There you sat at table seven, your stubbled smile bright against the stippled window light, blond strands glowing. The flesh beside you ignored you, more captivated by the twinkling alerts of her gaudy Sailor Moon phone. You glanced over, sighing into the coffee I’d poured moments ago. When our eyes met, I smiled my love, reverent as a pianist who knew the song ended but played it anyway.
You raised your hand, summoning me, your beautiful hazel eyes crinkling at my acknowledgement, and I glided to you, dancing around the hustle and bustle of the truck stop diner. The thing—the child who didn’t share your appearance—squealed, tearing your focus from me. Their attention didn’t excite you though; your nods were empty, your smile blank.
Women smelling of rotted pig stopped me from reaching you, their cackles grating. Don’t worry, I smiled. It wasn’t the one I’d gifted you, but a smile nonetheless.
I caught your eye as the screeching turned tantrum—your jaw tight, exhausted. Mine too, but for different reasons. A shared moment. We understand each other. I held your gaze for five seconds. That was the limit before customers feel watched; the diner taught me. I looked away.
After cajoling, the swine ordered. I was free to approach you. Your eyes sparkled. Sparkled with the love we shared. Years separated us, but the universe brought us together.
I brushed your shoulder, asking if you needed anything else. You smiled. Wide, genuine. For a moment, our fingers touched as I steadied the coffee pot. The contact lasted a second, but I felt everything: recognition, promise, destiny. No, you said, returning your calloused hands to the ceramic mug. I didn’t linger. We had time. I was yours and you were mine.
Coffee, black. Blackened hash browns with cheese and two sides of sausage. Table 14—has children.
You didn’t see me watching the woman run to you, her jowl-filled face furious, turning diner heads. She sat across from you, speaking ill as if you were a curse, as if you were the trash taken out at the end of a shift. Acidic and lung burning. You tried to pacify the beast, murmuring your plans to move, how it was time. I knew you told her that for us, so we could be together. The beast didn’t know how to handle the plump flesh my hands could manage with mastered ease.
The beast hunched, face in hands, her chest heaving methodically. I angled my body toward you, fingers searching for sharpness. No, I couldn’t do that. Mistakes driven by emotion would take you from me. We wouldn’t survive it.
Another waitress approached me, her swipe across my back flaring my nostrils.
You okay? she asked.
I removed her touch, neck twisting to meet her gawk. My body was for you alone, yet she touched what belonged to you.
I’m fine, I said, smiling as I walked away from the prying blur of makeup and apron.
Ceramic rolled. I turned to you; your pristine shirt blotted black and clinging to your muscles from the spilled coffee. For a blissful moment, you searched for me. My legs trembled for you, but there were things I needed to handle.
Biscuits and Gravy (Sausage). Eggs over easy. Extra bacon. Table 4—smells of sewage and cum.
The manager arrived before I could protect you from her violence. My lip lifted. Table six addressed me with audacity, stopping me.
Are you deaf? they asked.
I kicked the chair leg and smiled.
Of course not, I said, walking off without taking their order. I needed to separate you from the manager, intervene before you forgot I existed.
As I neared, another table tore me from you. My back tensed, and I smiled down at the neckbeards grinning up at me, lust painting their features.
What can I get you? I asked.
One reeking of truck lot puddles and cigarettes leaned forward, his lasciviousness nauseating. I shouted for our diner harlot to handle this table because my plate was full. It wasn’t, but no one needed to know that.
Free, I reached you. My gaze drifted between you and the manager, and I cupped my hands demurely. Your eyes glistened in the setting light. Beautiful.
Come out from under the table, the beast said to the crying thing beside you. It didn’t listen because spoiled things had no reason to be servile. The beast hissed for it to come to her, and it obliged, climbing over the tabletop.
You tracked the thing’s movement, your face swirling into grief. It was okay, I’d comfort you until the earth drank the last of your tears.
I got it, I said to the manager, removing napkins from my apron one by one. I wanted to relish this moment of connection with you. I wiped my palms on my apron, heart a swinging hummingbird when the manager tapped my shoulder, his aftershave a thick cloud around us.
Are you ignoring tables again? he asked.
I wasn’t good at emulating shock. My mother beat it out of me the moment I cried over her setting my dolls on fire.
My jaw dropped. I wasn’t used to the motion, and it cracked, making your attention snap to me. Too over the top? I corrected.
I’m your strongest waitress, I said. I miss nothing.
I didn’t. The manager’s nose wrinkled, and he walked off. Good.
The beast burned holes in the side of my brown face. I stepped aside, setting the napkins down in a simple crossing pattern before you. Our chests brushed for a glimpse, and you waited, brows furrowed. I smiled, dipping my chin, offering you what I’d arranged. You accepted, pulling a napkin free, eyes tightening. It was too soon, so I gave you space. The beast, however, received a slicing glare on my exit.
