Diner Date

She wasn’t raised t say such things. She was a good girl. Modest and lady-like. But, event that gave her away. Not quite a lady, just like one. Like something is similar, yet not quite it. The conversation had gotten sexy, but she liked it.

The wine didn’t help. She wasn’t a drinker, yet this – her fourth glass – was being put away without rational thought. The way he looked at her was frightening, but it filled her with heat as well. Simple things made her mind swim.

Would she like more salad? Oh, god yes – give her more.

How was the lamb? He made it just the way she wanted it – tender, hot, and perfectly seasoned.

She was lost.

“Well, I guess we should think about getting you home. You look tired.” He smiled that smile of his. The smile that made her melt. She felt a heat rise in her chest and wanted to jump on him then and there. She knew it was just the wine. Knew it would be a huge mistake to react like she wanted to, but, she wanted him and wanted him now.

“I should, I guess. Have to work tomorrow and all. You sure you don’t mind driving? I could call a cab instead.” Or, just sleep here tonight after you RAVAGE me!

“No no. No cab. That’s silly. I’ll drive you.” He stood and cleared the plates. He dragged his finger over his desert plate and turned. His finger slipped into his mouth and he licked the crème from it. Was he trying to make her crazy? If so, it was working. She shivered. “Cold?”

“Just got a chill.” She smiled. And rubbed her arms. She looked down and noticed her nipples pushing through her blouse and blushed. Jesus. She needed to get her coat before he noticed. Or, maybe not.

“I’m sorry. I can turn the heat up.”

“I don’t think I could take more heat.” She stared blankly for a moment. Then, trying to cover, she mumbled, “Well, more than the finger licking.” Again, a heartbeat passed, then, “And the wine. I just get shivers sometimes.” Her head was swimming. She drank far too much, but loved every moment of it. She felt lighter than air.

He moved to her and around behind her.

She looked up and behind herself as he slipped his hands onto her shoulders and rubbed softly. She closed her eyes and let her head drop as his strong hands pressed into the soft muscle and olive skin of her shoulders. His breath was in her ear now and she grew warmer. More aroused.

He whispered, “I suppose…you could stay here tonight.” His hands slid down over her chest and cupped them gently. She swooned. “I could…set you up on the sofa. Or…” He nibbled her ear.

Her hands dropped to her sides and found his legs. She gripped them and felt the muscle under the firm flesh and cotton slacks. Her hands kneaded his calves. “I’m not sure I should.”

His tongue slid over her ear lobe.

“Maybe I could….sleep on the sofa. That….might be…” She felt something stir in her belly as fingers found her nipples. The wine spun her head as she yanked it upright. Her balance fell away as the perfectly prepared meal rose from her belly. She couldn’t even get out a warning as she bolted forward in her seat and was sick.

He yelped as his tongue was bitten. Her head smacked his bottom jaw and clamped his own teeth on his tongue. His head jerked back and hit the pots that hung behind him as she lost her dinner all over the wondrous, white tablecloth that covered the dinner table.

“Oh, God,” she hissed as she pushed away from the table and raced for what she remembered as the restroom. She yanked the door open and dove in, knocking an ironing board to the floor along with some rolls of toilet paper and what she believed to be tools, though she couldn’t focus enough to be sure.

He mumbled, “To the right,” but, of course it was too late and she was sick in his hallway.

This, in turn, removed the romance from the evening.




Hours later after medicine, a cold compress, and some cleaning had been preformed, they sat together on the sofa in robes. Hair wet from the showers they took – alone – they sipped water and tried to find the humor in the situation, but it was still a bit too soon.

“I don’t drink often.” She stared into her water glass, then swept her hair away behind her ear.

“I figured.” He snickered and she followed suit. “Well, the hall is spotless.” The two stared into the hallway, then began laughing. He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

It wouldn’t last.

