Jimmy’s stomach growled in thundering protest, but his well-seasoned fork hand kept shoveling the under-seasoned Eggs Benedict into his mouth. His other hand gripped a cracked mug of thick coffee that the waitress efficiently refilled after every couple of sips. His droopy eyes stared across the deserted Waffle House, taking in everything but unable to focus on anything. His left arm felt glued to the stainless steel countertop. Every tap of his foot pulled up another layer of grime, which stuck tightly to the heel of his boot.
The only thing that’s not greasy in this place is my spoon. The thought made him smile. His wife would have shook her head at such a dad joke, which in itself would have been ironic. His mouth tightened and his eyes watered. He shook the thought out of his head and buried the pain. That’s what the men in his family did. They took their lumps in silence, as God intended.
“How you doing, darlin’?” The rotund waitress asked as she poured more sour coffee into his mug until Jimmy was sure it would overflow, scalding his hand. He was disappointed when she stopped just before the ceramic dam broke.
“I’m good, ma’am. Thank you,” Jimmy answered loudly so she could hear him over the constant rumble of the big rigs on nearby Interstate 49. Even in the dead of night, the highway was still full of life. One of the minor arteries pumping commerce to and from the heart of the country.
“Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel like an old lady. And though I may be old, I’m anything but a lady. The name’s Gladys.” The waitress cackled and winked at him, which caused a chasm of makeup cracks to form from the edge of her right eye down her cheek. She touched Jimmy’s arm with her free hand as she spoke. “How was your breakfast, hun? You sure scarfed it down like you haven’t eaten in weeks. I like a man who loves to eat and don’t mind what he puts in his mouth.”
“It was good. Really good.” Jimmy tried to pull his arm away, but the suction of the countertop combined with the weight of the waitress’ hand held him in check.
“You’re a two-time liar, but you’re awful cute, so I guess I’ll give you a break. And ooh would I love to break you.” The waitress cackled again. “So what do you do, handsome?”
“I’m a truck driver.”
“Oh, well shoot, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you in here before. We’re real popular with you truckers. And I’d remember if you’d been in before. A tall sturdy feller like you.”
“I don’t usually stop. Most of my days and nights are spent cruising along the highway back and forth between Bentonville and Kansas City.”
“A Walmart man, huh? I sure do love that danged old store. What brought you in tonight, doll?”
Jimmy stared down at the congealed mess of his nearly empty plate. He’d finished everything but the four strips of thick cut bacon. “I just needed a break is all.”
Gladys leaned across the counter and patted Jimmy on the shoulder. “Is that all? I thought maybe you’d spent all your money at that damned strip club masquerading as a truck stop across the way.”
“No, ma’am. I’ve never been.”
“Get out of town! Every man’s been to a strip club. Especially you truckers. Why you can’t throw a rock without hitting a club or a triple-x video store along this stretch of the highway, or any other I imagine.”
Jimmy shook his head slowly and stared out the window. He frowned at his reflection. He looked like a ghost of himself. His hair had begun to thin recently and looked even thinner in the glass. He found it fascinating how the hair on his head was slowly migrating down to his shoulders and his back. Like an hourglass he couldn’t turn over or reverse. Maybe it was the gravity of a hard life, a life on the road, never stopping, never standing still. Jimmy liked to imagine time as a hand constantly reaching up for you out of the depths of the earth, trying to pull you down and bury you. Only the bravest, the luckiest of us, get to escape by the hair on our heads. It looked to him like his time was about up.
As he stared at his receding hair line, he acknowledged, if only to himself, that he had had neither luck nor courage. Never had. He had always been more comfortable inside himself than out in the world.
“Sugar? You still with me?” The waitress’ voice broke the comfort of his solitude.
“Sorry,” he said as he shook his head. “I’ve just never had a reason to wander into one I guess.”
“Well good for you. Why should you pay for what you could get for free from a cow, or however the saying goes.” She cackled again as Jimmy forced a smile. “You should stop back by during the day sometime. I get off around lunch. I could show you around. The nearest town is Eden, which is fitting because this place sure seems like the birthplace of original sin if you ask me, and I know you didn’t.”
“I appreciate the offer, Gladys, but after 15 years of wearing out my tires and wearing away my life, this is my first and last visit. I’m getting out of the trucking life.”
“That’s too bad, sugar. You might find there’s something to do here upon deeper inspection.” She paused, and Jimmy supposed it was to see if he’d take the bait. “But I’m not surprised you’ve never stopped. Not many do, ‘sept for them that just don’t have the gumption or the gas to go no further.”
“I’ll just take my check, and a doggy bag please.”
“Okay, but there’s no need to rush off. You look like you’ve been on the road a bit. It might do you good to get your blood pumping.”
“I’m running late, and my wife is expecting me.” He hoped she wouldn’t see in his eyes that this was another two-time lie.
“Oh well. Suit yourself, hun. I’ll get you that doggy style bag.” The waitress squeezed his arm as she pushed herself from the counter, her arms now coated in grease and lint. She blew him a kiss as she waddled away.
Jimmy’s thumb rubbed against the line of pale skin on the ring finger of his left hand. All these years on the road, and he’d never strayed. Never fallen prey to the undercurrent of lesser demons, the ones who stirred up trouble and spurred on man’s innate needs to conquer new villages and vaginas.
