I wanted to cry. I could feel my chest swell, my lower lip shaking, but my eyes were dry, like Sahara desert dry. I clenched my fists, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, nervously bit down on my lip, and still, no tears. I wanted to cry. For once, I wanted to cry!
I became frustrated and upset with the situation, but irritated that I would not allow myself to let go completely, to be human.
Then I realized what was stopping me. I could hear the faint voice of my grandmother in the back of my mind, telling me that there was a season for everything. A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to get and a time to lose. Literally a season for everything. It was straight out of the King James Version of the Bible I'm sure, but she insisted that we needed to accept those seasons with grace. She was constantly reassuring me that we were not manipulators, as much as we wanted to be, of our own fate.
I knew that I couldn’t cry and well crying wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t forgive my mistakes, his mistakes, our mistakes. It wouldn’t make our memories seem as though they happened to someone else. Crying wouldn’t change anything.
“I’ll pay for the check.” I managed to say to break the awkward silence. “I guess it's time that you go.”
He reached for his cup of coffee and took another sip. His dry calloused hands held the mug tightly. The sip seemed to last a lifetime.
I imagined a Professional Wrestler version of myself swatting away the cup out of his mouth, then body slamming him through the table, scrambled eggs flying up in the air, plates shattering to create a breakfast mosaic surrounding his mutilated body.
“What?!” He yelled, snapping me out of my daydream. “Nothing.”
He shook his head and ran his hands through his shaggy blonde hair and down to his barely there beard.
He stood up from the table, grabbed his earphones, jacket, and gun.
He left. So much for "forever", I thought. I knew I’d never see him again.
“Would you like dessert?” Our waitress…my waitress, unwillingly came over to ask. I could tell by her lack of eye contact and apathetic tone that she was forcing herself to do it. I stared at her for a few seconds. She had a tiny mole on the right side of her cheek just beneath her eyelashes. He had a mole on his cheek too.
“Do you have French silk pie?”
‘A cookies and cream milkshake?”
“Coconut cream pie?”
“Um, we have key lime...”
“That’s fine. I’ll take those.”
“All of them,” I grin.
She nodded then scurried away, as if she was afraid I was going to eat her too.
I would. I’d eat her, but I’ve been trying my hardest to get my old life back. I stopped eating meat. I used to be a vegetarian when I was alive. I used to be a lot of things.
I grabbed the spoon he used and threw it to the ground. I stared at the mug he sipped on. It wore coffee stains and his scent. I threw that too. There was glass everywhere, tiny little pieces.
From the corner of my eye I could see this round man, with a round face at a nearby table turn to look at me. He let out an exaggerated gasp and covered his mouth as if he was afraid to anger me. Afraid that I would notice him. I don't get angry. What's the point? These humans roam around like they are invincible, wasting their lives, forgetting to really live and to really love. What they fail to realize is that they are vulnerable little skeletons with a decorated meat jacket, incapable of seeing beyond their own selfish world.
A part of me thinks that it was a blessing to have become what I am today. I may be dead on the outside but these humans, they’re dead on the inside.
“Here you go.” The waitress sets the dessert plates in front of me stepping over the glass.
"And...oh dear...I'll clean this right up."
I look at her name tag. Sue. That was my dog's name.
“Tell Danny Devito’s stunt double to stop glaring at me before I eat him too!” I shout.
He immediately stands up, fumbles his change with his little sausage fingers, throws it on the table, and stumbles out the door.
I start to laugh uncontrollably. He wobbled out of here like a little crème puff with legs. I laughed and laughed and laughed.
I laughed harder than I ever did when I was alive. I laughed so hard, I started to cry.