Friday, February 18, 2005
Volume 8: Scene in Rosie's on a Monday Morning
I sit in Rosie’s family restaurant, sip my coffee and look around. I pull out my pen and start to write.
Sitting by the window is a guy in his late 30’s (maybe 40) flipping through a newspaper. He seems to be scanning the employment section. He’s got a moustache, a mullet and a Calgary Stampeders cap on. The cap has seen better days. So has he, it appears. He wears overalls, left strap undone. Finger traces the help wanted ads. A cough of frustration exits his lips. He removes his cap to reveal the mullet is becoming a skullet. He scratches his head, puts his hat back on. Skullet closes the paper, folds it, and mouths an inaudible “fuck”, then gets up from his seat. He walks to the cashier.
He passes a table where an elderly couple sits. They are eating toast and drinking coffee. They sit across from each other, looking in each others eyes. Neither of them speaks a word. They don’t have to. There’s nothing left to say. After some time, the man reaches out and puts his hand on the hand of his wife. No words. He shows a very slight grin. She absolutely beams. Still no words. None are needed. She knows. They understand. My food comes and interrupts this sweet moment. My coffee gets topped up.
Grouchy man with plaid shirt, faded jeans also gets his order. He yells at the waitress “Lady! I have no fork! You expect me to eat with my friggin’ hands like a dammed animal?” “I’m sorry sir” she politely responds and rapidly brings him some cutlery. He growls and grumbles as she leaves. He’s an ass. There’s obviously something else on his mind but it’s too early to be that much of a dick.
My attention is turned to a table across from me. From what I can gather it appears to be a son introducing his girlfriend to his parents over breakfast. Dad looks proud. Girlfriend is pretty and polite. She seems nervous. So does the son. He’s fidgeting with his napkin repeatedly. It’s cute. I’ve been there. Mom and Dad hold hands under the table. They’ve been there too.
Table beside me is a family enjoying a meal and each others company. A mother and father with 3 kids having breakfast with Grandma. I learn that the Grandma lives here, the others do not. They are catching their flight home after breakfast. Grandma has a wedding ring, yet she is alone. She looks at her ring often and touches it with her shaky hand. She gets comforted by the man beside her. He rubs her back; she looks at him and manages a smile. I now think I know what has prompted the family’s visit. They continue to talk. Anyone could see there is a lot of love at that table. The father says something about getting to the airport soon. The mood seems to dampen. They know good-byes are soon. Grandma insists that she pay for everyone’s meal, of course no one lets her. She is appreciative; she rubs the dampness from her eyes under her glasses. They stand from the table and express their love. Everyone gets big hugs. Dad’s eyes look puffy. “I love you mom, you take care of yourself.” She is barely able to respond “I’ll try.” Her attention is then turned to the grandchildren. She holds it together until the youngest (about 3 years old) says “I wub you Grammy sooo much.” Rivers of love run down her cheek. They all hug once more seemingly aware that this will likely be the last time together.
I gaze into space for a while, not looking at anything, just thinking. I smile then I look down at my own table. I’ll be leaving a good tip today. I put my money on the table and walk to my car. Thinking about the people in my city, in my neighborhood, in a Rosie’s on a Monday morning.
Prairie Dog. (Feb. 2005)
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