13 - Fiyaz/Far too quiet/

I suppose this place isn´t all that bad. I think. The decor, and clarity of the restaurant, that is. As soon as you walk in, you´re greeted by some hurried waiter telling you to pick a spot. But, there´s no conversation made, due to how quickly they slip away to the kitchen.

The walls are this pasty, bold-orange. The restaurant is lined with booths and a large assortment of tables squished together in the middle. All with small vases and menus on top.

I´m an art nerd. I cannot draw. But I know everything about the history of every grand renaissance across the globe. Most paintings are historically based (much to my excitement). Which…is one of the many peculiar things here. Because regardless of how this is a Latin place, all the paintings are from the Anglo/Tejano war. Which, I guess, maybe it´s because we´re in Texas. But this place is authentically Latin. With no paintings or artwork of Latin history, or of Latin love and legacy.

My second favorite thing here is the people. Well, one person actually. But, at the same time, it´s the absence of people here that is the alarming bit. I´m the only customer here. This is strange because I typically hear this place is packed. Instead, you´ll see one waiter in their little ¨TANYA ROSA¨ employee T–Shirt, only to run back into the kitchen. Where there were shouts, the clashing of pans, the sloshing of soap, and the casual sizzle or pop of oil. When the waitress comes, again, I try not to give her a jaundiced eye. She’s probably the only thing human that I like about this place.

Jupiter Alcibiades, that’s her name. She´s a year older than me. Homeschooled. Yeah, let´s just say that she´s a talker.

And, I´m a listener. That´s how I know her last name, about her boyfriend, Carl´s sick mother, her small t-shirt business, how she´s saving to go to NYU when she turns 20, doesn't have social media, plays the cello, is a bit of a hippy and played soccer as a kid till she broke her leg then vowed to never play again.

Yeah, she scampered (I´ve noticed how she has this quick little trot as if she´s trying to hide a foul limp) over to my table after I sat down to deliver me a menu. We had a quick little chat. About well…her life, my life. Everyone´s life. She´s a sweetheart.

I notice little things, little defining details, and features of an individual easily. She has lots of small, defining attributes. For example, Jupiter has some pretty prominent dimples, the ringlets in her dreads have designs of a wild assortment of flowers, and she only smiles with one side of his lips, and frowns with both. She was all the best amount of bizarre and friendly all in one bundle.

On my way here, the wind blew my hair into my face. As it always does. Making it look like someone had poured a bottle of jet-black ink all over my face. I eventually had to tie it back, while kicking at the pavement with earnest momentum. The wind has always kept me on my feet.

Flattening her hands against my back, preventing me from slouching. Rubbing her hands in my face (spewing a huge rush of wind right in my direction) to remind me not to fall asleep. That I have somewhere to go, and time to be there. That I have no right, nor business to be fooling around right now.

I waited for James outside, when I first got here. Then, it was 7:40, he was supposed to be here at 8:00. He hadn´t shown up then, so I sat down inside to wait for his arrival. It´s 8:30. He hasn't arrived yet. That´s something that gets on my nerves if I´m being entirely honest. You organized a dinner at 8:00. I expect you to not be there at exactly 8.

Maybe a minute or two before, at most. You´ve got the absolute nerve to decide to invite anyone to a mindless, horribly plotted dinner. When you cannot even come on time. I expected this. You and your piercings that looked like you´d poked them yourself(which you probably did).

Your ego that´s taller than a towering ant pile that aardvarks feast on in the forests of Africa. Your stark-white blonde hair-doo that does whatever you tell it to do. You and all of you stupid, big-toothed ¨minions¨ as an excuse for valuable relationships.

Obviously, the ¨you¨ is James.

If I were meeting a close friend for dinner. They wouldn't reseive this judgment. In fact, they´d get nothing close to it. I´d be spamming their phone. And if they were late, I´d understand. But, I don´t invite my friends over to dinner anymore. To hang out at my place. Watching the stars, talking about a future we barely ever knew, climbing atop the roof of this little cinema, and dancing like lunatics.

I don't invite them to do any of that anymore. And they don´t invite me. Sometimes, people are nothing but lessons. They just hurt more than any of the other lessons. Sometimes, people who stay for so long, only come to go.

Sometimes people are fools. Sometimes I´m a fool. Sometimes you´re both fools, and a volcano and a tsunami only create a bigger mess.

-

After 20 more minutes of waiting, I order myself a coke to go in a plastic cup and ask for the check. Not with angry tears crawling down my face, with my dark eyebrows tightened together, or my lips wobbling. No. I waited a good 50 minutes for this boy. An imbecile is nothing to cry over. Naturally, I tip Jupiter generously. With a small grin, legs crossed, eyes still wondering the empty room.

As I put my wired headphones in, Jupiter grabs my wrists. Typically, if this were anyone else, I´d spin around and kick them in the shin. But this was Jupiter, an exhausted waitress, hiding a limp. I take one headphone out and place my hand on top of hers that still grasped my wrist. She lets go and juts her chin upwards. ¨My shift ends in a minute or two. Wanna talk over a ciggy outside?¨

My joints go rigid, joints clenching in on each other. ¨Why?¨

She smiles quietly. Once again, with one side of her lips. ¨I´ve got time, mate.¨

I take out the other headphone. ¨How do I know you´re not some werewolf, luring me into the night?¨

¨If I were a werewolf-I wouldn't work at this trashy place. I´d spend my time at the dog park, or something.¨

¨And to do what? Eat the dogs?¨

She gasps fiercely, her eyes widening. ¨NO. Oh my goodness. Those little corgis, the terriers, the cuddly german shepherds. Heavens, no. I could never. ¨

I suppose it isn't dark yet. ¨Well, I guess I´ll be meeting you outside, then?¨

She boys and pulls off a sloppy British accent. ¨You shall…mattey¨

¨Mattey?¨

¨Yeah,¨

I chuckle and tell her I´ll meet her outside. As she giggles and says she´ll be quick about it, I turn my back to her. Pushing the front door open, I stop again.

A loud, ¨Goooooooodbye FIYAZ!¨ is heard from the kitchen. Followed by more slamming and thrashing.

¨Byeeeeeee Jupiter!¨