Fork on the left and a teaspoon on my right. Handkerchief neatly folded diagonally into a triangle placed a thumbs width from my waist on my left thigh. Grasping the cool glass of the recently refilled shaker and tossed a pinch of salt into my palm three times before carefully layering my napkin with its miniscule grains. I had to do this carefully because of my shaky hands. I don’t know why they shake but sometimes it feels as if all movements past my wrist just could not grab a hold of themselves. Glancing up from the bar I caught a glimpse of my wavy reflection in a cabinet door made out of tempered glass. A stray lock of hair had fallen to the side of my head and it was infuriating! I vigorously began glossing my hair back into its orderly, neat comb-over. Perfect. I let a coy smile sneak onto my face for only a moment before I forced it back down.
I stared blankly onto the counter awaiting my waitress to greet me. My elbows sticking a bit to the thick coat of counter-gloss layering the grease scented bar top. Around me are the common folk, chattering away in their booths lined with red pleather and the same gloss covering the table tops. I didn’t care much for the booths, the red was such a vivacious color that it made me antsy. The perfectly arranged black and white checkered floor was oh so satisfying, though. I looked up as the sound of a wooden kitchen door thudded throughout the diner. A young girl, tall and thin, appeared holding a glass pot of black coffee. The relaxing and intoxicating bitter aroma became stronger as she drew nearer, her long, dark ponytail swinging behind her as she waltzed up to me from behind the counter. “Mornin’ Ollie! I got a fresh pot for ya!” I pushed my mug across the table and let her carefully pour my mug three fourths full exactly. As I slid my steaming beverage back towards my domain I picked out a single pink packet of artificial sugar from the rack, always pink, and emptied it into the black. I looked back up to see her still there with a soft smile eloquently worn on her face with the corners of her pink lips producing subtle dimples. Her hand was offered out to me where I placed my empty sugar packet into her hand. She flashed me a quick wink and turned on her heel to go send in my order. A simple plate of searing smoked sausage, teriyaki scrambled eggs (a personal touch), and sourdough toast that Kate insists she toasts herself on a frying pan for me. She is so good to me.
I took my spoon and swirled my fresh and pungent coffee clockwise a good three times to mix in the fake sugar, being careful to replace the utensil to its rightful place on my placemat. I took a long swig and then hummed “Canon in D” to myself in my head while waiting for my food, occasionally indulging in the rich taste of my freshly brewed Colombian coffee grounds. I noticed a fellow sitting a few stools over from me who was also sipping on a cup of coffee. He looked about my age, a little more heavyset but still fit. He was wearing a black leather jacket with grungy looking jeans carrying holes around the knees. His jet black hair was awry and had a five ‘o’clock shadow at nine thirty in the morning. A slight itch on the back of my head sprang up as I looked at him. How could one stand to look so disheveled? I did form a jealous taste for his jacket though. I bet it would look good on me. I ran my hands threw my hair concreting it into its already pristine form, purely out of habit.
He cocked his head towards me, catching my staring, and gave me a smirk. “Take a picture, brother. It’ll last longer.” A horrible expression must have washed over my face because he then proceeded to chuckle to himself raise his hand up in apology. “It’s a joke, mister. Apologies for the informalities. The name’s John.” I nodded back and tipped my mug in cheer to him as if I was agreeing to what he was saying before sipping a long time to avoid having to use words. No one ever acknowledged me here, save for my wonderful waitress. I’ve always been able to enjoy my breakfast in peace. For that fact, who was this man? I’ve never seen him here in all the sixteen years I’ve been coming to this diner.
Suddenly he hopped up and plopped himself down onto the stool next to mine. My insides were on fire and I could feel every instinct within me to ask him to leave. I just knew he was going to disturb my setup or spill a glass or something worse like try to come in contact with me. I sat tensed and rigid, ready for literally anything to happen. My morning was out of niche and the only thing I could think about doing was scurrying back to my one-bedroom apartment.271Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2enEE75DXj
Before the man had a chance to begin any sort of interaction my waitress arrived carrying my order. The sausage on my plate was still crackling from the skillet and my nostrils were filled with the scent of steaming grease. She placed a glass of iced water down on my salted napkin, grinning to herself knowing of my ritual. I looked over my plate and found everything to be in its place. “Everything to your likin’ Ollie?” Her same warming smile earnestly awaiting praise. “Yes ma’am, miss Kate. It’s perfect, thank you.” I offered a poor, dry smile as pleasantry, but she’s known me long enough to know it insinuates me being profoundly content with her work. “Always a pleasure, Ollie! I’ll be just a sec with fresh Joe! Holler if you need anything else’.”
I brushed the wrinkles out of my handkerchief and picked up my fork as delicately as possible (careful not to drop my fork on account of my shaking) but before I could indulge I felt the man, who seems to be called John, staring hard at me. I turned my head and nervously glanced at him. I switched my eyes back and forth between my plate and John before placing my fork back down and turning my attention to him. He gave that hearty, throated chuckle again wearing a cock-eyed smile. “You’re a peculiar man aren’t you? I’m guessing you don’t get out much.” His tone half mocking, half provoking. There was a silence between us for a moment. The sounds of dishes clanking in the background, being angrily washed and scrubbed down free of residue in the sinks. I was a little stunned, to be honest. “Sir, I don’t know who you are. Do you know me in some measure?” John gave me a mockingly offended look and roared, “Hell, man! Do I need to? Just trying to be friendly! You look like an intelligible person with a lot on his mind.”
