Philip Dampier's Blog

Episode 2: Those Beautiful Eyes

Vinyl covered booths lined one wall and old solid wooden tables filled the middle space. A counter with five or six stools ran down the other side of the room bordering the kitchen area. There was an empty two-seat booth, so I sat down there, with a slight groan. I would have sat at the counter but I was afraid I would fall off the stool. The smell of breakfast made my stomach turn just a little, but my nose seemed to like the warm odors coming from the stove.

The dining area was not large, but most of the tables were taken and all but two of the booths. It seemed like a mixed crowd but I was too shaky to tell much at first. The tables were covered with some sort of patterned vinyl cloth that matched the booths and the chairs were plain wood, but solid looking. The booth seat I chose was hard, but the table part was clean and all the necessities were next to the wall. There was a Seaburg Wall-O-Matic wall box but I really was not in the mood for music at the moment.

A girl about my age came over with silverware and napkins and asked if I wanted my coffee with or without sugar and cream. Like I said earlier, I had seen my face in the mirror and so I found it difficult to accept her smile as being genuine. She wore her dark brown hair in a ponytail and her face was nearly free of makeup. Just a little lipstick. She was very pretty, dressed in a white collared shirt and a red and white checkered skirt. I say she looked pretty in the uniform, thinking that she would be beautiful in anything.

I’m not saying I was running on all eight cylinders, but my motor was going well enough that I knew it was love at first sight. I was so struck by her that I forgot to answer the question about the coffee. I just sat there and stared. I had seen girls before, of course, but not like this one.

“What can I get you to drink, sir?” she asked with the slightest of smiles. I’m not sure what she knew, but I am sure she knew she wasn’t talking to someone in possession of all their wits. Maybe I smelled like old alcohol or maybe she had seen that look from hungover men before.

“Coke,” I got out somehow.

I wanted to say more but my tongue was twisted in the roof of my mouth. I wanted to say a lot more actually, but before I could untie the knot, she had wheeled and left for the kitchen or counter or somewhere. My distance vision was not too acute, to be honest, and I was still working on focusing.

In a minute, she was back with a large glass of Coke-a-Cola. I was holding the menu in my hands but my eyes were on her. She waited for a bit and then politely coughed. I looked down and then up and she was looking down at me, order pad in her left hand and ballpoint in her right. The smile was creeping across again.

“Are you ready to order now, sir, or should I come back in a few minutes?”

I stole time to examine her eyes. They were as black as an alley at midnight. A guy could get lost in those eyes, I thought. She was beautiful, and so I took the opportunity to tell her so. It wasn’t what she expected and she rolled her eyes, and then raised her eyebrows a little, further unveiling those beautiful eyes.

“Sir, are you ready to order, or should I come back later?

“Yes,” I answered.

“Yes, which one?”

“Both. I’ll order and you come back later, but not much later.”

That got me a head shake. Not the ‘no’ kind but the ‘whatever’ kind.

“I’m ready,” she said, pen poised.

“What do you recommend?”

“Breakfast special.”

“Which is?”

“Two eggs, fixed any way, hash browns, toast and your choice of sausage or bacon.”

“I’ll have what you would order.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She stared at me for a few moments, started to speak, and then tilted her head a little. A moment later she shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

That little exchange is enough to tell you I still wasn’t operating at full speed. I sipped my coke and watched my new love move from table to table. She turned once and saw me looking at her but only smiled the smallest of smiles. In a few minutes, it was my turn for service and I made the mistake of looking at her instead of my food. She sat my plate down and gave me a serious smile along with the word, “Enjoy.”

I looked down at my plate and an egg Benedict without hollandaise sauce looked back. Instead of the customary sauce, the egg was smothered in ketchup. Ketchup. The yellow yoke was running out of the thin egg white, covering and mixing with the ketchup. My stomach felt like I was holding the power pole again. I sat still, a white painted wall in front of me, my eyes focused on a large photograph of a bull tossing a rider in the air. I suddenly could identify with the rider.

I guess she saw me in that frozen pose because she came over and said, “Sir, is anything wrong? Are you okay?”

“No,” I said, “and no, I’m not okay.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Take this plate and enjoy it at my expense. I’m presently enjoying a hangover and maybe I shouldn’t eat.”

“Your body is low on electrolytes, low on blood sugar, and irritated from alcohol, so the right food can ease nausea, headache, and fatigue. You should eat. Only order something plainer.”

“You think? Okay, bring me some dry whole wheat toast and one well-scrambled egg, please.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing, but she recognized the color green and quickly took her personal favorite breakfast away. Before she left, she said, “Sip your coke and I’ll get you some black coffee.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t do coffee. I’ll sip the coke and stay still.”

In a few minutes, the well-scrambled egg came and the toast. I took a tentative bite of the toast and looked up. She was still standing there, watching. I tried to smile, but was too busy chewing the toast and concentrating on keeping that first bite down to do it justice. The toast was dry, no butter or jelly but no doubt just what I needed.

I don’t know who took care of her other customers, but she stood next to the booth observing me until the first bit of toast was consumed. She watched as I picked up the fork and secured a small helping of the egg. As soon as the bite went down, she spoke to me.

“May I sit across from you while you eat?”

“Sure,” I answered, my face breaking into a grin in spite of the pain, “but why? Do you do this a lot?”

“I’m worried about you, and I thought you might do better if you were distracted a little.”

“You do distract me a little,” I understated.