It just fell on her from out of no where. Or perhaps it snuck up behind her when she hadn't been looking, but there were tears streaming down her face and she felt about twenty leagues deep. She walked through the mass of people. Busy shoppers buying. The apple she was clutching slipped from her hands and onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, though no one had noticed. She left the supermarket without buying anything and walked to the next supermarket. It was her lonely evening ritual. There were 5 supermarkets within walking distance from her house and she would tour them, searching for something to buy, but finding nothing. Frequently, she openly wept, but no one said anything. Was it common for women to weep and wander as she did? Was it a sight the cashier were familiar with?

She peered into other people's carts: diapers, chocolates, vodka, dried mashed potatoes. Each item told a story. She was perennially between stories. She only had the absence of an existence, folding around her friends' life's or acting as a mirror.

Then her mood lightened and she smiled at babies and brushed her hair and thought about how happy she might one day be.

Flies

"Wow. This is such a great place," said the blonde. She was being led by the hand of a man a few years her senior through a maze of Harley Davidsons. Their metal and mirrors reflected the August sun of a Sunday morning back up into the couple's faces and they squinted in pathetic defense. Before them stood an all chrome diner. It had blinked to them from the highway.

"I used to come here when I was in college," he said. "There is a bathroom in the back with a shower. Truckers stopped here on late night drives. The food is alright, but the waitresses are mean."

"I can't believe you never told me about it." She squeezed his hand and with the other made a visor to protect her eyes. The tarmac was sticky underfoot.

"There's a lot I haven't told you."

"No there isn't. Not really. You talk all the damn time."

"That's what I want you to believe."

"I believe you are a wonderful person, and I am glad you are in my life and I am glad to be visiting your parents and I am glad to be at this diner with you." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

They approached the diner in silent awe. It was ablaze with reflections of the blue sky, the approaching couple, the motorcycles, the trees across the parking lot, and beyond them, the colorful shifting parade of the highway. He held the door open for her and she paused at the threshold. Out wafted the sweet smell of bacon fat, syrup and coffee. It was more than she had hoped for. Worn leather seats and bar stools, chrome detailed countertops and wall panels. Best of all were the mirrors on the ceiling and walls. She could see every angle of everyone.

There was a wait, but they didn't mind. He analyzed the display cases of cds for sale: predominantly country and heavy metal albums with the occasional best of the decade compilation. He was particularly pleased to notice a best of the 70's disc that he had bought a tape version of ten years ago on a road trip through the midwest. There were also packs of cards for sale, and, causing him to frown, a hunting knife.

She leaned with her back to the wall and surveyed the landscape before her. Wavey haired waitresses grunting at fat men in leather jackets. There was a friendliness there, she decided, though it wasn't one she knew to participate in, not that she was invited. She had felt the inhibitants give her the brief once over followed by instant disregard the moment she walked in: the young professional in expensive clothes with a mocking smile waiting behind her face. She noticed everything. People cleaned their plates, but left the tables messy. They left strings of golden syrup along the table as they replaced the glass containers back in the center after showering their pancakes. Homefries sat comfortably next to puddles of ketchup. Soft eggs and crisp bacon was salted. Inevitably, the bacon and eggs ended up saturated with syrup, and the pancakes were polluted by ketchup. The plates were petri dishes of blending flavors.

"A booth is free." The waitress shouted at them from across the resturant. They followed her finger to a table in a corner booth, isolated from everyone else. She wore tight pink gingham, which the man thought would have looked sexy on a woman twenty years younger, but which gave this waitress an air of martial dignity. They sat at the table and the waitress grabbed from her apron pocket and slapped them down.

"Coffee." It was not a question. While she waited for a reply, the waitress stared at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted the under-wire of her bra with one hand and a well-tuned wiggle.

"Yes. Two, please," the woman agreed. The waitress manouved herself to get their coffee.

"I hate it when you order for me. The man is supposed to order for the woman."

"What are you talking about?" The woman lowered her voice to a whisper.

"I have asked you before not to order for me."

"But I knew you wanted coffee."

"Look, I don't want to make a big deal out of it. I know you have your period and you might get all emotional. I just have asked you before not to order for me and you keep on doing it. No matter my motivations, you are being disrespectful."

