by Judy Voss
Would she never stop? The woman in the next booth was sobbing. Sometimes loudly, but mostly she put out simpering little whimpers. These were interspersed with wheezes of gaining her breath back, only to get on with more loud sobs.
I was eating breakfast in my favorite diner. It was usually quiet at 7 am on a Tuesday morning, with us regulars doing what regulars do—Bob ordering his morning coffee and reading his newspaper, Teresa sipping her tea while eating corn flakes. She could do this at home and save the costly meal price—10 bucks for breakfast—plus tip. A waste, I thought. But we all liked Teresa and sometimes she read her journal entries to us. They were always funny. She had a great perspective on life.
We also liked regulars Marvin and Laura, hovering over their eggs and sausages, sometimes holding hands under the table, making goo goo eyes at each other. They too should have done this at home. Or gotten a room somewhere. They were cheating on their spouses who were both horrible people. We had all read the stories of domestic abuse in the local paper. We had all exonerated Marvin and Laura.
Others in the diner, some at the long Formica-topped counter reading or chatting, were less well known but usually there on Tuesday mornings. Except this sobbing woman. Now back to whimpering.
“He lied to me!” she said between a new sort of gasping sound. Everyone was looking at her now. “He told me he was going bowling but nooooo,” she groaned. “He was out at Applebee’s with Janice.” More sobs. “So hurtful, so hurtful.”
Several of us looked at each other. We were seasoned in the world of heartbreak. Bob shrugged, fought with his newspaper to get to the sports pages and went back to his coffee. I looked down at my pancakes and remembered the day when Shelly, the waitress, had brought me pancakes in the shape of ragged, broken hearts. That was the day I had announced my divorce. She had served them with a touch of sympathy and a small smile. I had told her to take them back to the kitchen and bring me happy heart pancakes. We were celebrating my divorce. I proclaimed “drinks on me” to the regulars. It wasn’t that expensive as coffee and tea refills came with the meals. Turned out I was celebrating ever since. And trying to just have a quiet breakfast and get on with the day.
More sobs. Loud now. “What am I going to do? How will I get on?” sobbing woman lamented.
Teresa started to offer sympathetic noises, soon to evolve into advice not-asked-for. The two had a few heartfelt exchanges mostly at murmur volume. Teresa went back to her journal with a frown.
“I can’t just leave him by the side of the road,” she aimed at Teresa with another whimper.
My turn. I stood up, walked from my booth to hers, leaned down, trying to control a shout and said to her, “Oh yes you can, sweetie. Oh yes you can.”
© 2024 Judith Voss All rights reserved.
Click or tap here to see Judy Voss’s profile.
Use the “Leave a Comment” form below to submit comments on this piece.