Sunday, June 1, 2008

Diner at Midnight

Apathy slowly encompassed her as she nonchalantly stirred the ice in the empty glass in front of her with the tip of her straw. Every few minutes she pressed the rim of the glass to her lips to catch an ice cube to chew on, thinking about how so few customers must make it hard to see the need of a refill.

The world kept turning and bad days turn into good ones, she knew.

At least she wasn’t on her feet, eight months pregnant, trying to pay for future pacifiers and car seats, she thought as she watched Grace try to please a table full of obnoxious teenage boys.

The refill comes with a crooked smile and a brown tint. She begins to sip and finds that she preferred the ice.

At least she wasn’t eighty still working the graveyard shift on Fridays nights. The guilt for her misery pressed down as she watched the hostess.

At least she wasn’t alone.

Was the tint in the water a reflection of the table or a reflection of the diner, she wondered as she drew in long sips trying to get to the ice quicker. As impatient neighbors hollered for their food she was glad that she didn’t care. Willy, the cook as she overheard, could take all the time in the world. If nothing else, that was what she had sitting in her hands along with the circling straw.

She watched as the ice melted, taking with it the key to her satisfaction.

Perhaps Willy would like to take a break and join her to sip on some murky water.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and took in a long slow breath. With the ice completely gone she was oddly at ease now that she didn’t really have to decide which she preferred.