Do You? Really?

The waitress was standing there with her back to the counter, her platter of food in her arms. One of them was—         

“Watch this!”               

The customer on her right served himself and his friend by pointing to the plates, saying he had curly fries with the huge hamburger—which appeared in front of him—and his friend here had—and suddenly got—the chicken soup with the slice of bread and side of broccoli. The waitress simply looked from the friend to the first guy, having no idea as to how the plates went from her platter to the table.         

“You’re a magician.”

The chuckling man nodded, his bald head gleaming in the overhanging lamp’s light.

“Akeela!” 

The waitress blew an agitated breath as a short aproned woman approached her. She threw her hands on her hips and stared right at her. The waitress half-rolled her eyes and asked whether she should go wash the dishes. Besides, she was having so much fun watching Mr. Magician's entertainment. What’s a little break?

“Your job is to serve my customers, not be entertained. Please—”

“I’d rather be watching them than be ordered around by you.” The waitress walked away, carrying the empty platter back to the rack in the kitchen. The other woman called out that she should be doing her job, not get distracted. The waitress nodded her head as the swinging door closed, and focused on emptying the dishwasher and putting the stack of platters up on the rest of the rack. As she thought to herself about her little slice of fun, the waitress also thought about ensuring her boss wasn’t that person anymore. Wouldn’t it be great to be your own boss?

“Akeela!”   

The waitress threw down the last plate, cracking it, and stormed out the door. She started yelling at the boss, calling her names, jabbing a finger at her, and marched up, smacking her in the face. The atmosphere froze. Everyone stared at her in shock and worry. The waitress balled both hands and then flicked a stray frizzy strand of hair from her face. Then she dashed away, tearing into the kitchen and huddling into a corner. She thought about ridding herself of her husband. She thought of divorce. She thought of running away.       

There was a bang and then a voice that slammed her ears with such verbal force the waitress jumped up and glared at the woman in front of her. “You have no idea! I married him for love. Why does he have to tear that piece away from our bond?”   

The boss stood rooted to the spot. “Akeela, I don’t know why you need to bring your troubles in here like this when you’ve got all day to put the dishes and platters away. You should be grateful—working eight hours a week with double shifts on weekends would really help you see that you may get a raise, okay?”    

“Maybe that’s why I’m the workaholic!” The waitress dashed out the kitchen and to the bathroom, where she locked herself in the furthest stall. She put her knees to her chin, hugging herself. She didn’t even check to see if her makeup was all strewn around her face. She studied the ugly brown squares that was the floor.      

I married the wrong man. No, if only I married a man. I need to…I need to start over. Get a life!

The waitress grabbed her phone from her purse behind the black curtain and walked right up to her boss. “I’m quitting. For good this time!”                 

“Yeah, and where will you go?”

“Somewhere. Anywhere. I need—”

“I could use someone like you.”

The waitress snorted. “Someone like me would just do their job. Someone like me would give you a bad day.”

“Uh-huh.” Her boss sighed. “I need you, Akeela. She works extra and harder. She’s better than anyone else here. No one—”            

“Works because she can’t even receive a kiss on the cheek or lips from her husband because he’s too busy reminding her of his own reasons why marriage shouldn’t include love.” The waitress shoved past her boss, returning to the bathroom. Sitting next to the toilet, the waitress read something.               

When you come home, I’ll make some pie. You like chocolate chips, so I bought some to put on that whipped cream. You have the first bite. Right?

The waitress silently set it down, sighing. She blinked back tears. Why did I agree to him? What did he love—the wedding? Why is everything else important? Why can’t I be important—more important? The important one!

The waitress closed her eyes and set her head back, letting the tears stream down her face. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t—”      

“Akeela!”

“What?” The question was icier than the freezer ice, the waitress hoped.

“You need to serve the rest of the customers. I’m your boss. You’re my employee. Chop chop!”

The waitress rested her head on the ugly stucco wall behind her, imagining herself on a tropical beach. Brittany and she were hanging out on her favorite beach chair, sunscreen blocking the sun from burning them, cool lemonade in each hand. As Brittany’s long auburn hair flowed in the cool breeze, the waitress stretched her tan legs long and slim, her heels just hanging over the edge. She laughed at one of Brittany’s lame jokes, and sipped her pink drink. Brittany told her to come on. Then she got up and beckoned the waitress again. Once she made it as far as the waves, her voice sounded firm and then harsh and then anger escaped her lips. Dashing back to the waitress, she banged a fist on her chair, ordering her to get up!                   

“Akeela! Akeela. Please. You need—”   

“Please—if I may be of some assistance. I think she just wants peace of mind—”

“She can get a piece of mind when she’s home! I’m not paying her to cry.”

