The End Page 6   histories. Its almost chemical, or something.”   She feels as if someone is plucking her eyebrows. Each syllable he pronounces is one little painful pluck. She blinks repeatedly to dissolve her pain. She tries to conceal it. She smiles at him. In order not to offend him. In order not to create a scene.    He feels his words make her close up. He feels they interrupt the connection that has been emerging at its natural pace. “I know this all sounds cheesy as hell. Almost like a well-planned ‘come on’ line or something. But this is real. It is all new to me, too. Anyway, we can talk about something else if this is making you feel uncomfortable.”    She is desperate to stop the pain in her eyes. But she does not want this to end. She saves this drowning moment with a logistical question. “So what is your thesis on?”    “Oh, yeah, my thesis. Well, I’m examining the relationship between food and art in sub-Saharan African cultures. Food is almost holy to many of these tribes, since they don’t always have it. I am arguing that their expressive food ceremonies are the most true form of art they produce.” He once again kicks himself in the head in his mind. He doesn’t want to speak of his thesis. All he wants is to feel.    “Wow. That’s pretty interesting. Food is also the most basic form of expression. I guess it has a raw quality to it that other art forms don’t have.”    “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. I have photographs of some of the wedding dishes this one tribe prepares. It’s unbelievable the effort and creativity that goes into these things. This one picture shows...”    She doesn’t listen to his response. Just nods her head in consent as he speaks. Her pain stops. She is relieved. She is once again comfortable.    He feels he is in prison. He stops his speech in the middle of a sentence. He cannot speak any longer.