Nena was the hottest girl working at IHOP - do with that information what you will. I met her as we sat in her section after last call. Black Aaron was by my side while Mary with a Mustache sat in front. I didn’t really know Mary, just met her that night, but she was trying hard to sell me every gory detail of her redneck life. Tried hard to listen, but couldn’t hear over her Tom Selleck, upper lip death grip. Wanted to call her MacGyver, but knew it was the wrong reference. Didn’t care enough to remember correctly. Nena served us pancakes while Aaron and I took turns conveying as nicely as possible that we were both being held hostage and to call the mustache authorities. Mary would see our indifference and match it with sad revealing secrets. “My father touched me.” “Oh really? Pass the Blueberry, please.” Nena was quite open herself, but with more quirk and less I was raped as a child. She revealed her love of Russian literature. I pretended to have read ‘The Brothers Karamazov’. She talked about semiotics. I mentioned Baudrillard, this French guy who believed art was dead because of its availability to the general masses. Aaron went blue and talked about ass play. Mary mentioned her Dad again. Everyone stopped talking. Uncomfortably, I fumbled with this coin my friend Charlie gave me earlier that night. Something they use in the military to display rank and more often as a form of gambling in bars. Highest ranking coin buys the next round or something. An eagle screamed with the number 3 violently displayed over the Stars and Stripes. I don’t know why Charlie gave it to me. We only casually knew each other. I think the war was hard on him and I might have been the only person who both distracted and listened. Mary seriously asked if the coin honored Dale Earnhardt Sr. Dale Earnhardt didn’t die for MY freedom!” I yelled it white trash style. Something I do often. “Didn’t he?” - Again - she said this seriously. Started talking about her country roots growing up as one of the boys. A thing girls do to justify why they don’t have any female friends. Nena chose to clean off a nearby table, occasionally picking apart discarded food while openly eating the remains of some stranger’s chicken fried steak. Endearing? The rest she scraped into a plastic bag to give to her cat later. It was his birthday. We made to leave and Mary stuck even closer. Nena paid us out and I noticed how her head kept twitching slightly to the right. I asked if it was a nervous tick. Said it was a tumor, but no big deal. Mary acted as if the world was ending and made a big show of false sympathy. I felt trapped between two bad decisions and was unfortunately too stupid and lonely to just go home empty handed. I got Nena’s number. It was a Florida area code and for a last name she wrote ‘Hagen-Dazs’. A cartoonish cat eating chicken fried birthday steak served as punctuation. Outside I tried hard to push Aaron on Mary. They had so much in common. He was a black kid from rural Mississippi and her dad was a white supremacist child molester. He declined my lay up as she forced her way between the urban brother wall of defense I was using to shield myself. A tactic made popular by the American Generals of the Vietnam War, but not so effective at 4am in an IHOP parking lot. Mary pressed hard, despite the fact that I didn’t actually know her, inviting me to her mom’s trailer. I declined after noticing a sense of dignity in myself and the fact the all of Mary’s possessions seemed to fill up her car. Trash bags filled with wrangler jeans, two lamps, a bean bag chair, no razors... Said good night. She yelled ‘Hugs’ while diving into my chest. I could feel the course hairs bristle through my sweater. Haven’t eaten an order of pancakes since.
Posted on: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 08:14:14 +0000
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