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Literature Text
imagine her life.
she, everything assumed, has one
beyond this diner-world where we crossed paths.
the hazel of her irises wants closing time.
perhaps she has a boyfriend, one that brings her eyes to look at the clock,
sneak blushing peaks at her cell phone while turned from her boss.
or maybe he is not so perfect, her eyes instead ringing out anxiety,
fear of him cheating or another beating.
either way she looks so dreary, having almost dealt with another day.
she leans her weight with each swing of the mop.
you and i sit here waiting for our food, and you say to no one in particular,
"what's taking so fucking long?"
i shudder and say, reasonably, "it's 11:30, they only have one cook."
"they only have two customers: us!" you tap the table with your fake fingernails.
she puts up her mop and heads to the kitchen heavily.
and then, our food is set before us.
she withers away at a smile.
"about time," you cut her direction.
her eyes darken and my eyes darken, "thank you," I try to cover you up.
turning away, i imagine the damage, the ruin you caused,
but you had only begun.
"they got your order wrong," you look over my plate, eggs over easy.
"it's fine, really," i say, looking at your knife as it cuts through sausage.
you snap at the her like a dog while you take your first bite.
i feel sweat in my palms when you look at her coldly.
she comes over, cautiously gazing at your chair's upholstery.
"these were supposed to be scrambled, you got the order wrong."
"i'm sorry, ma'am," she knows her tip will be low, her eyes say so.
she needs the money; maybe for her car,
the one we saw on the way in,
fender gone and the back door caved in.
or maybe to pay off college loans,
left from before she had to drop out,
perhaps both, no doubt.
i smile weakly at her as she leaves us in silence.
"mom, why did you do that?"
my skin pricks with the thought of her misery you caused.
"i just want you to get what you want."
"what i want is to not hurt her feelings,"
you look past me for a moment.
"she needs to do her job right,"
my scrambled eggs land on the table in defeat.
even sitting, my knees are weak:
she must have heard you say that, she bit her lip as she said, "there you go.
is there anything else i can get you?"
"no," you say through a bite of pancakes
"no, thank you," i try to catch her eyes as she leaves the bill.
~
you get up and out of your purse put down exact change.
i follow and wish i had money for her.
we were just two more people pulling her down,
and that's all we'll ever be to her.
she, everything assumed, has one
beyond this diner-world where we crossed paths.
the hazel of her irises wants closing time.
perhaps she has a boyfriend, one that brings her eyes to look at the clock,
sneak blushing peaks at her cell phone while turned from her boss.
or maybe he is not so perfect, her eyes instead ringing out anxiety,
fear of him cheating or another beating.
either way she looks so dreary, having almost dealt with another day.
she leans her weight with each swing of the mop.
you and i sit here waiting for our food, and you say to no one in particular,
"what's taking so fucking long?"
i shudder and say, reasonably, "it's 11:30, they only have one cook."
"they only have two customers: us!" you tap the table with your fake fingernails.
she puts up her mop and heads to the kitchen heavily.
and then, our food is set before us.
she withers away at a smile.
"about time," you cut her direction.
her eyes darken and my eyes darken, "thank you," I try to cover you up.
turning away, i imagine the damage, the ruin you caused,
but you had only begun.
"they got your order wrong," you look over my plate, eggs over easy.
"it's fine, really," i say, looking at your knife as it cuts through sausage.
you snap at the her like a dog while you take your first bite.
i feel sweat in my palms when you look at her coldly.
she comes over, cautiously gazing at your chair's upholstery.
"these were supposed to be scrambled, you got the order wrong."
"i'm sorry, ma'am," she knows her tip will be low, her eyes say so.
she needs the money; maybe for her car,
the one we saw on the way in,
fender gone and the back door caved in.
or maybe to pay off college loans,
left from before she had to drop out,
perhaps both, no doubt.
i smile weakly at her as she leaves us in silence.
"mom, why did you do that?"
my skin pricks with the thought of her misery you caused.
"i just want you to get what you want."
"what i want is to not hurt her feelings,"
you look past me for a moment.
"she needs to do her job right,"
my scrambled eggs land on the table in defeat.
even sitting, my knees are weak:
she must have heard you say that, she bit her lip as she said, "there you go.
is there anything else i can get you?"
"no," you say through a bite of pancakes
"no, thank you," i try to catch her eyes as she leaves the bill.
~
you get up and out of your purse put down exact change.
i follow and wish i had money for her.
we were just two more people pulling her down,
and that's all we'll ever be to her.
semi-prose
atephobia -- fear of ruining things.
for me, it's ruining other people's lives, particularly strangers.
this is fiction.
entered here: [link]
atephobia -- fear of ruining things.
for me, it's ruining other people's lives, particularly strangers.
this is fiction.
entered here: [link]
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