Character Exploration #9

She said she’d be there. You look to either side as you walk across the front of house, listening to the clinking of cutlery across cheap glass plates, the murmur of voices chatting about their day, and kitchen staff shouting intelligible commands in the back. All these, these people, you do not see them. More importantly, you do not see her. And she promised.

As you walk, you brush through the crowded diner, your bare legs against a soft dress, warm hands occasionally cuffing your shoulder or hip while the person grumbles, “excuse me” or “sorry.” sometimes, you catch snippets of conversations, echoes of arguments and jokes you had with her, like the one about the guy who stood outside Subway selling time.

“You remember that, don’t you?” You hear, a whisper in your ear, her voice impossibly too high. She reached your shoulder-length, at best. Still, you whip around. Nothing. But it’s the same scene front to back, same placement of tables whether you walk forward or not. She made a promise, but so did you. And you needed to play your part to a T.

“Of course,” You say to the empty air, to the moss green tiled floor, to the flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead. You do not say this to Irene, not really. You will not say anything to Irene ever again, not really.

She takes your arm anyway, somehow, and the familiar clink of silver bracelets catch your attention, as they do every time. You cannot say anything about it, cannot wonder aloud if those were yours, the ones you wore everyday up until the accident. You already know the truth. Irene leads you to a booth, and you sit across from her. The silverware on her end shuffle around- her napkin disappears onto her lap, her fork lies to her left, her knife sits by the ketchup bottle at the far right, always unused.

You both order food. She asks the waitress for her opinion on the best meal there, even though you and she went to this diner since before mom and dad split up. You didn’t notice until the tenth round that she was flirting. Irene never gets her number, and once you’d puzzled it out, you realize why she was so insistent to pay by herself at the register.

But you’re jumping ahead! Irene gets a cherry Coke and a bacon burger with a side of sweet potato fries. You order a turkey club sandwich with onion rings and sweet tea. You’ve got the dialogue down pat, the little grunts and sighs between Irene chattering away about how much she missed you, and when were you going to have a break from college already? It’s so boring at home with only mom, and dad is just- ugh! When she keeps going, you slip into a sort of autopilot. While you can’t see her expressions, her longing glances over at the redheaded waitress who passes by and checks on them occasionally, you remember them. They just come to you. And if just moment this was your eternity, well, you wouldn’t mind it so much.

It isn’t.