"And you are being controlling and totally offensive"

"Maybe you are being controlling. Maybe I wanted tea. And you were the one who told me that when you have your period that it is good for me to just let things go because you get so emotional."

"Did you want tea?"

"No, but that isn't the point."

"That is precisely the point. God. Why do we always have to fight? It is so stupid."

"Like I said, let's just drop it."

"Let's try. Here is the menu."

They opened their menus. His was stuck together with congealed something, but he used his knife as a lever to pry it apart.

"What's crispy french toast?" she asked.

"It's a local specialty. Just before you finish the french toast you put cornflakes all over it."

"That's genius."

"Genius?"

"You know. It is a great idea. I have to try it."

"Its pretty good. I'm going to get what I always get here..." He drifted off.

"What?"

"What what?"

"What do you always get here?"

"Oh. I always get a stack of apple pancakes. They are delicious."

"I'll let you have bite of my crispy french toast, if you let me have a bit of your apple pancakes."

"Baby, what is mine is yours."

The waitress returned with two small white mugs of light brown coffee and dutifully scribbled their orders on a grease stained notepad.

The woman looked up at the reflection in the ceiling.

"I can see your bald spot."

"I can see your cleavage."

"I'm going to go wash my hands before I eat."

"The bathrooms behind the bar. Let me know what you think."

The woman stood up and navigated her way through the densely packed restaurant. Knives and coffee handles were precariously placed in her path, but she shimmied through. People were here in groups. Eight bikers had puled two tables together and sat, steadily eating. A fat family of four squeezed into a booth. No one looked at her, but she looked at everyone.

She passed the bar. She wanted to reach her hand out and stroke the people's backs the way she would trees in a forrest. She satisfied herself by allowing one hand to graze against the chrome piping of the tables on the opposite side.

She opened the bathroom door. It was astonishing. Yes, there was a shower, but that wasn't what had made her gasp. The entire bathroom, floors and ceilings included, was mirrored. She went straight to the center and turned a pirouette before realizing she had forgotten to lock the door. After doing so she sat down to relieve herself. She didn't like looking at herself during this. Everywhere she looked was her face in placid concentration. She looked into the ceiling, but the shape of her neck and the way her breasts were pinched together were unpleasing. She closed her eyes.

She stood up and turned to flush. In the toilet, next to ribbons of menstrual blood, were tiny flies resting on the inside of the bowl and some drowned in the water. Her stomach turned. Her instinct was to think that the flies had come from her body. Teeming inside her womb. She had to think carefully. The flies must have been here before, she just hadn't looked. Where did they come from? They couldn't have swum up through the plumming. She closed the lid and sat down. Again she was distrubed by her image. Again she closed her eyes, but the image of the drowned flies flashed in her head. She rested her head against the cold mirror.

There was a knock on the door. "Sarah, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just daydreaming." Her voice echoed unpleasantly in the room.

"Well, the food is on the table. Crispy French Toast." She grew aware of the clatter of the diner beyond the door. Plates being washed, the spatter of grease, people paying and coming and going. Some laughter. She stood up and washed her hands twice. She used a paper towel to open the bathroom door and walked back to the table.

"Wanna try some pancakes?"

"Sure." They were delicious.

"What happened in there? The bathroom is pretty wild, huh? You take off all your clothes and dance around?"

"No. I just was tired."

"Back in college the big thing to do was to come here with a date and fuck in the bathroom between ordering your meal and getting the food."

"That's disgusting."

"Well, I guess that depends on who was doing the fucking."

They sat and ate. The woman decided she liked the Crispy French Toast. The cornflakes made delicious pockets for the syrup to catch the syrup. As the man paid the waitress at the register, the woman caught her own eye in the mirror.

"You know how I feel about you, don't you, Sam?" She asked.

"Not really."

"I don't know if I know either."

