I didn't remember what he looked like, even though the last time I saw him was only two days ago. But then again, I had only met him two days ago, as well.
It wasn't that his face was forgettable. I remembered thinking that he had very kind eyes, and his hair was some shade of brown. He wasn't that much taller than me.
I distracted myself with the menu. Oysters were outrageously expensive. But I had always wanted to be a patron at this particular establishment, and I was finally here.
He appeared at my side, looking nothing and everything like I remembered.
It was his first time, and my first time in a long time. I clumsily showed him how to use the comically small oyster fork, suggested a light touch on the accoutrements (lemon, mignonette, etc), shyly toasted each other and down the gullet it went.
The first sip of the briny water was a mild assault on the senses. The meat itself was creamy, which balanced out the acidity--or was it the other way around? My eyes closed, rolling back into my head, lips slightly parted and slack, and finally an exhalation from the fleeting pleasure.