(12)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (11)
He could see Sissy in her chinos and a starched red-and-black plaid
blouse, her chin lowered, her attention on her wilted chicken sandwich and
coke. Her hair fell forward, hiding all of her profile except her downcast eyes.
Her lashes were long and shining, her skin like white marble. As God is my witness, Sissy, I loved you more than I knew I could
love. I’ll always grieve for you.
He saw her nod without raising her head. You chose to die. I’ll go on living because I have to.
She turned to him, her face troubled. Sissy, it’s time to say good-bye.
Sissy smiled. It was the smile of fulfillment he’d always yearned for.
“Hi, cutie,” the waitress said. “What’re you havin’, hon?” Middle-aged
and overweight with too much hair and make-up, she waved a palm-sized
willow-green order pad.
“Any chance you have beans and rice with salsa and sour cream and
guacamole?”
She puckered. “Would you settle for Tijuana picante sauce?”
He nodded. “And a gimlet.”
“A what?”
“How about sangria?”
“Get real.”
“Budweiser.”
“Now you’re talkin’.”
She tore off his order slip, slid the pad into her apron pocket, and
sailed away with the surprising grace of waitresses. “Beans and rice,” she
yelled through the broad window into the kitchen while she clipped his order
to a metal wheel. At the opposite end of the counter, she opened the glass
door to the ceiling-high refrigerator. As her hand grabbed a Bud, she caught
him watching, grinned, and winked.
TOM'S TALES