Crash
Heather and I lie motionless in my bed, too small for the two of us. Our cheeks are pressed against one another on the torn St. Louis Rams pillow my aunt gave me for Christmas when I was in seventh grade. I am happy here. I feel comfortable. Heather’s soft, warm leg is in between my knees and I tighten my squeeze around it. She giggles without even looking at me. I sit up in the bed and place her head in my lap, twirling her bangs in my fingers the same way she does when she is nervous. She’s staring at me now. I just look back at her, unaware of anything outside my room, anything beyond my bed. I don’t want to leave here. I glance at the clock which has been knocked to the floor, 2:30 P.M. “I’ve gotta go to work.” I sigh. “Okay,” Heather moans, “Oh yeah, I need you to pick me up at 10:30 at my dad’s office, I’m answering phones for his office tonight.” She pulls her long, brown hair into a ponytail. She’s wearing my old Frank’s Hot Dogs shirt. She has thin lips and a tiny nose, but she has watery hazel eyes, like she is about to cry, even though she isn’t. I have never seen Heather cry. “Oh I’ll be there. I wouldn’t want to keep you out of this bed for too long.” I grin at her, happy my parents have left town for the weekend. “Yeah, I guess will be pretty tired after working the phones all night.” Heather smiles at me as if I’m no match for her. I’m not, either. I just smile back at her. I tip over at the waist and collapse on the bed to admit defeat. She yanks me by the ear up to her face. She kisses me with mercy with both hands around my face before letting me go. * * * “Hey, Matt, how’s it going?” my manager Steve really wants to ask me why I’m late, but he doesn’t. “Sorry I’m late. I left my lights on and had to have my car jumped,” I lied to my manager. “Hey, that’s fine with me.” Steve always introduces whatever he’s going to say with some sort of interjection like he’s going to share some great revelation with you. “All right, so, what tables do I have?” I ask him, hoping I have a slow section so I can get home early tonight. Nino’s Italian Ristorante is divided into seven sections. I’ve been working there since I was illegally hired at the age of fifteen as a busboy, but now have worked my way up to illegally waiting tables at seventeen. I know I want inside smoking tonight. Smokers always sit outside to listen to a drunken Nino pluck away on his mandolin, and tonight is the last time he will play outside, as it’s already showing signs of winter outside. I can hear Nino now practicing his rendition of Cat Steven’s “Wild World.” “Inside smoking,” Steve said with a smile. “Excellent, excellent.” “Oh by the way, this is Marcia,” Steve motioned to an unfamiliar blonde girl sitting next to him at a cocktail table right by the hostess stand. Marcia had wavy blonde hair and green eyes. Her lips were full and red, and she had these dimples that were too close to her mouth when she smiled at me. “I’m sorry, what’s that?” I asked in confusion. Steve had apparently been talking for a while now. “Matt,” he said harshly, even though he wasn’t leading to anything of real importance, “you’re going to train her tonight.” Steve turned away from me and headed back to the kitchen. “Oh, all right.” I motioned towards Marcia, “Hi, I’m Matt. I’ll be taking care of you this evening, can I get you something to drink?” I said with a smile. Marcia smiled back at me, “I’m Marcia. I’d really like a martini,” she said jokingly. I walked over to the bar and grabbed some vermouth and Grey Goose from the steel rack holding row after row of alcohol. I made her a vodka martini and threw a couple olives in the cone shaped glass and set it on the table in front of her. “Hey, what’re you doing Matt?” Steve stopped and turned his head back toward me. “Oh, I’m sorry, Steve, did you want something, too?” Steve just laughed and walked back to the kitchen to take care of something. The thing about Steve was that he had only worked at Nino’s for a few months, so he had less authority than I, even though I was half his age and he was my manager. That’s why, even though I was seventeen, I could drink and pour alcohol, sometimes even for other minors like Marcia, who told me now that she was twenty. “So,” I asked, “have you ever worked at a restaurant before?” “Yeah,” Marcia hadn’t stopped smiling since I introduced myself. “I worked at Sonic.” “This is pretty much the same, but we don’t get a lot of drive up business anymore,” I humored her. “Oh people drive up here?” “Uh, no, actually, I was just kidding.” Marcia took a