Title Track

It wasn’t like I hated Ryan.

I didn’t wish him dead or anything.

I suppose I missed him; a tiny part of me, at least.

Three years will do that to you.

So with a tiny Ryan-shaped hole in my heart, I felt a little incomplete.

--

The streets of LA are dirty at night.

Everything looks foggy from the bright lights and camera flashes.

I’m bored, and a little drunk, when I go table to table , serving strangers at work.

Hi, I’m Brendon, I’ll be your server tonight.

Spencer seats patrons, I bring them their food, Jon cooks the food, Pete mixes the alcohol into the drinks, Patrick walks around in his gold vest making sure his employees are all in line. We all play our miniscule part in the foodservice industry.

“Brendon, you’ve got someone at table three.” Spencer says as he walks past me in the break room. I sigh, because that’s what one does when they have to start working, and make my way to table three.

I watch my feet as I walk, my shoe lace is untied, and pull out my notepad.

“Hi, I’m Brendon, I’ll be your server.” I look up at the young man in the booth. His hair is a mane of greasy, tangled brown locks that might possibly have something living in them. “Can I get you a drink to start off with?”

“Just a beer.” He says, and I nod, pretend to write something, because a beer isn’t hard to remember.

“I’ll have that right out.” I faux smile, skip in my step, and head towards the bar, where Pete is showing off.

“Beer, Pete.” I announce as I approach him. He looks disappointed, probably because it’s not a drink he can make entertaining.

He finishes his show, pours me a beer, and sends me on my way. I’m tempted to drink it myself.

“Here you go, sir. Have you decided yet, or do you need more time?”

“I’m actually waiting for someone, so I’ll need some more time.”

“Okay then. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I watch my feet as I walk away, and my head is spinning, and I hear a voice that sounds far too familiar.

“Hey. Sorry. Late. Traffic.”

I keep walking, because it can’t possibly be who I think it is.

When I go back out a few minutes later, I see another mess of tangled brown hair joining the patron at table three.

“Have you decided yet?” I ask, looking up from my notepad.

The hole in my heart makes me feel so incomplete.