My fork plied the leaves of bright green lettuce on the plate. It shuffled the crisp half-moons of red pepper and toasted slivers of almond while it flicked bits of sesame seed and toppled droplets of the dressing from each layer to the one below.
I say my fork did all this because it seemed to be detached from me, held by a hand that mindlessly stirred the assembled salad without any motive force from my brain.
“Mom?” Julie"s voice seemed to appear suddenly from a void, although she was sitting next to me at the kitchen table. Her question drew me from my thoughts.
“You seem so quiet,” she added. “Everything okay?”
“Of course, honey. Of course.” To prove my point, I stabbed some lettuce and plunged it into my mouth. Julie continued staring at me, showing a bit of concern and I wanted
