a glob of mayonnaise on top of that. 

Curtis had already begun eating his breakfast sandwich, an English muffin with sausage, egg and cheese. His sandwich was wrapped in paper, most of which he had ripped off and was now lying in crumpled pieces on the table. 

Tentatively, I raised my own sandwich to my lips and took a little bite. The chicken was crisp and spicy on my tongue and the tomato was hard and tasteless. A small spurt of mayonnaise squirted into my mouth as well, complementing the rest of the flavours. 

We ate our sandwiches in silence. Curtis was drumming his fingers on the table and I was looking around and watching people eating their own lunches and making up my own little silent stories for them. My mind would wander like this sometimes and I would drift off into my own world, untethered by the worries that would crowd my head at any other time. I would much rather come up with a sob story for strangers than focus on the one that I was living. 

Distractedly, I raised my hot chocolate to my lips and took a tiny sip, the still-hot liquid scorching my tongue and leaving it feeling raw. I scrunched my nose in dismay, setting the paper cup back down on the table and taking another bite of my sandwich. 

Curtis smiled at me, "Still hot?" he asked, his hand lazily motioning to the paper cup I had shoved away from myself. I nodded and picked a chocolate chip off the top of my muffin, licking residue chocolate off my thumb. He crumpled up the paper his food had come in and placed it on the table before starting on his donut, reaching into the paper bag and extracting the chocolatey treat.