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."