Four
The Waffle House[/b]
“Walter.” That was all Zoey said as she stepped through the threshold to her brother’s room. She didn’t even say it loud enough for her own ears to hear it, but it didn’t matter, this was different. No longer was she the innocent little girl whose parents were too blind to truly see her emotional pain. For once, this was Zoey’s chance to be the one to find a spot in the corner, to sit there and wait, to think about one of the many plausible sentences that could be painted by the mouth in the form of words, yes, all Zoey had to do was wait till her very own brother was ready to open his mouth and--
Yes, this all would have been nice, if Walter had been in his bed. Zoey didn’t calculate this into her plan, which meant that her question was off, but that’s not to say she didn’t like the final outcome.
“Pst, blue eyes, look out the window.” As her head whipped to her brothers single window looking onto the continuous line of suburban homes she found many things, still houses, creaking swing sets, and hidden cars engulfed by three car garages, but no Walter. “For god sakes Zo, stick your head out the window not just beside it.”
The second set of colorful instructions revealed her seventeen year old brother standing a foot away from a ladder that, before then, Zoey was unaware they owned. “What the hell are you doing down there?”
“C’mon, let’s grab breakfast,” And with that, he began walking around the house. Zoey wanted to shut the window, step back into her no longer perfect room, and crawl back into her bed. But that meant returning to the dream world, and who isn’t up for pancakes at 2:30 in the morning?
So, taking an unusual risk, Zoey Carson swung her left foot out the window and anxiously held her breath until it glided against one of the ladders platforms. She struggled to keep her eyes open, holding on to the sheer fact that she would have a greater chance of not falling if she could see. Once her body was securely on the ladder she moved one foot slowly down the step, then another and another. On her fourth step she had the sudden urge to scream as she felt the latter shake, but Walter almost instantly held it steady and told her to quietly keep going. Zoey steadied herself, knowing the fall would be about ten feet, but she couldn’t help that she lived a life of fear. She was never one to wish she could live a semi-normal life in a bubble, but that didn’t change the fact that her heart, quite possibly, beat twice as fast as the rest of the population.
“When did you walk back?” she asked, hoping conversation would distract her shaking hands.
“I never turned the corner Zo, I’ve always known your fear of heights and it hurts that you believed I would have just waited in the car.”
“I thought you didn’t have feelings?” And at that, they both couldn’t help laughing hysterically for a minute before forcing one another to quite down so they wouldn’t get caught.
Do you recall our beloved friend David, well Davy here loved confusing people, and he got a kick out of it. One of his most prized lines used on waiters, bank managers, and fast food employees was “If I had feelings they would be hurt right now.” Not only was Zoey becoming more like her dear old dad, but so was Walter, at least they weren’t portraying their mothers personal struggles.
“It’s just down here Zo,” Walter said from over his shoulder as they both began walking around the house.
“By it, do you mean your new baby?”
Walter stopped walking and turned around, standing right between 23rd and 24th Knolin Street. “I can’t believe you have such little faith in me. I am not one of those guys who fall’s in love with their car and gives it pet names, like Baby or Linda.” As he pulled his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, he twirled the silver ring around his index and middle finger, before clicking the unlock button, giving his unnamed car light to seize the day.
Sliding into the passenger side of her brothers deep red 2000 Alero GX Coupe, the smell of cigarettes, rotting meat, and the classic scent all seventeen year old boy’s carry with them consumed Zoey’s senses. About ten minutes after pure silence, Walter kept opening his mouth to say something; he would fidget, and then close his mouth once again.
“So—”
“I don’t smoke.” The blunt remark came as a surprise to Zoey; she was waiting for him to state that he was dropping out of school, moving out, or announce that someone had died. “And, before you say something I just, well, c’mon we both have noses, and they have most definitely picked up on the sense of smoke.”
“Walter, I know you don’t smoke, I was just wondering how you got the scent of smoke in your car, that’s all.”
“Oh,” he blinked twice before laughing while making a sharp right turn down Cobblestone Drive. “I bought a pack and burned about half of them while I was sitting in the car listening to The Distillers.”