Love is Love is Love

The young cousins sat side by side on the sunny riverbank. They were perhaps children, perhaps not. She wore baggy cut off jeans and a big black shirt and he wore the same. Their hair was the same length. Even though they sat the same distance from the lazy river his feet were submerged, whereas she had to strain her legs just to cool a toe.

"You know, you don't need to worry," she said, "I'm not falling in love with you or anything like that."

"You wouldn't say that if you weren't already in love with me." He gave her a gentle shove on the arm.

"I just really like hanging out with you..." Her adolescent features were scrunched in clumsy concentration.

"And bringing me presents, and writing to me all the time, and remembering every word I say." He winked at her.

"I do that with all my friends. Well, all my friends that I like." She folded her arms.

"I know you do. I'm just giving you a hard time. Still, it is a weird thing to say to someone. Why do you think I would worry if you loved me?" He lay back among the tall grass, resting his arms behind his head. "You know, nothing is as nice as this. Being here with you and looking up at the sky."

"See! You love me, too." The girl said.

"You give yourself away. You said 'You love me, too,' which means that you do love me."

"Well, of course, I love you. You are my cousin." She stood up and walked away. The boy lay there, smiling. She walked downstream about ten yards and stood and stared at the moving water. She looked back. Was he looking at her? He wasn't. She walked into the water. It tickled her calves and she giggled. She checked again. He still wasn't looking. She reached into the water and cupped some with her hands and walked upstream holding a parcel of water.

"Special delivery," she shrieked. A long splash stained his jeans.

"I don't care. It's nice. It's nice to be splashed by someone who loves you." He remained relaxed and immobile.

"I don't love you."

"You do love me. You don't love me. Make up your mind." He winked again. She walked back downstream.

"I'm going inside." She looked towards the warmth of their house.

"Can't you just enjoy being here with me for a moment?" His finger beckoned.

"You could come inside with me."

"No. I like it here." He rested his hand on his stomach.

"Well, even though I love you, I have to go." She was walking towards the house.

"That is not a strong enough love for me."

"I know."

"I know you know." He continued to stare at the sky. He was staring at the clouds. Were the stratus or nimbus? He could never remember which was which. One high above his head looked like a child's drawing of a cloud and he realized he had never seen a cloud that looked like a cloud before.

Love Revolutionary

Who falls in love?

I do!

Me too!

Who among us has been hurt?

Me!

Twice.

Ten times.

Who here has hurt?

I didn't mean to do it.

She was asking for it.

A little bit.

Who here will join my Love Revolution?

What?

Revolution?

A revolution of true hearts to vanquish misunderstanding and banish pain!

Oh.

Well, that seems like a tall order.

Who's with me?

Listen buddy, do you think this is San Francisco?

My people, my people. You have to take hold of love before love takes hold of you. Are you fighters for love or proponents of pain?

...

I'll conquer you all.

Brunch with Mother

As the kitchen clock struck ten, the smell of fresh scones and bacon drifted through the small apartment. Warmth from the oven warmed the apartment and light streamed in through the open window. It was a perfect day. Unfortunately, today was brunch day.

David stood before the antique mirror in the bathroom and shaved, tapping the razor into the sink and trying to concentrate on both the conversation and not slitting his throat.His stomach growled as he hurried through the process.

“She won’t stay long. She never does – you know that.” He rinsed the razor, tapped the blade against the sink, then dragged it over his right cheek. He heard a slam from the kitchen and sighed, “Come on, Debra. It’s not that bad. She will be in and out of here in an hour. She’s just visiting. Like always.”

A crash of drawers from the kitchen filled the air.

David rinsed, dried, and applied lotion to his face. He walked from the bathroom and folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Debra…please. We can talk through this later, but she’s going to be here in a minute and I want to greet her clothed.” He smiled.

Debra returned the smile, but it was cool and somewhat transparent.

“I’ll make sure she gives more notice next time, ok? But, just for now, can we be civil? Please?” David ran a hand over his head. He knew Debra didn't like his mother - not many people did - but, these visits had to happen. "Just stay out of sight and you won't even have to deal with her at all.