sip of her martini and winced. She grabbed the blue sword spearing the olives and slid one off with her teeth, leaving it in between her lips to suck on. She sucked it into her mouth and ate it before starting to smile at me again. “All right, finish that up,” I said. “It’s time for your first lesson at Nino’s. The first rule at Nino’s is,” I paused for a beat, “Don’t fuck it up.” “Huh?” “Don’t fuck it up. That’s all there is to this restaurant.” “Um, okay.” After Marcia had finished downing her martini, I led her out of the front room, which consisted of a piano bar, a regular bar, and eight tall cocktail tables, four chairs apiece. I walked into the men’s room door and she didn’t follow. I went back and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her in. The men’s room door doesn’t lead only to the men’s room. Upon opening the nicely labeled door, a male customer will find a giant ice machine staring back at him. He then will look left and see two computer monitors with waiters standing in front of them. After he is convinced he has made a wrong turn somewhere, he will finally look right and find another men’s room door, a real men’s room door. I took Marcia up to the two computer monitors to show her one of the most important parts of serving: how to “ring things in.” She had been studying the menu before I got there, she told me. “Okay, it’s really simple. Everything on the computers is categorized. For instance, you will find Jack Daniel’s Whiskey under the Whiskey button and you will find Scampi under the seafood button.” “Which one is Scampi again?” “The shrimp sautéed in an oil and garlic sauce, topped with lemon.” My answer to this question had been rehearsed many times before. We stood at the computers for a half an hour before I decided it was going to take a long while to train Marcia and that we should probably try something else for now. “Okay,” I said to her. “Why don’t you just follow me around and learn from it.” “All right.” I had seen a couple, in their sixties or so, walk into my section. Normally, I would have tried to give such a table away to someone else, considering old people usually drink water and eat cannelloni for dinner before leaving you a dollar as a tip. Today, though, I would rather take bad tables than have to deal with Marcia. “Hi, my name is Matt, I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?” This introduction came naturally to me. “Yeah, sure, that sounds good,” the man commented. “For you ma’am?” I hoped Marcia noticed that you should always start with the lady first. “I’ll have a Tanqueray and tonic,” the man said, not realizing I had asked the lady. This disappointed me a little because good tables know the proper way of doing things at a nice restaurant. “Tanqueray and tonic?” I repeated back surprised he didn’t just want water, hoping that Marcia would notice that you should repeat orders back to people. “Yeah, can I get that tall actually?” “You bet,” I shot the old lady a smile, “And for you ma’am?” “A Margarita, please?” “Margarita, on the rocks? Salt?” I didn’t write their drink orders down in my notepad, though I probably should have set a proper example for Marcia, but I’m sure she’ll figure stuff out on her own. I went back to the computer, and punched the drinks in for the bartender to make. Debbie at the bar hadn’t seen me yet, so I talked with her when I went over to pick up the drinks. She’s a thirty-year-old gold digger who’s having an affair with a news anchor, but I still like her. “So, Matt, how’re things with you?” “All right, all right.” I nodded my head at her. “And you?” “I’m doing okay, I guess,” her hair dropped in front of her eyes as she stared at the floor. “Ah, why the sad face?” I said sarcastically. “Because you’re here,” She laughed at me. I walked back over to the old couple who were now munching on the Italian bread the busboy had brought them. “Margarita for you ma’am, and Tanqueray and tonic for you sir.” “That was quick,” the old lady smiled at me. “Well, I do what I can,” I played along. