Lunch in the Morning

It's the first day of September. I had almost forgotten that until I was boarding my second Metro of the morning and something in the set of the shoulders of a departing rider, or some linked thought that came to land on the shoulders of the departing rider, reminded me it's a new month.

And then again, walking the short blocks here, office windows glinting with reflected light, I caught a whiff of what surely is an autumnal smell. Not the acrid aroma of crushed leaves, but the slightly nauseating odor of tomato sauce wafting from a restaurant on the corner.

It reminded me of heading back to school, of a cafeteria lunch already simmering as we filed through the doors, stowed our jackets and sat down at our desks. It is the smell of early anxiety, of lunch boxes and chalk dust and book covers made of brown grocery bags. It is the smell of wondering who you will sit with at lunch.

For a moment I was little again, and scared. Then I walked a block east and the smell was gone. But the slight churn in the stomach, that was still there.