Untitled

“Back again.” She winks from behind the counter. Her smile is so inviting, turning her cheeks upward, slanting her eyes but still allowing them to twinkle a vibrant blue that sucks me in.

                I smile. There isn’t much I can say. With her smile, and the ocean blue creating a hurricane encompassing me in high winds, my voice box closes as if I’m back in 5^th grade unable to ask someone to the school dance.

                She lids a black coffee across the counter. The contents slosh against the sides but none escapes the thick rim of the over used mug. I imagine how many people have touched their lips to this white rim, how many times mine have met its warming embrace.

                I slap one dollar and 75 cents on the table without so much as a goodbye. The scent of the coffee finds the inside of my nose, inviting me into its caffeinated warmth, the fluid my body craves as the clock behind her hits 5 am.

                In my peripheral vision, she is shaking her head smiling. She takes the exact change and the old fashioned cash register buzzes open, allowing her business to grow.

                From this booth in the diner, each table is easily visible making the analysis of new customers that much easier. Near one of the windows, a cop is slowly sipping from another white mug, wincing as the hot liquid reaches his lips. I watch his reaction as his choice of morning fuel slides down his throat. He makes no other recognition of the new counterpart in his body.

                I make a mental note to find out what he is drinking. Cops must make decent decisions when it comes to morning beverages, right? Beyond the muffled looking police officer, the window is showing Seattle’s morning colors. The sun is beginning to peak behind the rough texture of the diner windows, dirty with city muck.

                The background noise of the small diner is welcoming. The chimes ring clearly over the chatter of the diners, announcing the arrival of another morning coffee drinker. The cash register with its constant buzz plays a sweet 80’s charm while the servers clink plates together, carrying trays to and from tables. I see a plate of fresh eggs settle in front of an older man. He smiles as he pokes the egg, watching the yellow yoke poor a puddle over his crusty white bread.

                I stare into my coffee mug. A black coffee ground swims around. I turn the mug in my hands, allowing the heat to warm my blue fingertips. There is a draft coming from the opening and closing of the busy diner doors. To my right, a window reveals the Seattle Grace hospital, alarming and high tech in appearance. The streets buzzing with patient visitors, the parking lot growing as visitors pull in between two lines, gather strength, a few deep breaths as they open the door carrying a bouquet of marigolds. Someone’s favorite flower. Yellow and sparkling as the sunbeams over head.

                “Can I get you anything else?” a young waitress says, staring at my partially drunk coffee mug. I stare into it as well; watch the freed coffee ground become stagnant in the black depth of the drink, beginning to drown to the bottom.

                I shake my head. This is a new waitress. Where is Anna? The one from the counter, who slid my exact change from the counter to the register. Anxiety floats through my veins, caressing the ends of my nerves flowing steadily through to my head, causing dizziness to blur my eyes. Once blue and clear, they feel grey and pale, clouding my vision. Suddenly the diner is blurred; the cop sitting by the window is a mixture of color swirls.

                A warm hand grips my arm, gentle but demanding. I feel the pulse flowing through my wrist, pounding against my thin skin bounce off the finger tips of someone familiar. The warmth subsides the blood rushing through my veins. The diner is visible again, the cops black ruffled mess of a hair is shiny again, the sun beams brightly through the window over his head, pressing up against Seattle’s skyscrapers. The hospital to my right is filling with patient visitors just as it was moments ago. The finger tips attached to my arm, blackened with nail polish belong to anna.

                My breaths subside. She smiles and walks away. The lone drowning coffee ground rises slowly to the stop as I swirl the mug in my hands again.

                “Jimmy!” Clara’s voice is loud and obnoxious, flooding into my ears like an alarm clock at five in the morning on a Saturday. Unwelcoming and dreaded. She rushes over to me with open arms, crushing me against her hardened chest. Too many pushups, too many hours in the gym. Her touch causes heat to pulse through my body, wanting to throw her off me. Push her away but my arms are tense, folded too tightly against her. Awkwardly.

                “Clara.” I say slowly. My voice is deep and sultry. She doesn’t get the hint until I slowly back away; an eerie smile greets her as I pull away.

                Her eyes linger on my face, analyzing the strength in my eyes, focusing on the now fake smile I present to her. She notices the dark circles painted carefully under my eyes. Her eyes trace my lips, cracked and pale. She pushes a smile across her face and takes my left hand in hers.

