Page 42 of Underground Prince

The Black & Aug greeted me with the usual midmorning clatter, New York City having no such thing as a midweek lull. I donned my apron and went to my scheduled section, whipping out my pad and taking orders with mechanical purpose. One man was eating his eggs alone, and no cutlery clatter, table wobble or near ketchup explosion could get him to look up, never mind cause a scene. Hair askew, I hit each table like a checkmark on a To Do list. Time passed like it does when faced with endless routine movement. I went about my duties with no unexpected interruptions and left not one patron pissed off.

Toddlers couldn’t even kick up a tantrum, so happy were they with their pancakes and sausages.

At the end of my six hours, these patrons with no dramatic flair handed me fifty dollars in tips.

“You’re doing great,” my boss Brian said as I untied my apron. “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself full-time.”

“Terrific,” I said with bright cheer as I shoved the apron and dollar bills in my bag. I took the back exit and bolted into the cool city smog. I paused at an intersection, closing my eyes, my mouth aching from holding it wide for so long and finally letting it sink.

“So did you suffer?” Verily asked me once I met her in Washington Square Park. She was sitting on a bench, the leaves of the oaks surrounding her falling to her feet with the wind. The park teemed with tourists, minglers, panhandlers and college students. Electro-pop from a group of break-dancers was our background music as I took a seat next to her.

“I battled through it,” I said.

“I bet you blushed under all the compliments.”

Laughing, I touched my hair. “I sure did.”

She shut the textbook she was reading. “Did you work your whole shift?”

“I was the best server in the land.”

“And you were nice to all the patrons?”

I patted my tote. “I was so sweet, my tips are all in sugar packets.”

“Very well.” Verily shoved her book into her backpack. “You shall be rewarded.”

I sent her a sidelong glance. “I’m not going.”

“Yes you are.”

“Nope.”

“Scar, it’s bowling, and not just with Noah. Remember Lila, Jamal, Erin…any of those names ring a bell?”

“It was a feat getting me to go last week. Two weeks in a row? Impossible.”

“These are your—”

“Friends. I know.” I searched for words to try to explain. “It’s not so easy. There are memories, and questions, and I have to talk, and smile, but they see me differently. Standing in front of them…it hurts them, too.”

She deflated. “Scar.”

I waved her pity away. “They were never really my friends in the first place.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I was only brought in because of her. And I can’t—it’s difficult, okay?”

“It’s impossible for all of us. I wish you’d see that and let us help you.”

“You are helping me. By being there.” I squeezed her arm. “I’m a terrible bitch sometimes, but it helps to know you love me.”

“Always, you bum. Please change your mind.”

“Not today.” I tightened my hold on her before letting go.

“Then promise me you’ll keep trying.”

---