jess ste. croix's exercise #7

People tried to act normal when she came in- she could tell they were trying. As she walked by the hostess desk, hostess situated casually behind, leaning forward with her elbows on a stack of menus, nothing seemed different. But she knew it was. Eventually they would react. People would let things slip and they’d cover their mouths and shake their heads, not believing they’d let it happen. So she passed the hostess, Candace, and smiled, trying it on, seeing how it felt. Odd. She looked back after and Candace had straightened to greet new guests. She was pulling two menus from the stack and saying, “Follow me.” The kitchen was loud. She could hear it through the swinging metal doors and when she pushed them open the noise washed over her, amplified. The prep cooks stopped what they were doing, looking up, their fingers wrapped around knives, poised in the air just above vegetables. The chefs looked too, when the chatter lulled and there were only a few stray whispers in the air. “Hey,” she said as she walked by. Some of them nodded, some said “hey”, and they all went back to work. A waitress breezed in through the swinging doors with a large tray balanced on one hand and a bottle opener in the other. “Oh,” she said. “Hey.” “Hey.” This was inevitable. It didn’t matter if she waited a day or a week or a month. This would happen no matter when she came back, so it might as well be now. Get it over with, she thought. At the punch clock in the back she was alone. She glanced up at the rack on the wall that held their cards, some names printed in new clear black ink, others fading from being swiped so many times. She scanned up and down the rows, not sure why, knowing exactly where hers was. And his. She didn’t want to find her card, afraid she would find his card still there as well, just above hers, where it always was. For a few minutes longer, she stayed there, looking at the floor, the wall, anything except for that one spot where she knew her card was, and feared his was. Cal came into the back room and found her there. He leaned one arm in the doorway and put the other hand in his pocket. “Are you okay?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know why I just said that. I know that’s what they all say.” She smiled. “No. Well, yes. But you can say it. It’s okay. You can say anything and don’t care.” “What are you doing in here?” “Not looking for my time card,” she said, pointing to, but not looking at the wall. “I meant, why are you here? At all. No one expects you to be here.” “It’s not about what people expect of me. Believe me, I’d rather not walk through the kitchen like that again and have everyone act like ‘nothing’s wrong, but something’s wrong, so pretend like nothing’s wrong.’ You know?” Cal squinted, then raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I guess I do.” “But, that’s what happens. It was bound to happen right? There was always going to be a first time they saw me since. Now that’s done. We can move on to the second time they saw me since.” “You’re fucked up, you know that?” “Wow. Thank you. But, yeah, I knew that.” He let his arm drop from the doorway and moved toward her. He put his arms around her neck and let her cry into his chest. It wasn’t the first time, and he knew she didn’t like to be looked at when she cried, but also that the moment her nose touched his shirt she wouldn’t be able to stop. When she pulled away, she asked him, “Is it still there? His card.” “No, no,” he said. “I took it down myself. Gave it back to Marty.” “Okay.” She looked at the names again, still a little nervous that he’d made a mistake, and it really would be there, but it wasn’t and she pulled her own card down from the rack and swiped it. “I’m in,” came out more an exhalation than words. “Ok. Let me know if you need anything.” “Ok,” she said, and then added, “Thank you, Cal.” She passed through the kitchen again, tying a black apron around her waist and trying not to act as if she was pretending. It was ridiculous, she thought, to be pretending that you weren’t pretending. But that’s what it felt like. And everyone else did the same. Eventually things began to feel genuine again. The smiles she got from the other waitresses as they passed her in the dining room. The playful elbow nudges she received from the line cooks. Her own smiles even took on a sense of sincerity, asking the people at her tables if they would like dessert, or more to drink. But then Marty came in, a few hours later, and he told her she should take a break. She should eat something, he told her, and she agreed, even though she wasn’t hungry. He even walked to the back room with her, following close behind, carrying a bowl of soup and a piece of bread. There wasn’t anyone else back there and he put the food down and left her sitting at the table alone. There was something swirling in the soup, she remembered. It was green, and stringy, and it spiraled around in the broth. It was spinach; she knew that later, but then, as she sat there with her chin resting on one fist, lightheaded, and stared into the thick white ceramic bowl, she saw seaweed and saltwater.