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 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. His bare feet won't affect the service if their Southern style is as good as advertised. But I tap into my better judgment and locate his shoes somewhere in the sea of clutter in the minivan.
Mimie and I liked Cracker Barrel a lot.
The problematic part about arriving at a place like this or any other place she 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; right now, the thoughts of our past hurt me more, so then it puts a smile on my face.
From the moment I pulled into the parking lot, I immediately had flashbacks 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 boys for the summer. 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 with people. I want to live in isolation at this point. This feeling sucks, I know, but yet I can't help the sense 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 affected 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 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 was closest to the window, and I was by his side, staring at a large, empty table next to a wall directly in front of us. A large vintage sign hanging over my head that read "Chesterfield Cigarettes" stared back at me. I studied the sign, the contours, and the pictures painted on it, which gave it a 1940s 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. I 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 was getting impatient.
Before our breakfast arrived, a large group of ladies in their 70s sat at the large table before me.
"So much for being among the living," I think. 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, and Christopher was about done with sitting there waiting for me to be done. I asked for the check to pay the bill and then sulked 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 and eat in my solitude.
Calling the doctor now.
811 words
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