I forced back a taste of disgust. “I assume that to be alright. I’m not one to normally converse.” Another one of his chuckles. What was so funny?
“Look ‘Ollie’, it ain’t hard. Ask me how my morning has been.”
I tried hard not to abandon my meal entirely and just go without for this day, but I decided to play along. “Well alright then. How has your morning been, sir?” As soon as the words left my mouth I looked to my left and noticed my waitress standing before me holding a fresh pot of coffee with the steam still streaming out from the spout and letting its aroma pour around us. Although she wasn’t wearing her smile this time. Her head was tilted to one side with a questioning look on her face. “Ollie? Who’s this you’re talking to?” Instantly I felt a rush of heat flood my cheeks and my mouth hung open a bit in embarrassment. I jerked my thumb towards the shady man and faltered out the name “John” to her inquire. She looked at John in the direction of my thumb and then back at me. She gave me an awkward smile while arbitrarily filling my mug, then nodded her head at us and strutted back to the kitchen.
“Sweet girl, huh Ollie?”
I turned back to him, quite unsure of the encounter that just occurred. “Yeah she’s my angel. Makes breakfast quite pleasant.” That was the first time I’d seen that look on her face and I’d be lying if I told myself I knew why she gave it to me.
“Breakfast here is kind of crummy don’t ya think? I mean, it’s just an old diner with same ole people comin here; not to mention you don’t talk to none of them.” He gave a half scoff at that last bit. Where does this guy get off? Still, I know for a fact that I have never seen this man before. His words do seem familiar, though. Too familiar.
I wanted to retort but to be frank, I just didn’t have the mental drive to keep this charade up any longer. I turned back to my food silently and again carefully picked up my fork to start eating. As I picked up one of the plump, juicy sausages dripping with grease I let the stench fill up my lungs. Aside from the unhealthiness, I oh so loved the taste of modern breakfast. The taste of cooked meat, no… not meat – pork, lit up my taste buds like an electric probe. I savored every bite.
“Hey err… where does your silverware come from, Ollie?” I almost dropped my fork. Scratch that, I almost threw down my fork. Not in disgust but in pure frustration almost manifesting to agony. He’d done it. The one thing that I have worked on for so long to suppress and not think about and just go along with. I had done so well. “Don’t you worry about where it comes from? Or if they even wash it correctly?”
“I’ll have you know, ‘buddy’, that Kate hand washes my silverware and makes sure its dried with fresh paper towels!” I didn’t realize it, but my voice became a growl. I was not aware such a monstrous tone could derive from my throat, but I didn’t feel remorse. It was a warranted tone. “And for another note, ‘buddy’, why must you continue to intrude on my breakfast? Have I insulted you in some gaudy fashion?”
“Woah their Silver! Let’s take it back a notch, eh? I’m just makin conversation. No need to get bent out of shape. Folks might think something is… wrong with you.” His eyes speared straight at me. His breathing even and deep. His voice lowered when saying the ‘wrong with you’ part and then those eyes, colorless black gems, just stared.
I turned back to face my plate, still half of it filled with eggs and a slice of buttered toast. Snatching my mug, I angrily stirred in a pink packet of sugar and began to suck down my coffee. He just knows exactly the right buttons to push to get me going. My head began to swim with thoughts, all ranging from ignoring him to dumping my plate of food on his head. Now I am not a violent man, I swear by it. I prefer as little amount of human interaction, especially conflict, as possible.
“I bet you come here for the view, if ya know what I mean, eh? By that I mean that adorable little server. Am-i-right?”
My fist slammed into the table, knuckles white from gripping my fork so tight. It happened so involuntarily that I could not stop myself. “Leave her the hell out of this you bastard!” My head and neck began to shiver with anger. I looked around to make sure I had not been noticed. A family of four enjoying a simple meal had perked their heads my direction but they didn’t seem to be too concerned. I looked at my hands. They were as still as a skeleton’s. I felt different. I felt surges of electricity going through my brain. Every pulse sending a wave of nausea into the pits of my stomach. A snicker ran through my head. My eyes shot up at John. How dare he make my disposition a laughing matter. As I looked at him though, his mouth was still; it held in a soft smile with the corners curling maliciously. The snicker didn’t come from him.
“You said you didn’t know me, right Ollie? Well now, we both know that isn’t true.” His mouth was moving but the words rang throughout my head. They seemed to come from the depths of my ear drums. I scrubbed my hair to its part with my fingertips. It had fallen out of line again. I had to grab a hold of myself or else something bad was going to happen, but my hands… they were so… still? Why were they so still? I usually cannot even hold them steady enough to write properly.
