Silver Springs

I knew that Mamie had been expecting me back because when I walked through the diner’s doors and sat down, she didn’t seem too shocked. She grabbed a menu and pulled a pen out of her hair.

“Hi Gunnar,” she said blankly.

“Mamie,” her name came out of my mouth, but it wasn’t just her name. It was a sigh of relief and pain and happiness at seeing her. She looked at me with blank eyes. It was her defense mechanism.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. She turned around on her heel and I saw that she looked different. She seemed a little empty –paler and thinner. When she came back, I realized that she had changed her hair, the beautiful and long caramel hair that I had loved so much, was now a pale and white blond. It was like she wanted to be as transparent as possible. When she returned and told me that they were out of 2% milk (because she knew it was my favorite), I felt like I was talking to a ghost.

“It’s fine. I’ll take half and half,” I said. She nodded and went back. When she returned with a little steel pitcher full of milk, I resisted the urge to embrace her. She leaned across the table to fill my empty mug with dark coffee and I smelled her perfume. A flowery scent that made me want to erase it all and move back to the apartment with her. Let us just take it back.

She nodded at me and turned back to leave. I purposely decided to come on an early morning shift. No one was here and we could talk. So I grabbed her hand when she turned around and she froze. “Gunnar,” she warned.

“Stay,” I grasped.

She looked at my stern expression and a little smile crept its way onto her lips. “I’m working,” she explained, “I can’t have some heart to heart with you in the middle of my shift.”

“No one’s here,” I argued impatiently. She looked around the empty diner.

“My boss is,” she snapped, ”Come back in two hours and we’ll talk.”

I grinned and took a gulp of my coffee then set a bill on the table. When I walked out of the diner, I saw a confused and what looked like a regretful look on Mamie’s fair face.

_____

Mamie was waiting for me at a booth in front of the diner. She still wore her pink uniform, but over it was a blue cardigan. She had her purse on her lap, like she expected this conversation to be a quick one.

“How are you?” I said as I sat down in front of her. I took my leather jacket off and placed it beside me.

“I’m fine. How are you? You look well,” she replied. I could tell by the way she talked that she hadn’t really planned to get too deep into the conversation.

“I’m good. I’m clean now.” Hope tugged at my chest as I said this, “For two months. Billie and I’ve done it together… again.”

A sincere grin spread across her face. “Oh, Gunn. Oh, that’s so great!” She reached over and placed her hand on mine and gave it a reassuring shake. Then it seemed that she realized what she had done and she extracted it with lighting speed.

“So how are you?” I repeated, “Really.”

She sighed and the wall seemed to come down a bit. “You know, working, trying to get things together. Mom and Steve have been driving me wild,” she said and gave a shake of her head, like an annoying fly had passed by.

“So you’re going back to school for sure, huh?” I asked.

“Yep. Some time… soon,” she murmured.

“Have you been….” I broke off because the thought was too painful and sad and humiliating.

Her eyes narrowed on my face. “Dating? Is that what you’re asking me?” she stated bluntly.

“Yes,” I said sheepishly.

“Not dating exactly,” she said and turned a light shade of pink, “But yes, I’ve been seeing someone.”

She was unapologetic, just truthful and blunt, the way she always was. But it hurt and I wanted to reach over and hold her close face to mine like I used to do to say that, “No, you’re mine. Don’t do that.”

But she had a right to fuck whoever it was she was fucking. It was no business of mine. I tried to tell myself that, but it was illogical how jealous I was.

“What about you? Jamie seems nice,” she said softly.

“Yeah, yeah she is. I met her at an AA meeting,” I said.

Mamie’s eyes darkened as she whispered, “That’s good. She can help you.” An irrevocable sadness drew us in.

“You helped me,” I said, “When you left, I realized that I had to make a change or else I would continue to lose everything. I lost everything.”

We stared at each other meaningfully. Then she said in a very fragile voice, “Gunnar. I can’t talk about this. I’ll lose it.” She got up and pulled her smokes from her purse. I got up and followed her out. She lit her cigarette and I lit mine on the street. We watched people walk by in silence for a while and then she looked up thoughtfully as smoke billowed out of her mouth, “Are you happy?” she suddenly asked.

“I’m fucking miserable,” I stated.

She nodded her head as if saying, Me too. Me too.