“Well, first things first, were you listening to anything other than the City Of Angels?”
“And disappoint you, never. Don’t forget who introduced you to that music guide book you have memorized in your head.”
Now it was Zoey’s turn to laugh. “Where did you even get a pack, this is the fucking suburbs Wal, and I mean the true suburbs, we ‘re not living on Wisteria Lane here, no place sells them except for gas stations and no one here ever got into the fake ID business, considering mommy and daddy’s money can buy them anything.” Sliding her hand to the back of the car, Zoey fetched her brothers huge black binder covered in stickers of his favorite bands. She began searching through his CD collection, seeing as he was against everything to do with Apple.
“I grabbed a few packs from Robby the week before we left the city.”
“Why? I mean, dad and mom are almost never in your car because they think it’s a biohazard, but how do you stand the smell?” Zoey asked while simultaneously rolling down her window.
“I don’t even know why I did it, I mean; I hated the thought of moving so I thought—”
“That dad would care too much about our family image to move us to a place like this?” She said while lifting an eyebrow.
“Well… I mean, yeah, but there was also Tara to think about, I still can’t believe I left her, she was—”
“Stop talking like that Wal, you didn’t leave her, you hear me? We moved, and you offered everything but tying one end of a string to her block and the other end to you. She decided “distance” was necessary, and you leaving didn’t cause her to freak out the way she did. You know better than anyone how much she was suffering from depression and you couldn’t have saved her, not this time. I mean, you gave that girl a life much longer than she would have had without you, but, as much as you loved her, you don’t belong on a bathroom floor twice a week convincing, and partially begging, someone to put down a knife. She—”
Zoey never finished her sentence, considering the chill she received, causing her to lose her train of thought, little did she known that every chill one receives is a brush of the hand from a ghost, but ignorance wasn’t a large part of little old Zoey’s life, at least, she never let it be.
“Well howdy, what can I seat you for, two?”
“I’m sorry, oh two yeah, it’s just us,” replied Zoey to the plump waitress on roller-skates, while Walter chocked down his laughter at the pin on her chest that flashed in bright blue, stating, “I’m you’re 4th of July spark.”
They were sat at a booth in the back; Zoey glanced around the room, noticing the woman crocheting in a chair with half a cup of coffee in front of her and the girl that appeared to be a college student based off her fort of books that were hiding most of her.
“Okay, is it just me or does that button of hers scream desperate, I mean it is August after all, plus—”
“Okay, what can I getchya chickadee’s?”
“Well, were not quite ready yet, could we have another minute?”
“Oh of course you’s can dear, I guess I jus’ got used to the hustle and bustle of the day. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you’s order,” and with that, she rolled away on her worn white skates.
“Well I’ll be. At the looks of this place having more than five tables filled would make these people believe the establishment was “busy”. I’m telling you, that’s why there aren’t more than a handful of diners in the city; we’re too fast for them.”
“Stop talking like that Walter, who are ‘these people’? How I see it is your making fun of our waitress who just so happens to be a newly single mother of three and this is her third job of the week, so cool it.”
“Wo sis, calm yourself,” replied Walter as he sat up a little in the booth to get a better look of the waitress. “How do you know all of that about her?”
Closing her eyes just to open them again and find everything to appear to be normal, Zoey was dazed. “I, I don’t know, it just kind of came to me, as if I was reading the information aloud to you out of a book.”
“Are you sure you’re not just stereotyping again?” This is what the Carson family used to label Zoey’s creativity. Zoey used to claim she could chose what career her friends were going to take part in once they entered the work force. Her parents didn’t know how to react to these so called assumptions, so they began labeling it stereotyping. They had no idea that everything Zoey spoke about was indeed true.
“No, and forget I even said anything, we should probably look at the menu so we can order.”
Six pancakes, two bacon cheddar omelets, a strawberry waffle, and a chocolate chip muffin toasted with butter caused both Zoey and Walter to feel utterly stuffed. Oh, let’s not forget the two Oreo milkshakes either. “Well, would either’s of you darlin’s like some sweets?”