She nodded and moved off down the hall, saying nothing.

David bowed his head, breathed out a long sigh, then moved to the bedroom to get dressed.

~

The woman at the table ate at the scone in her hand with delicate bites and spoke with a slight accent and venomous tone. Her hair bun was as tightly wound as she was all the time. She blurted out comments on everyone she knew during their visits and David sat and listened with disinterest. He didn’t even know half the people she spoke ill off during her rants. She sat upright and prim, dispensing ill will. He’d listened to his mother bad mouth everyone from his father to his sister to his horrible, gay neighbors and he’d had just about all he could take for one morning.

“And, you know how she is – all fluff and pink and horrid makeup!” She rubbed her arms. “You always keep it so cold here.”

David ignored the comment about the cold. “Well, she is your sister, Mom.” David grinned and finished his bacon. The coffee swirled in his cup as he checked the time out of the corner of his eye.

“My sister is a ridiculous BEAST of a woman.” She swatted the words away with her hand as if swatting a bug. “Enough about her. She makes me so upset.” She dropped the scone onto the plate and looked at her son with dull eyes. “So, this girl you said you were seeing?”

David looked at her and wanted to laugh as the thought of him somehow making Debra appear through magic appeared in his head. He shook it off. “She’s out.”

“Out.” His mother rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair with a smug look on her face. “Last time she had some sort of appointment and couldn’t be here either.”

“Well, you don’t give us much notice, do you?” David tried to remain polite.

“Your own mother needs to give notice? Schedule an appointment?” She frowned. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

“It’s common practice – letting someone know you are thinking about coming by.” David couldn’t hide his impatience and his mother gave him that face that registered both hurt and anger. He’d grown to hate that face as a boy.

Just then, he caught sight of Debra slipping up behind his mother. She stood with pitcher in hand and looked as if she was bound and determined to empty it’s contents over his mother’s head.

David stood and deftly moved around behind his mother, snatching the pitcher up and spinning around to stand between his mother and Debra.

His mother gasped and ducked back a bit, catching her breath and blurting out, “What on earth is wrong with you?!” She frowned.

“Water?” David smiled wide, holding the pitcher high. He heard Debra slip around the corner. He moved back to the table.

Confusion showed on his mothers face as she declined. David slipped the pitcher back onto the countertop and shot Debra a look as she peeked around the corner smiling.

Debra smiled wide and her eyes contained the mischievous quality he’d seen far too many times before. She slipped around the wall.

He thought this would be a good time to end the visit.

“Well, like I said, mother, I do need to run. I’m sorry.” He checked his watch and winced. “I have to run down to the shops before picking up Marty.”

“I thought you said Marty was away this weekend.”

David remembered the lie he told on his sister’s behalf so she didn’t have to attend this little brunch extravaganza. “From the train.” I need to go to the shops, get my-“ He stopped and showed his annoyance by crossing his arms. “What? Do you think this is all some sort of…of con? Some massive running away from you?” He laughed. “Come on, you can walk down to the shops with me is you don’t believe me.” He shook his head with a chuckle and started clearing plates.

“Well, if you’re going to get her, maybe I’ll wait here and we can all have dinner together before I head home?”

David could feel his heart sink. Idiot. “It’ll be hours.” He turned to see Debra moving up slowly and calmly behind his mother with a sour expression. “You know, I’ll clean all this up later.”

Debra bit her bottom lip and brought her hand up high. Something was cradled in her hands. A dictionary?

David was across the room in a heartbeat again, shoving past his mother and up to grab the heavy book away from its arc towards his mother’s head.

With a squawk, his mother fell back into the chair and knocked into her coffee, spilling it across the table. “DAVID!”

David spun on his heel – dictionary in hand. “Present!” He laughed. “You reminded me.” He held the book up and started paging through it.

“You’re on drugs, aren’t you? I saw a program on this just the other night. There’s a singer from the UK that is on the same – heroin? I knew you were losing weight!” She stood. “You are on that or something else. You’re entirely off your ledge! Knocking me over like that!” She looked at her sleeve and grumbled, “Coffee on my new coat, David.”