Sunset turned into dusk, yet you stayed sipping your endless coffee. Alone. Somber. I kept my attention on you so your needs never went unnoticed or untended. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to.
Diner signage illuminated the lot in hazed red, haloing exiting patrons who had long overstayed their welcome. I glanced at the clock. My shift ended in five minutes. Perfect. You rose, smiling at the diner employees. A smile meant only for me. I watched you go, chiding your willingness to share something meant for me. For us.
I strode to the back, hung up my apron and clocked out. Pitched voices called for me; I ignored them all. My love for you drove me forward.
The desert air crisped. I swallowed. There you sat on a bench, cigarette to your lips. You searched your clothes, throwing your head back when you came up empty. I was your provider. Yours.
Need a light? I asked.
You startled, catching the slipped cigarette. For an eternity we held eye contact, your luminescent hazel to my steel. My mouth dried. You’d accepted me all day, don’t deny me your embrace. Your flesh.
You breathed. I do, you said.
There you go. I was so proud of you.
Come on, lighter’s in the car, I said, sliding my hands in my pockets and rocking on my heels.
You were aware, and that forced me to reevaluate my approach. Most obeyed, their wanton needs overriding all else. Not you. Never you. We walked side by side in silence; the desert hummed around us. You stopped, eyes scanning.
What’s wrong? I asked, making myself smaller.
Where’s your car? you asked, left foot moving back.
I couldn’t have that. We’d come too far. I jerked my chin toward the abandoned white semi. The mechanic shop called earlier, saying it’d be towed this weekend. That was problematic, and I’d have to find a new parking spot.
Behind the semi, I said.
I raised a hand. Sometimes soothing prey by making yourself vulnerable was the step forward. I pulled out my key fob and clicked unlock.
See, I said.
Your shoulders dropped, and you hushed a laugh, head shaking. I smiled. Be proud of your strength, it served you well.
At the car, I opened the door for you, our eyes lingering. I smirked, and your cheeks reddened. You were supposed to be special. Different. With my back to you, I frowned. You were like all the rest. I patted my cheeks. No, I couldn’t let the mask fall. Not now. The smile returned, and I jogged around, hopping into the driver’s seat.
Lighter? you asked.
Right. I reached across you, forearm accidentally rubbing against your thigh, and opened the glove box.
Here, I said.
When our gazes collided, your pupils enlarged, and I couldn’t control the disgust painting my face. You were supposed to be different. Now, as I leaned across you, your lust evident, I realized you were nothing more than festering roadkill, hit and forgotten.
I reset myself, sitting straight while you lit your cigarette and exhaled a noxious cloud of nicotine. You spoke, your words low, soft. I ignored you until your fingers grazed my knee. Anger boiled low in my sternum. You no longer deserved my love, my delicacy. I rotated my body, on my knees, and reached into the backseat. You traced the back of my thigh, the sizzle of tobacco loud.
My fingers brushed metal, and I gripped the tire iron. You grabbed my thigh and flicked your cigarette outside. I watched you debate for seconds. Your decision to lean toward me sealed your destruction.
The first strike, you wheeled. With the second, you gurgled. On the third, I missed, hitting your neck. It worked because you slumped forward. I chucked the metal down and spat on your cheek.
You did this, I said, checking your pulse. You ruined us. All you had to do was smile and be pretty. A doll of flesh and your death would have been kind, loving. Painless.
#
When you woke, you fought at first, but it ended when I showed you how soft your flesh was. You parted so easily for me.
Small-stack pancakes with strawberry syrup, two eggs over easy, and four coffees: black with sugar. Table 2—too rugged.
My blood-stained fingers caressed your neck, and I leaned in for a wisp of a kiss.
Large grits with bacon. Coffee: heavy cream, no sugar. Table 22—ditzy and smells of burning foliage.
Your plot was in the best spot, under the giant desert willow overlooking my protected garden. It would be your guardian when I was away. Your body forever embraced by roots, always letting you know how loved you were.
As I laid you down, smiling at how the soil molded to your insides, you gave one last smile and relaxed. I was proud of the acceptance you showed.
Country-fried steak and eggs. Large orange juice. Table 9—hasn’t bathed in years.
Dirt suited you, my handsome husband. It bounced and spread, engulfing you. I patted the earth, giving you a parting kiss. You were so strong, and I was proud of that strength.
And there you sit, smiling at the stippled light, your long black hair braided down your muscular neck. I smile and head your way.
“Welcome to Emory’s Diner and Truck Pit. What can I get you, handsome?”