“Oh no no no Betsy, take it all away.” Replied Zoey due to the fact that Walter was stretched across his entire side of the booth, unable to move thanks to all that syrupy food.
“Well all ’aight then, but are you sure I can’t get you some cheesecake or sometin’ else that fits yous’ taste buds?” Walter rolled over from his side in the booth and mumbled something along the lines of an okay.
“Are you crazy, I can’t eat another bite Wal, can you?” That question was answered when Zoey stuffed down an entire piece of the diner’s homemade cheese cake by herself while Walter enjoyed a piece of chocolate raspberry cake with pudding drizzled over the cut piece.
“Well I sure do love to see yous’ kids appetite,” commented Betsy an hour after she offered bringing out some sweets.
“Thank you so much, sit down why don’t you?” Offered Walter seeing as how it was just the woman crocheting, also enjoying a piece of chocolate raspberry delight. The college student left before Zoey and Walter had even made it to their milkshakes, supposedly due to her AP Psychology course. Zoey didn’t seem to find ‘fight or flight’ reactions all that difficult, but she didn’t seem to agree.
“I already spent an hour over here’s, I can’t be sittin’ so often at work.”
“Oh come on, that woman over there has her spool and hasn’t even touched her cake yet, she’ll be fine for at least twenty minutes.”
“Well, alls’ rights Walter, thank you again.”
“Cheesecake?” offered Zoey, already digging into her second piece.
“Well I don’t mind if I do, I baked eight of them just yesterday.”
“Do you make all these desserts yourself Betsy, because, I may just buy an entire cake right now.”
“Two,” claimed Walter, “since the chocolate is better than the cheese cake.”
“Lies!” joked Zoey, as the table had a good laugh while enjoying even better desserts.
Over the course of the Carson children’s three hours at The Waffle House Diner, they had gotten to know their waitress Betsy pretty well. All of Zoey’s so called “stereotyping” was correct. Betsy was in fact a mother of a nine year old daughter and a set of six year old twin boys. Her husband was a volunteer fireman, and while he was driving home from a three am call he was hit by a drunken truck driver. He could have survived if Betsy had been able to afford to keep him on life support while they waited for a lung transplant, but they didn’t have insurance, so the hospital was forced to pull the plug.
[i]This would have never been in the realm of possibilities based on a quick glance at Betsy, but if one was to look farther, they could see the re-sown buttons on her uniform, the cheap makeup that truly didn’t do much, the plain worm out black flats, and the bags under her eyes to only enhance the redness due to crying too often.[/i]
“How much do we owe you Betsy?”
The look of instant realization swarmed Betsy’s face as she simply waved her hand and sauntered off carrying more plates than most can carry with only two hands.
“Betsy,” Zoey exclaimed, “I’ll print out that check myself if I have to.”
“No no no, don’t be silly chickadees, I jus’ couldn’t have ya pay me’s anything, it wouldn’t be right.”
“Give us the damn check,” pleaded Walter, “We won’t leave without paying.”
“You kids aint hearin’ me.”
“What about the wonderful cake, we’re taking two home, at least let us pay for that,” offered Zoey, the problem solver.”
“Yes! That is a very good compromise, seeing as how I hate most desserts but love your pies, I’ll take home one cheesecake, one chocolate raspberry, and, let’s see, what else do we have?” Asked Walter as he peered into the display glass, contained an abundance of desert choices. “Give me one pie crust as well.”
“Huh? Pie crust, you just sell pie crust?”
“Why of course Zoey, it’s da locals favorite.”
“Then don’t listen to Wal over here, throw in two pie crusts why don’t you!”
Both children left twenty minutes later but not before paying a total of $46.50 for all four desserts and hugging Betsy two times each. Walter left a hundred dollar bill on the table, without Betsy seeing as she ran to the back to grab a freshly baked cheesecake. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to use it for whatever she sought, seeing as how I killed her minutes after the children left.
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