A moment of still silence. Then the waitress was told to get going. Her phone was collected as she picked herself up off the floor and walked towards the door, opened it and returned to the kitchen. Moments later, she had the platter in hand again, taking orders. She sensed someone nearby, and looked over. The magician had a sad expression dancing in his eyes. The waitress shook her head.            

Everyone just wants me to feel better. Well, you can’t cheer someone up if you can’t understand them!

The waitress looked up as she took orders. People turned from the road perpendicular to this diner onto the driveway. She scratched words on her paper more carefully, listening more and nodding her head. She took people’s menus with a little more than a stiff smile. When she passed the magician, the waitress saw a spark of wonder in the man’s eye. She jerked away, leaving stiffly, but later pursed her lips when he asked what was wrong. She just took his order and returned with the items.       

“Oh, wait, you’re the magician. I don’t really need to do my job.” She waited for him to perform his magic on the plates of food and glasses of apple juice and Diet Coke. But he shook his head. The waitress nodded stiffly, and set out everything. As she left, the guy to her left leaned forward and whispered something. When she came back with more syrup, the waitress interrogated the same guy.

“I just wanted to know why you’re upset. Sorry to make you think—”

“You should know I don’t want my customers interfering with my life.”

“First of all,” her boss’s voice startled her, “they’re my customers. Second, when are you going to get off the road of bitterness? Why—”  

“When is my husband going to get off the emotional abuse train?”

The waitress threw her platter onto the next table and retreated into the bathroom. She banged shut the stall, cursing the woman in charge and then shutting out the customers’ confusion and concern. When she heard shoes pounding on the hard ground floor, the waitress braced herself. She swallowed hard. Sweat beaded her forehead.                           

Now everyone knows. Why can’t I just work? I’m happy here.

The waitress turned her head to follow the footsteps. Then something opened and then banged closed. The waitress sat there, her brain processing. I think Raquel just exited the restaurant! I’m the only one?         

The waitress slowly got up off the covered toilet, left the bathroom and stood in front of everyone, her eyes wearily watching her boss turn onto the highway and then disappear down the road. Since this diner was the only one for miles around in this small town of Elberton, the waitress assumed she’d be going home for the night. At least it was Friday.                     

The waitress didn’t waste any time getting and giving orders and meals, satisfying her customers and going to great lengths to accommodate those with special food restrictions. Four hours later, the waitress stood there, exhausted, blinking. She didn’t want to finish the day crying in front of all her leaving customers. They’ll talk about this night for a long time. She watched a few people get in their cars and head onto the main road, and then went to go clean some tables and do their dishes.   

“Hey—excuse me.”     

The waitress jumped and turned around. “Yes?” She rubbed her forehead.

“I…I’m sorry to barge. Don’t mean to interrupt.”

The waitress went over to the guy on her left. He smiled halfway and looked up. 

“Uh…I just thought you’d want a little advice.”  

 The waitress blew a tired breath. “How about a little hope. A little meaningful gesture would put a smile on my face for once.”         

“I’m sorry. But that’s how you’re going to treat your customers? You can wait on us, but you’ll just be our server, not our waitress.”           

The waitress looked at him. “I’ve been serving here for a long time.”

“A long time can become a great time. A loving memory!”  

His friend chimed in.

“Maybe not.” The magician shrugged. The waitress looked at him. But they talked amongst themselves.     

I may serve everyone, but I don’t just work. I should be married not to my work, but to him.          

The waitress called her boss—she’ll serve this time. The boss agreed, reluctant. Once her shift was done, she clocked out. Only the waitress served one or two customers. They cared more about their conversation than she. The waitress eavesdropped.                 

“Yeah. When my daughter sat on that bus seat, she told the bus driver she was bullied. So he pulled over, ordered Ryder off and thanked her for telling him. She thanked him for standing up for her.”

The waitress turned around and asked whether Ryder did get off. The man nodded. She looked behind him. “Where’s that magician?”                

The men looked behind himself. “I guess he left.” They returned to their conversation, laughing. She ran to the door, looking out its window. It was now really dark outside. She ran back to flick on the lights. Someone stood on the sidewalk.                 

His hands were on his hips, looking at her. The waitress returned the look and then marched up to the door and opened it for him. “Come in.” He did. And sat down, took her menu and read it. Then he ordered. When she gave his food, she asked whether he would like something to drink.

“A Diet Coke would be great.”

She reminded him he was just taking from her. He looked at her.     

Once the waitress put a big glass of Diet Coke in front of him, she asked whether he even knew her. He said yes. You’re Akeela, the woman who—  

“Cooks and cleans and makes our home beautiful.” The waitress’ eyes snapped. “You want to know what else I do? The same thing here.”               