David closed the book and dropped it onto the end table. He glanced around but didn’t see Debra. He whispered, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” His mother stood and moved to the sink to wash off her sleeve. “David, you need to seek help from someone. A counselor of some type. Or, go to one of those rehabilitation centers or AA groups.” She rinsed her sleeve with cold water.

David noted the chill of the room increasing. He glanced around and narrowed his eyes.

His mother shut the tap off and looked around for a towel.

That’s when David saw Debra…and the knife. With cat-like grace, he leaned forward, snatched the knife from Debra, and yanked the towel from the refrigerator door. He slipped the towel in front of his mother’s face as he quietly slid the knife onto the counter. “Ta-daa! Towel.”

Eyes wide, she took the towel. “David. I saw the knife.” She dropped the towel onto the kitchen floor. “David.”

David tried with all his might to come up with why he would be waving a knife around his mother. Nothing fit. He watched as the color drained from his mother’s face.

“It…it was floating. Just there. Floating in the air, David.”

“Floating?” He looked over at the knife on the countertop. “Um…I don’t understand.”

“Floating in the air, David. Right there. Inches before my face.” She was white as a ghost - an expression David found extremely funny in this particular situation.

“Mom? Are you ok?” He frowned. “You know, you don’t look at all well.” He cocked his head to one side. “Mom…are…are you on some sort of medication? Is this was that conversation is all about?” David forced concern onto his face. He felt bad about the bait and switch until he remembered all the horrid things his mother had said over the course of the hour.

His mother blinked. “I’m leaving.”

“Maybe I should take you?” He patted her shoulders. “You look so tired. Sure you don’t want to come to the shops with me?”

Without a word, she hugged him and moved to the front door. Purse in hand, she looked back at David and shivered. “Say hello to Marty for me. Maybe we can all meet for dinner one night next month. Out somewhere.” She swallowed hard as she glanced around the apartment. She made her way towards the door looking around like a child on a Haunted House ride. She waved and closed the door behind herself quickly.

David waited and listened for the sound of the front gate slamming shut and his mother’s car pulling away before saying a word to Debra.

He looked at her as she moved through the wall of the kitchen pouting playfully.

“Debra, that was really over the top.” He tried to sound stern.

Debra’s voice was a whisper that sounded like velvet. “Oh David…I wasn’t going to hurt your mother.” She moved to his side and stroked his hair with a willowy, silver and translucent hand.

“She’s an old woman, Debra. She could have had a heart attack.” He sighed. “Really, that was just not right.”

Debra pouted harder and slowly drifted backwards. Her velvet whisper drifted to his ears as she started to fade away. “I’m sorry David.”

“Wait. Come back.” David sighed again and placed his hands on his hips. “Come on.”

Debra appeared behind him. “What?” She blinked innocently. Her hair cut in a short shag and her face was full and beautiful. Her hands moved behind her back and she looked coy.

David turned around and cocked his head to the side. “Just…be nicer?” He smiled sweetly to her. “Please? I mean, as mean as she is, she’s still my mother.”

Again, the syrupy whisper filled the room. “I’ll try.” She shimmered and a smile crossed her face.

David returned the smile and took a deep breath. He could smell her floral scent.

Debra’s arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed in closer. Her body rose slightly so her chest was at his eye level, then she slithered down his front. She floated an inch off the floor looking into his eyes. “Forgive me?” She kissed him and the room grew colder.

The two sank to the sofa. The shops would wait.



A picture hung in the hallway. In it, a woman dressed in a mini-dress stands in David’s apartment’s kitchen by a refrigerator – an older style, but in the same spot. The image was slightly faded and the colors have mostly washed away. “Debra Shelly Summers, Eastmont Terrace, Summer 1967” was written in the corner of the 8x10 image.


(( Olivia, thank you for the honor of posting this on your blog! ~M~ ))