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask,” I knew where this was going, “but I was just wondering, how old are you?” “I’m eighteen,” I lied. “Oh, I thought you were more like fourteen.” “Thanks,” I said with a smile. You look like you’re a hundred, I thought to myself. “So you’re a senior?” she continued, “and where do you go to school?” I love when people ask me where I go to school. I just hope that they have heard of the great St. Louis University High School. Anyone who realizes what a tough school it is, is usually impressed and therefore adds at least five percent to my tip. “St. Louis U High,” I said with a smile. “I’ve never heard of it,” the old lady said shaking her head and looking down at her untouched Margarita. “And what about you, how old are you?” the lady asked Marcia, who was still silently taking note of my serving expertise. “I’m twenty,” she said nervously. “Oh, and are you in school?” “Yeah, I go to Fontbonne, I’m getting my degree in fashion.” Wow, that must be a helluva rough time, I thought to myself, smiling. “Oh, Fontbonne, it’s in Clayton, right? Are you going to be a model?” Marcia really could’ve been a model, too. I just smiled as Marcia went on about her aspirations to work for a designer clothing company. When they had finished chatting, I butted in to take their dinner order. They both ordered filets, well done, a terrible misuse of meat if you ask me. Marcia hadn’t said much of anything in a while, and I felt I was neglecting my duties, so I thought I’d give her some responsibility. It was pushing nine o’clock now and Marcia had seen me fly through a number of tables. I figured I’d let her try to pilot one with my supervision. A young couple was taking their seat in my section, so I told Marcia she should take them. Young people usually don’t complain much. “I don’t think I’m ready for that,” Marcia told me. “I think you are,” I lied back. She smiled nervously at me. I could tell she didn’t want to try to serve a table, but I felt like I should be pushing her to try. I had some kind of obligation to force her into waiting tables. I followed Marcia over to the table where the young couple sat. About six feet from the table, she stopped and spun around to ask me for my notepad and pen. I handed them to her while the young couple snickered at her, or perhaps about something they were talking about. “Hi, how ya’ll doing,” Marcia’s country upbringing showed through her greeting. “Pretty good, and you?” the man said without looking up from his menu. “I’m doing good. I’m just a little nervous, you guys are the first table I’ve ever waited on,” Marcia said biting her upper lip. I usually just bullshit everything I say to my tables. “Can I get you something to drink?” Marcia continued. “I’ll have a Crown and Coke,” the young woman said, looking up at us from her seat at the table, the way little kids look up at the person standing over them. Marcia looked at me with an eyebrow raised. I nodded my head back at her even though I had no idea what she was wondering, but nothing had gone wrong up to now. I feared, though, that something certainly would before this table was through. Marcia jotted down the man’s drink order and then I followed her over to the computers. I punched in the drinks for her, since she still didn’t understand where Bud Light was, even though it was clearly under the “beer” button. Marcia went over to the bar to grab the drinks, and I watched as Debbie got the drinks and Marcia waited, both in silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say to introduce a conversation between them, mostly because I didn’t think either of them would want to talk about the same things. Marcia grabbed the drinks and walked back over to the table. The man and woman were both still studying the menu, so Marcia silently set down the man’s beer in front of him. A mistake, I thought, because she didn’t serve the woman first, and didn’t set the bottle above his knife. Marcia followed with another mistake, a much more damaging mistake. She set the Crown and Coke right in the middle of the woman’s place setting, as if her entrée had been a cocktail, but when she was taking her hand back, she didn’t quite let go. The bottom of the glass rose with her hand and tipped the top right over in front of the woman. All of the contents had rushed out of the glass onto the woman’s white blouse and blue skirt before I could do anything to save the situation. “Oh my God,” was all Marcia could say before rushing to grab some napkins for the woman. I apologized up and down and told them their meal would be on the house, as Marcia abandoned the table. “One for you, Matt?” Debbie asked me from behind the bar. “Of course,” I said, grabbing two little plastic cups from the corner of the bar. “And one for Marcia, too.” “What is this?” Marcia asked me as I handed her the cup. “I’m not really sure, but it’s some sort of alcohol,” I held my cup up for her to toast with, but I snag her cup when she moves in. “Wait a minute! You’re not twenty one.” I quickly slam the contents of both of