Quaint stops on the side of the road,
diners cater to the new world vision; post modern acolytes find new prayers, a
decent meal for less than six dollars and a bottomless cup of coffee. Eat of
the body, ingest enough caffeine, and anyone can wire themselves a demon.
Another happy employee of this place comes
by and begins my never ending cup of coffee and sets down the silverware before
moving onto her next disciple. I collect my thoughts of the day, the routine is
the same, get some food, write some words, and the questions keep on pilling
up.
“How ya’doin tonight?” Sophie is one of the
many waitresses here; she’s a priestess in this twisted ceremonial metaphor.
Over the years of my attending the service here, she has always been a constant
fixture, like the plastic ferns and the yellowed portraits of local birds.
“Haven’t seen ya’friends here’ya inna long time.”
“Yeah, I know.” I smile and nod. I could
probably write her life story from the simple conversations I’ve heard her
having with the regular patrons. She’s friendly with me through association;
I’ve never attended one of her conversational confessions.
“Ya’al’ready order?” She’s is a mother of
three boys and is married to the father of the oldest.
“Yes. Thank you.” I almost ask her how
she’s feeling; three months ago Sophie went to the doctor and they found
something “not to pleasant.” The question simply sits in the back of my mind as
I take another sip of coffee.
“O.K. hun, your food should be ready
shortly. I’ll go check.” Up until that unpleasantness she worked all week,
after that, she appeared sporadically and a whole month passed without her
appearing at all.
“Thank
you.” I remember the time her sister had to put her kids up and Sophie adopted
them; I could ask her how that has been working out. Her eldest son is playing
football in high school; her husband got a promotion, she used to know someone
who knew someone whose mother slept with Frank Sinatra. Sophie is already
behind the waitress station before I could even consider any of these questions.
She moves on. Another table with other
disciples. She finishes her priestly duties and takes their menus and heads for
the kitchen. The plates reflect an exhaustion that is blossoming at a point
where the brain meets the spine. Sophie laughs an intimidating guffaw that
upends the chatter between most of the patrons. Whomever they are, their time
just moved a little easier.