“Well—”

“You’re wanting to know why I do double—no, triple shifts. Maybe because I should. Because I need to avoid the emotional hurricane ripping me apart, ripping my life apart. Ripping us…” She turned to prepare and serve his food. He was silent.               

“Here it is.” She handed him the plates. He took them, and then picked up his fork. “Too bad you’re not that magician who was here a while ago. You could snap your fingers, and we’d be in love. I wouldn’t be working for just the customers. I’d be working for my man. Working not because I’m worthless as a rejected wife, but for my loving husband.”            

“Well, this place does look great!” He smiled cheerily as he dug into his pancakes. “I know it’s late morning—like one or two thir—”

“When we could be talking and laughing together over that pie you promised.” The waitress glared at him, yanking the plate away. “What do you want, Todd?”             

“I…” He chewed, seeming to think. “I don’t really want anything. Came here for you.”

The waitress stood there, stunned. She couldn’t believe it—he said it like he’d always wanted her but could never get the courage up to say it. He even looked at her like he meant it. The waitress narrowed her eyes. What if it was a charade? Todd was always at the baseball field, beating all his coworkers every Saturday. He was sliding into home base while she was busy watching. He never thanked her. He never kissed her good morning or good evening, hugged her sincerely or even said the three famous words only marriage could truly portray.                

I love your food. I love your restaurant. I love the fact that every time I come home, I walk into a nice clean room. I love your work. I love the fact that you’re always doing stuff for me. I love your cooking and cleaning. I love your work.    

The waitress reminded him of his love of baseball but his disinterest in Akeela.

“I think we can talk later, Akeela.”     

The waitress stormed away. After writing furiously on a notepad, she ripped the sheet of paper, then stuck it to her boss’ door behind the black curtain. Then she hid in the bathroom. Brittany and I can move somewhere. I’m not this man’s mere servant. Anymore!    

Swallowing bitterly, the waitress texted Brittany and then told Todd she was getting her things. She marched towards the door, but a firm hand grabbed and then clutched onto her arm. Seeing Brittany’s SUV pull up, she yanked, but Todd held on.     

“Why?” She spat, freeing herself.

He turned her around. She stood her ground. Todd put his hand gently behind her head and leaned forward, kissing her. The waitress still hesitated. Todd told her he’d rather be here all night than sleep in nice warm sheets. “I’ve been thinking, honey, about our relationship. That’s why I came out here. To ask whether you could forgive me.”       

The waitress looked down. Could she, after six years of emotional abuse hacking away at her like a child banging obnoxiously on a piano? Was Todd forgivable? “Brittany’s here. I should’ve left already.”

“Because I want us. Not just me anymore.”   

The waitress whipped around. “Why couldn’t that be the truth when you said ‘I Do’?”

“Honey. I…don’t know. It’s too long of a story.”      

“Bye!”

As she opened the door, she thought she heard some sadness—no. Desperation? She texted Brittany. Minutes later, headlights retreated from the diner and then disappeared completely. “While you’ve been working from sunrise to sundown, I’ve been thinking about our marriage. I’m married to my work, too. We can’t let work divorce us. We can marry just each other.”                       

She turned around, and looked at him. He seemed…honest. The waitress said she needed to get back to work. She served the two men and then they left, it being early morning. She cleared their dishes and went into the kitchen to rinse and put them in the dishwasher.                                                 

“Let’s stay here, hon.” He stood in the doorway, she just knew.

I’m so tired of his voice. Can’t he just leave me alone?

“You work today?”

“I’ll let my boss know I worked six hours overtime!”

“Let her know I gave her awesome employee a tip.”

The waitress jerked a nod. “Gratitude goes a long way.”     

“Yeah, but—”

“This place is my second home.” She let him distract her. “Make it my workplace, not my husband.”

He nodded.

“To work?”

“No—home. I worked all day. Up until I drove here. I’ll be waiting.”

Yeah, eating that pie. Maybe I’ll just come on by and wait till you’re done. Then I’ll throw it away. Like I should along with our marriage.

Todd left. The waitress cleaned all tables and booths. The kitchen was orderly, and then she closed up shop. She’d walk home. They lived only minutes away. Locking the door after returning inside to cut the lights, the waitress took off her apron and set out for home. Suddenly, a text message. 

Your work has shown me that marriage takes work, just like a job. You can’t do your job if you don’t work at it. Hard work pays off—even between us.     

The waitress texted she better see him love her as much as he wants her to believe him. He said he suffered, too, but his emotional abuse wasn’t worth inflicting if he was only hurting himself. Hurt wasn’t the answer.

The waitress said that it would be a long journey.

Thank you!

The waitress sensed he really meant it. He wondered after opening the front door for her: could his forgiveness be a starting point? She gestured returning to the diner. He was confused. Inside, they ignored life as they talked behind the curtain. It was a starting point.      

For both of them.