“I’m getting fucking sick of Denny’s, man. You know there are other places to eat, right?” my buddy Tate complained, pushing his pancakes around on his plate.
I had been coming to Denny’s almost every day for years. It was a strange sort of ritual that I couldn’t break.
“Then stop coming with me,” I told him, rolling my eyes.
“And have you sit by yourself like the sad sack that you are? I can’t have that on my conscience,” Tate laughed, shoving the food into his mouth. He was so full of shit. He just wanted the free meal.
“Shut up and eat your food,” I muttered, laughing. I dipped a seasoned fry into the ranch dressing, completely submerging it. Then I took my spoon and fished it out, slurping the contents into my mouth.
“That is really fucking foul, dude,” Tate muttered and I ignored him.
“Well, I’ve got shit to do today. I have two new pieces to lacquer and a speaker to re-wire. And if I eat any more of this crap, I’m going to throw up,” Tate said, sopping up the last of his syrup with a piece of toast. For a guy that hated the food so much, he was sure doing a good job of putting it away.
“Do you boys need anything else?” Nancy the waitress asked. She stood close to my elbow and I gave her a polite smile. She beamed back at me, moving in a bit closer. Tate snorted and made a crude gesture with his hand and mouth while looking at our server. Again, I ignored him.
“No, we’re good, Nancy. Thanks,” I said. She dropped her hand onto my arm and gave it a squeeze. Always touching. Tate snorted again. It didn’t make me uncomfortable. It made me sad. For her. For a woman who could only find joy in groping the young customers.
“You in the market for some old lady strange?” Tate snickered.
“You’re a dick.” I shook my head.
“I’m a HUGE dick,” he chortled, grabbing at his junk, though thankfully it was underneath the table.
“Dude, this is a family restaurant,” I groaned, looking around.
“Stop being such a *.” Tate started to put on his coat. “I’ve got to get back. You comin’?”
“Nah, I’m still eating. I can pay for yours. Head out if you want.” I had a mountain of stuff to do back at the studio but I wasn’t feeling in a rush to leave. Never in a rush. I liked to take my time.
“Really? That’s cool of you. I’ll getcha back another time,” Tate said, getting to his feet.
Then I was alone.
And awkwardly sitting by myself. I looked at my food. Concentrating. I didn’t want to look lonely. But that’s exactly what I was.
Lonely.
Alone.
Always.
I stuffed a fry in my mouth and then started constructing elaborate structures out of the fried potatoes on my plate.
Piling. Stacking. Making things out of nothing. It’s what I did best.
“Is that Stonehenge?”
The voice startled me and I may have flinched a little. I’m not sure why.
I looked up and froze.
Literally and completely froze. Paralyzed. Immobilized. Suspended in motion.
Because she was gorgeous in all the ways that you would expect a girl to be. Her hair was long and dark. Her lips plump and looked as though they tasted like my downfall. Her skin was pale and unblemished except for the freckles dusting her nose.
I knew those freckles were deceiving. She wore innocence like a badge. To be noticed. To cajole unsuspecting souls into easy submission. Those freckles could lure a man into false confidence, thinking her meek and malleable.
But her eyes gave her away.
Dark and wide and bottomless. Coal black. They were sad and devoid of light. But I knew there was a soul inside there somewhere.
Or at least I hoped so.
She had a beat up copy of Swann’s Way tucked under her arm, and I instantly recognized her. It was the girl from last weekend.