Morning Trash

April 13th, 2012

I took my youngest son Christopher "Baby" to breakfast this morning. I've been isolating myself and thought it would be good to get out and see what people in the world have been up to lately.

Maybe the sounds of life would motivate me to walk amongst the living again. I got tired of McDonald's and decided that we'd try something else.

I decided on Cracker Barrel. Good homemade southern cooking at a franchise location near you.

After I parked in the parking lot I rummaged for Baby's shoes. The hell if I could find them. If their southern style is as good as advertised then his bare feet won't have any effect on the service. But I tap into my better judgement and locate his shoes somewhere in the sea of clutter in the minivan.

Mimie and I liked Cracker Barrel a lot.

The difficult part about arriving into a place like this or any other place that her and I would frequent is that it reminds me of our times together. Not that that's a bad thing. It's just that right now I'd rather not deal with the memories that hurt, riight now the thoughts of our past hurts me more so then it puts a smile on my face.

From the moment I pulled into the parking lot I immediately had flash backs of conversations we had and people we were with, at that particular Cracker Barrel. The last time we were there it was a good day. It was my birthday.

The space shuttle had planned its last launch ever that day. All I could remember thinking was, "That damn thing better take off. I mean it's my birthday. That would be one hell of a candle."

Mimie and I sat there and talked about life and the above ground pool we had bought for the summer for the boys. It was a good morning breakfast. And I smile not as I write this because I can envision her smiling face.

Now I'm here alone with my son, Christopher.

I am not happy, but I am cordial to people. I want to live in isolation at this point. This feeling sucks I know, but yet I can't help the feeling of dread and despair. I approach the hostess stand and immediately I size her up.

"Talk about becoming one with the restaurant. She fits right in this homely feel." It's a mean thought I know. I should have just stayed home.

She was a young girl. Thick legs, brown skirt on, about 2 sizes too small. Her dress was so tight it effected the way she walked. She looked like someone right out of a Norman Rockwell photo. Typical for this restaurant. I guess she felt my bad vibe and placed me way in the back of the restaurant where there were no other patrons within twelve tables of us. So much for being around life. I guess I got my isolation.

We sat there alone. Christopher closest to the window and me by his side staring at a large empty table next to a wall directly in front of us. A large vintage sign hanging over head that read "Chesterfield Cigarettes" staring back at me. I studied the sign, the contours and the pictures painted on it gave it a 1940's feel when cigarette smoking was perfectly acceptable. And then it dawns on me.

"Holy shit, those cigarettes do exist." I think to myself. Dennis Hopper asked for a Chesterfield from Christopher Walken in True Romance." Makes me want to take up smoking.

The waitress came and took our order. I attempted to be nice. Put on a fake smile and went through the motions for any good patron just trying to get my food to calm down my son who is starting to get impatient.

Before our breakfast arrived a large group of ladies in their 70's sat down at the large table in front of me.

"So much for being among the living" I think to myself. God, I'm being a dick.

How far have I fallen? I thought about those old ladies and Mimie and how she'd never have the chance to grow old. Or be part of the senior citizen breakfast club. She should be here with us at the table and in life.

The situation is so sad. I miss her.

We finished our meal as Christopher is about done with sitting there waiting for me to be done. I ask for the check to pay the bill and then sulk out of Cracker Barrel, my son at my side, I implored myself to get to my doctor.

With my foray into the living space of other people's lives now defeated. It was time for me to retreat back to the safety of my home and among the not so living, order my Mcdonald's drive thru in eat in my solitude.

Calling the doctor now.


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Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

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