Fathers
Coffee and Cowboys??
Ray's POV
I ran to the car, leapt in and slammed my hand across the steering wheel, very hard.
"Fuck!" I yelled and fumbled for my keys. It took me a while to shove them into the ignition because I was soo angry and wasn't paying attention.
Finally, the engine roared into life and I pulled out of the driveway. I headed for the motorway. Where was I going? I didn't know. Did I care? No. I just wanted to get away from Bob. Ha, that was the first time in my life I'd ever said that. God, he's the man I love, with all my heart, and all I want to do now is get away from him. Is he really the one? Do I really love him if I wanna get away from him soo much? I turned into the motorway and sighed. Why was I thinking like this?
I shook my head and sped up a little. Was it true? Did I actually love Bob as much as I thought I did? My eyes flickered over to the dashboard of the Range Rover. There was a photo propped up on it of me and Bob, smiling, with our arms round each other. I fixed my eyes back on the road.
I drove for hours. I just kept following the motorway. I didn't answer my cell, I didn't listen to any music and I didn't look at that photograph. At about 2 in the morning and 15 missed calls from Gee, Mikey and Lottie and a couple of texts from Frank, I stopped off at a diner called Dixies. It was a cheap tacky, 24 hour affiar, where the waitresses were over 50 and had unfulfilled dreams of being super models, while the chefs were all overweight, half-italian men called Joe, who had been divorced for 20 years, but still answered when people asked 'How's the wife?' and never thought to correct them.
I stepped inside Dixies and looked for a place to sit. The only people there was a waitress with grey finger curls and black horn rimmed glasses, a cook with a crooked nose and olive skin, almost as greasy as actual olive oil, and a guy, dressed from head to toe in black, wearing cowboy boots (spurs included) and had a cowboy hat over his face.
'Ha, the lone cowboy. ' I thought to myself. 'The one that got fed up of chasing red indians and decided to get a coffee and a hamburger instead.'
I slipped inbetween plastic table and the plasticky pleather seats and sat down, shifted myself a little to get comftable, but trying not to make it sound like a fart noise at the same time. The waitress strolled up to me casually and handed me a menu so secretively, I thought she was a drug dealer.
"Welcome t'Dixies. I'm Martha."
Ah, yes Martha, the best dealer of greasy diner food in NJ.
"Can I take y'order hun?" Martha asked in her thick New York accent.
"Just a coffee. Thanks." I gave her a slight nod and she snatched up the menu from my hand
I lowered my head down and stared at the table. A few moments later, I heard the slow, metallic sound of cowboy boots walking towards me. The I heard a cough. I looked up and gawped. He was gorgeus!
I ran to the car, leapt in and slammed my hand across the steering wheel, very hard.
"Fuck!" I yelled and fumbled for my keys. It took me a while to shove them into the ignition because I was soo angry and wasn't paying attention.
Finally, the engine roared into life and I pulled out of the driveway. I headed for the motorway. Where was I going? I didn't know. Did I care? No. I just wanted to get away from Bob. Ha, that was the first time in my life I'd ever said that. God, he's the man I love, with all my heart, and all I want to do now is get away from him. Is he really the one? Do I really love him if I wanna get away from him soo much? I turned into the motorway and sighed. Why was I thinking like this?
I shook my head and sped up a little. Was it true? Did I actually love Bob as much as I thought I did? My eyes flickered over to the dashboard of the Range Rover. There was a photo propped up on it of me and Bob, smiling, with our arms round each other. I fixed my eyes back on the road.
I drove for hours. I just kept following the motorway. I didn't answer my cell, I didn't listen to any music and I didn't look at that photograph. At about 2 in the morning and 15 missed calls from Gee, Mikey and Lottie and a couple of texts from Frank, I stopped off at a diner called Dixies. It was a cheap tacky, 24 hour affiar, where the waitresses were over 50 and had unfulfilled dreams of being super models, while the chefs were all overweight, half-italian men called Joe, who had been divorced for 20 years, but still answered when people asked 'How's the wife?' and never thought to correct them.
I stepped inside Dixies and looked for a place to sit. The only people there was a waitress with grey finger curls and black horn rimmed glasses, a cook with a crooked nose and olive skin, almost as greasy as actual olive oil, and a guy, dressed from head to toe in black, wearing cowboy boots (spurs included) and had a cowboy hat over his face.
'Ha, the lone cowboy. ' I thought to myself. 'The one that got fed up of chasing red indians and decided to get a coffee and a hamburger instead.'
I slipped inbetween plastic table and the plasticky pleather seats and sat down, shifted myself a little to get comftable, but trying not to make it sound like a fart noise at the same time. The waitress strolled up to me casually and handed me a menu so secretively, I thought she was a drug dealer.
"Welcome t'Dixies. I'm Martha."
Ah, yes Martha, the best dealer of greasy diner food in NJ.
"Can I take y'order hun?" Martha asked in her thick New York accent.
"Just a coffee. Thanks." I gave her a slight nod and she snatched up the menu from my hand
I lowered my head down and stared at the table. A few moments later, I heard the slow, metallic sound of cowboy boots walking towards me. The I heard a cough. I looked up and gawped. He was gorgeus!