the cups and toss them into the bar trash, and laugh at her. “Oh,” Marcia said, “I thought I was allowed to drink.” This wasn’t the first time Marcia hadn’t picked up on one of my jokes, so I figured I should just let it go. It was a little after 11 o’clock, so I didn’t have any more tables to worry about. I know that I’m supposed to be doing something. My brain is convinced there is something to be done, but I can’t remember what it was. “Can I get a Jack and Coke, Debbie?” I said as Marcia told me she was going to follow another waiter who had tables for a while. Debbie handed me my drink, so I leaned against the entrance to the bar where a wooden flap folds down to complete the countertop. It’s ten minutes until midnight and I’m on my sixth Jack and Coke. Marcia is following the cocktail waitress around, so I can leave when I want. I walk over to the men’s room so that I can clock out at the computer. I throw the print out of my hours in the trash and walk around the bar to leave through the side door, saying goodbye to Debbie and Marcia, who are both bored watching the cocktail waitress bring drinks to her tables. Debbie has her elbows on top of the bar and her face propped up on her palms, she doesn’t notice when I say goodbye to her. Marcia turns around and waves, but spins back and continues watching the cocktail waitress. I stumble down the steps that lead to the parking lot and fumble in my pocket for the keys to my mom’s car. It’s cold outside, far worse than when I arrived. It’s the coldest it’s been in a long while. I remember I need to pick up Heather now; she’s been waiting for me for an hour and a half, now. I climb into the GMC Jimmy, thinking about some lie I’ll tell her, and put the key` into the ignition. I’m scared. I’m talking out loud now, “I know I shouldn’t be driving, but I don’t have to go very far, I barely have to get on any real streets.” I turn on the car and try to turn on the headlights, but then realize that the headlights turn on automatically. I put the car in reverse and slowly step on the gas. The car isn’t moving, I press harder until I can hear the roar of the engine. The car is in neutral. After fixing the problem, I back the car out and put my seatbelt on as I prepare to drive out. I push the accelerator down as I look ahead. Oh God, the car is going backwards. I hear something scrape behind me and I look down to see that the car is still in reverse. I put the Jimmy back in its spot and put it in park. I slowly open the door and step out. I’m too scared to see what I’ve run into. I don’t want to look. I sit down on the asphalt and lean my head against the car door. I’m listening to the sound of Nino’s mandolin, he’s still playing in the freezing cold, and I start to cry. I don’t want to get up, so I just wait there, hoping something will come along and fix this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. This never happens to me. I can always assess a situation and choose the best way out of it, but tonight I’m lost. I’m confused. I wipe my eyes of the tears to see someone walking over to me. It’s Marcia. She shouldn’t be walking alone at this time of night. She’s asking for trouble. I try to stop my crying so Marcia doesn’t see me like this. Marcia doesn’t see me sitting next to the car and walks behind mine. “Oh my God,” I hear Marcia yell about ten or so feet behind my car. I must’ve run into her car. I stand up and now have stopped crying. I open the car door and throw my tie inside after taking if off. “Marcia,” I mumble as she looks up at me, “I’m really sorry.” My tears start to come again, but I’m trying to force them back. “I wasn’t paying attention when I backed up.” “Is this your car?” Marcia points to the minimal damage done to my car. I realize I haven’t yet seen what I’ve done to hers yet, but I still don’t want to look at it. “Matt, don’t worry about it. We’ll get this taken care of.” “How’re we going to get this taken care of?” I raise my voice. “My parents will kill me when they find out I’ve gotten into an accident.” “Just calm down, Matt,” Marcia says softly, afraid I was going to lose it. “I’ll figure something out.” Marcia can’t figure anything out. I can’t even figure anyway out this situation because there isn’t one. “Well,” Marcia is thinking hard. She’s really trying to help me, “I’ve got an idea.” “And what’s that?” I say both scared and angry now. “Well, I’m living with my aunt and uncle right now,” Marcia confuses me, “and they’re really nice people.” What the hell is she thinking? “Marcia, there’s no way out of