Sam moved through the motions of the meal.
“Pass the yams.”
“No thank you.”
“Empty the plate before dessert.”
Food was just a means of energy for Sam and Thanksgiving dinner the ideal hell for someone who could not taste. Especially for someone with no memory of taste at all.
Every year Sam volunteered to carve the turkey so that he could make a wish on the wishbone. Every year he made the same wish, just one taste. Every year he was disappointed.
Sam stared at the depths of the dessert table disheartened. He could not bring himself to try even one more bite of disappointment.