                “Where have you been?” she asks me.

                “Seattle, Clara.”

                She doesn’t remember. Doesn’t remember 2 nights ago as I packed my bags for a red eye flight to Seattle. She lay in bed, woozy from the night before. Eyes opening and closing with fatigue, wishing me a safe flight. But the memory leaves her conscious mind as she drifts into a sleep. Zipping my bag closed, I flick the light switch and lock the door behind me.

                “You didn’t call.” Her eyes are worried. She thinks I’m having an affair. She thinks I’m silently sniffing lines in the bathroom if I let the warmth from the water run longer. Her mind beats against herself, filling in images of lies and deception where they don’t belong.

                Opening the medicine cabinet, I reach for the bottle of anti-depressants on the shelf, front and center so when she opens it every morning, reaching for the bottle of Crest and her purple toothbrush she will remember. Shaking the bottle in my hands, it feels too heavy. She’s been missing doses.

                “Clara…”

                “I need the voices.” She says slowly, tracing the outline of her veins with her right pointer finger. They bulge and protrude as if she were tightening her fist waiting for a nurse to draw blood. Yet, her palm lies open. The veins pop regardless. Her finger tips blue. She shivers.

                The store was out of sunflowers, her favorite. The flower shop, a small one employee shop in the middle of the bustling streets of Seattle, was the only flower shop in town. The only shop open at 5 am in the morning. But they were out of sunflowers.

                “How about these?” a tiny old women shot out from behind the counter, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward an array of the same flowers, but in a display showing there variety of colors. His eyes drew instantly to the bouquet of yellow marigolds, yellow and charming. Just like her.

                “Perfect.” He said, flashing the old women a smile.

                She was the cat lady, but with flowers. Taking pride in the bundles of wildlife growing and thriving in her barely lit shop, open 24/7 because she wouldn’t take her eyes off them. Like her children, she touches them gracefully, reassuringly but not too much that they wilt. She lets them grow at their own rate. Tears fill her eyes when a flower grows limp, bearing a brown crust.

                “Thank you so, so much.” She says as he hands her his debit card. She swipes the card awkwardly. Turning it a few times until she finds he black bar across the back. Her trembling hand pushing it through the machine. She eyes it angrily, just like any old fashioned women with technology.

                He smiles, grabbing the vase spreading marigolds every which way, pushing his back against the door, hearing the chime indicating a entering or leaving customer and makes his way to Seattle Grace, just in time for visiting hours.

                The sugar alcohol from the pack of gum the night before plays with her stomach. It gurgles in anguish, fighting the fake sweetness, the minty after taste. She craves sleep, the relaxation of her every muscle as they hit the blanketed mess of her bed. Unmade and ruffled, the sheets enclose her mind. The day is over. She smiles, and her eyes close.

                Then the thoughts begin. The next day’s agenda toys with her mind, reminding her another day awaits her in the next coming hours. Another mess or another success, her mother always said. Even though she’s alone, there is someone else there. No one tangible enough to grasp with shaking cold fingertips like her own, but someone lingering in her head whispering cues. Demands, plans.

                She rolls in bed. Checks the time. 3 Am. It’s the same time every night. Every morning. When her mind hammers at her, jolts her unsteadily awake. Ushers her to the bathroom where she relieves herself. She touches her stomach, anxious to feel the day ahead of her. It all depends on the roundness the previous day has presented her with.

                Her stomach gurgles. The feel satisfies not only her but whoever keeps whispering, hammering walls against the inside of her head.

                The alarm sounds at 4 am. She heart feels heavy. She sits up slowly, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass. She closes her eyes to avoid the spinning room that lay in front of her with too quick movements. When the rush to her head subsides, she opens her eyes, twists the apron off the chair she threw it on the night before and straps it around her waist.

                She checks the pockets. Her notepad lie in the left, a pen hooked to the inside pocket. The diner waits. She yawns, grabs her keys, ignoring the protein shake anxiously waiting on the fridge.

Author's Note

This is a story/novel I've been working on. It's a ROUGH ROUGH ROUGH draft so take that into consideration when reading through it. I'm not sure where I'm going with it, if I should go anywhere with it, or whatever. Enjoy?