novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- small bladders and translucent eyes i have to pee. i have to pee i have to pee i have to pee, i think as she takes my order, every sentence coming out of her mouth a question, every question lifting at the end like the ends of my hair: lilting, lifting, curling into some sort of 1960's flip. her face is small, made to seem smaller by her large eyes and dyed red hair pulled tightly away from her face, revealing her tiny domed forehead. she smiles at me, asking me raised questions, even answering my questions with questions. she must be about fifteen or sixteen. maybe this is her family's restaurant and that's how she was hired so young. the first time, she and i were the only people in the dining room. after a while, a group of sixty year old women came in and discussed the menu for my entire half-hour stay. she answered their questions with questions, lifting her words less and lowering her head. i felt so bad for her that i scribbled "great service! thanks" onto my reciept. and now she smiles at me even larger, buzzing around me, asking if i'd like more tortillas, bringing me more water without my requesting it. i'm a little annoyed by it, but i can clearly see that she was pleased to read what i wrote on the reciept. maybe no one praises her. maybe her father barely looks at her when he comes home at night, smelling like the restaurant, not wanting to be around her because he knows she smells like the restaurant too. maybe he champions her siblings over her. maybe she's an only child that wasn't wanted. maybe working in food service, bringing people sustenance without usually looking them in the eyes has worn her see-through, cloudy and thin like the wax paper wrapped around the tortillas i didn't want to eat. 12:35 pm - 7.12.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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