Just then Kate walked back out and began pouring coffee into the members of the bar’s mugs. When she got to me she gave me that sweet, endearing smile she tosses me every day. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Her smile perked into a grin at me pleasure. “Why, you’re quite welcome Ollie.” Her smooth words briefly relaxing my mind.
Another snicker. “Stop!”
“Stop what? I already poured your coffee?”
I startledly looked up at her. “What? No not you!” I gave a judgmental nod to my side, “This gentleman is just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Ollie… what man?”
What did she mean what man? He was sitting right next to me! Was my nod not deliberate enough? “Why, the man right next to me of course!” By then my mind was racing, hot with mixed emotions. I felt like banging my head into the bar top, but I didn’t want to frighten Kate.
“Your girlfriend doesn’t even care to acknowledge me, Ollie. What do you see in the broad anyway? Must be crazy or something.” I lowered my eyes. The world around me was moving way too fast. Kate still stood in front of me behind the bar, looking upon me with a concerned expression, but I wasn’t looking at her. I glared at John. I despised every inch of him in that moment. Then a voice in my head spoke, it was clear and gruff. It was John’s voice. His lips were not moving but his voice spoke. “Tell me you’ve seen me before Oliver.”
Kate’s voice suddenly broke the air. “Oliver, just tell him you’ve seen him?”
I spun around to look at her. My hair laced my eyebrows but I couldn’t focus on that right now. Her smile no longer was soft and sweet. It was thin and crooked. It looked like it had been drawn on by a pink marker. Nothing was right. I stood up from my barstool and backed away from the counter. The family was now looking at me. Their eyes like saucers. They were scared and their mouths hung open as if they wanted to say something but no sounds emitted. Then John and Kate’s voices began chanting in my head. “You know me Oliver.” “Just tell him you know him, Ollie.” I spun around, the electric waves through my brain intensifying. The itch on the back of my head started burning and began to claw at my skull violently as if to tear the skin from my body. The lights overhead began to streak across my vision.
“Get out of my head! Get out. Get out. Get out!” By now the family was frantically getting up to make a dash for the door, the parents holding their children in protection. Other customers were looking my way with their heads burrowing into their necks like a turtle recedes into its shell. Their lips pursed in judgement. A man at the bar had stood up suddenly in excitement but with wild eyes as if to be ready to intervene with me.
John was standing now. He loomed over me, taller than I expected, with his arms hanging by his side. His black hair slicked to the side in a comb-over, still jet black. He walked slowly towards me he reached out his hand and just before he could gingerly place it on my shoulder I stumbled backwards.
A rotund man in a white smock with scruff on his face wearing a backwards baseball cap approached me, arms wide in caution. “Hey buddy, you need to leave.”
I stared at him, then back to John, and then back to the man. My hands were so still. The stillness was so aggravating and I couldn’t contain my frustration anymore. “No! Tell him to leave!” My arms gesturing wildly at John.
“Look man. I don’t want no trouble. Just turn around and walk out the door. You’re scaring the customers!” I could make out a whimper from a woman in a corner booth just out of my field of view.
The voices came back, “tell me you know me,” “tell him you know him!”
“I don’t know you!” The redness from the pleather had filled the rim of my vision. My heart, making a monotonous thud throughout my head, counted the seconds away. I then spun around and started to race out the door. A chair caught my leg and fell in a sprawl of limbs across the checkered floor. My hair had completely fallen over my face. On all four appendages I animalisticly crawled towards the door, punched the solid wood of it, and dove out. The light blinding me as reached the morning sun. I couldn’t see anything but light. The voices still chanting to me as I scrambled away, unaware of how I made it to my feet, fleeing the restaurant.
The vision glimmered away, retracting into the bowels of my mind. I had had my eyes closed for the entire process. I shifted nervously on the couch while carefully opening them to re-acclimate to my surroundings. A man with jet black hair, but a scraggly dark gray beard, and in a cheap corduroy suit looked at me with questioning eyes. “And that’s when you first met John, correct?” I looked back at him, holding back a string of tears. I couldn’t answer quite yet. Instead I stared around his room acting as if I was mulling over the question. The colorless white walls had no pictures on them aside from a few medical licenses behind a desk, but there was a small fern on an end table between my couch and the doctor’s chair that my gaze seems to normally gravitate towards. “Oliver?” The doctor’s voice chiming back in to try and pull an answer out of my gums. I swung my legs around and stood up from the couch. The doctor gave me a defeated pout that I just had zero empathy for at the moment. Without attributing rhyme or reason to my abruptness, I promptly walked out the office he had me voluntarily trapped in. I can’t stand those leather couches anyway. Who knows what’s been done to that cow hide? I could hear the doctor’s fading voice trying to plea with how much progress I’ve been making and that I should stick with today a bit longer, but we just don’t think the doctor is truly getting through to us. I turn a corner in the hallway and begin down a flight of stairs to the lobby. As I reach the bottom I’m greeted by a sly smile and a “You alright, Ollie?” I continue on past and just duck my head, not really feeling a conversation in me. “I’m not really in the mood today, John.”
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