this.” “Wait a minute, Matt, my aunt and uncle won’t care if I’ve been in an accident. I’ll tell them that I drove my car into one of those poles over there.” Marcia points at the little stakes at the end of each parking row. “They think I’m an idiot, Matt. They’ll buy that.” “Yeah but what about what happened to my car?” I say, convinced Marcia isn’t helping anything. “I know what we can do about that too, Matt.” Marcia says, she’s starting to smile at me now. “You said you’re parents were out of town right? Well, just slam on your brakes in the street right in front of your house, and then park your car right in front of the skid marks. Just tell them that no one left a note or anything.” I don’t know what to say, now. Marcia puts her hand on my shoulder. I’m looking at her shoes. I don’t want to look at her face. I don’t want Marcia to be so close to me. “You’ll actually take the blame for this Marcia?” I say, still staring at the ground. “Yeah, Matt, it’s no problem. Everyone I know thinks that I’m too dumb to do anything right on my own,” Marcia confesses. “Hey,” Marcia pauses with a wry smile on her face, “what’s the first rule, Matt?” “What?” I say, confused. “You fucked it up, Matt, you fucked it up.” Marcia is laughing out loud now and she snorts when she laughs. I can’t help but look up at her. She blinks as a strand of her hair drops into her eyes. She pulls it back behind her ear and stops smiling at me now. I’m so close to Marcia, and we’re just looking at each other. My visible breathing is getting heavier. “Thanks, Marcia.” I say, and I really mean it. I push myself away from her. I don’t feel drunk anymore. I don’t feel scared anymore. I don’t know what I feel. I’m more confused than anything. I get into my car and think about what I’m going to tell Heather why I’m picking her up so late. * * * I showed up at Heather’s dad’s work like a scared dog. I stared at the ground with my tail between my legs as I approached her in the empty parking lot. It was very dark now, and Heather was angry, I knew she would be before I even got there. She could see me, approaching her in front of the huge office building, but she just stood there, hands on hips, waiting for me to get there. “Heather,” I began my rehearsed lie, “I’m sorry.” Heather didn’t say a word. She just looked straight at me, un-phased by my feeble attempt at an apology. I figured I should just continue and tell her my supposed misfortune, then she would hug me and we would be on our way. I opened my mouth to begin, but no words would come out. Heather didn’t say anything either. I tried again, but again nothing. I thought about Marcia, how she had run for napkins after spilling the drink on that lady. I thought about how I just stood there, calmly explaining how sorry we were, and how we would fix the situation for them by giving them a free meal. I looked at Heather. She was freezing. Her legs were shaking back and forth beneath her short skirt. Her visible toes were curled up underneath her foot. How could I have left her out here in a skirt and those tiny shoes? “Heather,” I began again, “I’m sorry.” “You already said that,” Heather said harshly. “I know,” I answered, “but I didn’t mean it then. I mean it this time.” I explained to Heather everything that had happened at work, both of us freezing our asses off in the cold. I told her that Marcia had saved me, and that I couldn’t have saved myself. “I need your help, now,” I said. “I need you to understand me. I can’t lie to you, again. I’ve lied to you before. I’ve lied straight to your face, but I need you to forget that. I need you to save me right now from lying to you again.” “Matt,” Heather wiped tears away from her eyes, “I’ll help you.” Heather had never cried with me before. I didn’t want her to cry. She didn’t deserve to cry. I deserved to cry. Heather pushed herself up against me, and she forced out a laugh between cries. I wrapped my arms around her to keep her warm. “I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I love you, Matt,” Heather said before kissing my lips. “I love you,” I said to her. I’ve said this to Heather before, but this time I really meant it. She knew I meant it too. I kissed her with my arms still around her. This kiss was different than any other kiss I’ve ever given Heather. We were both standing there, frozen from the cold, holding each other up. She reached in my coat pocket and grabbed the keys to the car. I didn’t stop her from driving this time. I just fell asleep in the car while she took me home.
Copyright © 2002 Matthew Mohan |