do this to myself anymore. It’s sickening.”
Lola sat across from me inside our favorite booth at our favorite diner. She was the most beautiful I had ever seen her. Her blond hair was pulled back into a bun. The afternoon sunlight crossed her face. The table was clear except for two coffees, napkins, sugar, and silverware. In case you aren’t understanding how small this town is, it’s so small that the sign over the diner we were sitting in literally just read DINER.
“Are you listening to me, Flynn?!” She was not quite yelling, but was extremely frustrated.
In the kitchen, a cook placed two plates on the service counter separating the kitchen from the bar.
“Where’s Francis, Amy, and Leslie?” he shouted as the food started to die in the window. “We’ve got customers waiting!” The waitresses were about to reply when the missing waiter showed up.
“Sorry, Dave! I was out back on an important call,” he said.
He hurried over to our table, apologizing for the wait. He seemed so docile. Your average white college kid. He had on black shoes, blue jeans, and a plain white shirt. I watched him tie his apron as fast as he could. He must have sensed that now wasn’t the time to chat, so he just topped off our coffees. As he did, I examined his name tag, his facial features, his skin palette, his mannerisms, and the way he walked. He had wrinkles on his forehead, a long nose and high cheekbones, dark choppy hair, a sharp voice, and reserved body language.
You know when you experience an intense moment and every mundane detail becomes extraordinarily vivid? And it turns into an unforgettable memory? This was like that. I never forgot this guy. Maybe it was because of what was going on. The love of my life was breaking up with me. This was emotionally traumatic. The entire scene was seared into my brain.
Our mugs were red. Rings of coffee from her cup spotted the table. If you were staring at us from the side of our table, she was on the left and I was on the right. Our booth was next to a giant window. A little jukebox was fixed to the table—it took quarters. “Ruby Tuesday” by the Rolling Stones played on the speakers.
“Fuck, Flynn, I’m spilling my heart out to you in my final good-bye and even now you can’t give me anything?!” She picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed her eyes. I hated to see her cry. It was the worst thing to me. But for whatever reason, I could never console her. I felt damaged in this way. Maybe it was from growing up without a father and never seeing a man treat my mother the way she should have been treated.
“I mean, you’re twenty-four, for fuck’s sake, and you live with your mother! You don’t have a job, Flynn!”
“I write.”
“You write? Ha, is that some sick joke?! Flynn, stop it. You aren’t an author. You’ve never even finished a book. You send half-baked, unfinished ideas to publishers, expecting book deals. What’s wrong with you? It doesn’t work that way! I mean, why do you think every company you send your ideas to replies with the same letter? Every time reiterating what I have been saying for years—‘great promise but finish the damn thing!’ You can’t even keep a literary agent. They all drop you because you never deliver. You put your work ahead of me. You put your writing first in this relationship. You get so caught up in it that you lose touch with reality. I want to be with someone who is achieving their goals. I spent years by your side, Flynn, trying to help you, support you, encourage you, and grow with you . . . but no, you haven’t changed one bit, you start amazing idea after amazing idea, but you never finish anything, and . . . and that’s why I . . . why I’m finishing this.”
She grabbed her purse and exited the booth as fast as she could.
“I don’t want to ever see you again, Flynn.”
My breath stopped. My chest tightened. The blood left my face. I vacantly stared downward, clasping my hands between my knees. Even though I appeared to be made out of stone, tears began to roll down my face. It was an emotionless, hollow cry.
Seconds felt like hours. I tried to get up from the table, but my legs gave out and I collapsed