Flash Fiction: The Diner

As the freckle-faced waiter gestured for Ben to take a seat, he almost wondered if he had led the poor boy to the wrong table. He supposed he must have seen less likely pairs walk out of The Diner arm-in-arm, but none were coming to mind. He would have gone to double-check the books if he didn’t know with such certainty that there were never any mix-ups at The Diner. As it was, all the waiter could do was pretend he didn’t notice Ben’s questioning look, place some water in front of him and hurry on to his other duties. It wasn’t his place to question management’s decisions, after all. His job was just to keep the patrons cycling through their dates until they found happiness, and guide them out once they had.  

Ben, for his part, was positive the waiter had indeed made some mistake. As he was led through maze-like rows of small tables that seemed to stretch on endlessly, topped with heart-shaped table cloths and populated by chattering couples who seemed to hail from every imaginable time, eating food that seemed to come from every imaginable place, Ben had, with a weak, shaky voice, begged the waiter to tell him how he got here, and where this place was, but in vain. The waiter would only answer Ben’s mumbled questions by saying that, certainly, Ben already knew how he got here, and that he was at The Diner to find happiness. 

Looking at Angelina, lounging in the chair across from him with a regal grace, Ben couldn’t imagine this was the form his happiness would take. Surely, he was supposed to have been seated by that girl in the plain sweater who was staring into her lap, or the one a few tables over, who seemed to be trying to hide behind her long curtain of hair. Those two seemed much more like him, much easier to talk to. Ben was feeling the panic set in just looking at this girl in front of him.  

Angelina had beautiful, wavy blonde hair and wore a slim, violet dress that was exquisite in every way, except for three, bullet- sized holes torn in the material just over her heart, which Ben did his best not to stare at. She was around the same age as Ben, but many of his friends would have described her as way out of his league and she would have agreed with them. Large, looped earrings hung from her ears, along with enough jeweled rings and golden bracelets to fill an entire jewelry box. The metal hoops circling her left wrist jingled like chain links sliding against each other each time she tapped the table with one long, blue nail. She carried herself with an air of relaxed self-importance and she didn’t bother to greet Ben or even glance in his direction when he sat down. She just continued to sip the bubbling, crimson drink in her hand through a swirly straw and stare at one of the couples at a nearby table with intense interest. 

Looking at her, Ben felt an extreme wave of self-consciousness at the cheap, rented, blue tuxedo that hung on his scrawny frame, and the bright yellow bow tie fastened around his neck, which was almost distracting enough for one not to notice the rope-burn-like scar that circled his neck. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with shaggy brown hair. Handsome enough, but he was the type who could never seem to decide the right way to exist. His shoulders were permanently hunched, making him seem even shorter than he was, and his eyes were constantly scurrying around the room like rats trying to avoid a stomping boot. Ben also had a bad habit of shifting and fidgeting, which gave him the appearance of a poorly operated puppet.  

Ben, terrified to speak first, tried to take a sip of the water the waiter had placed in front of him, hoping to calm his nerves, but his hand was shaking so badly that he gave up the attempt. He noticed the plate the waiter had placed in front of him contained a simple ham sandwich, but the unease at seeing his favorite food given to him unrequested made his stomach churn. Silence stretched on for several minutes, but Angelina seemed to feel none of the awkward tension that began to fill the air. Ben started to tap his feet and wring his hands beneath the table. Angelina pretended not to notice.  

“U-uh, hi. I’m –” Ben began finally in a shaky voice, once his hands had started to burn from the wringing.  

“Look,” Angela said, cutting him off and nodding to the couple she had been staring at. They were laughing, sliding their chairs closer together so they could whisper into each other’s ears.  

The man had jumped in front of a train after twenty years of unhappy marriage and the woman swallowed a bottle of pills to escape her abusive husband. Opening up about their shared misfortunes, they had bonded quickly; that constant fear of showing their true selves suddenly fading away in a flash. But Angelina didn’t know that. She had been watching them closely since they had first sat down, but, their conversation being out of her earshot, all she could do was guess at what brought those smiles to their faces. She often did this, scanning the diner until she found a couple that she thought might make it and then watching them carefully until her next partner arrived, trying to unravel the mystery to their success.   

“Those smiles seem like they finally found it,” Angelina said… “We ought to celebrate another happy couple.” 

She said this with a sly smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Ben’s wandering eyes settled on the giggling couple just long enough for a look of confusion to settle across his face.  

“Isn’t that the goal?” he asked after a slight pause.   

“It is,” Angelina replied without looking away from their happy neighbor’s table.   

“So doesn’t that happen all the time?”  

 Angelina’s sarcastic smile seemed to deepen.   

“Hun, some of these people have been here for so long I doubt they even remember their old lives,” she said, her bracelets clinking down her arm as she gestured around the room at the diner’s other patrons. “They’re the lucky ones. But, I wonder what they tell their dates? Maybe they just make up new lives. Happier ones. Maybe that’s the trick to finally making it work.”  

Angelina didn’t mention that her own memories were starting to feel hazy. She couldn’t even remember why the waiters always gave her steak when sitting her down at a new table, or why this red drink gave her so much satisfaction, though she was sure that both held significance for her at one point. The only parts of her past that were still fresh and clear were filled with blood, anger and a sadness that she pushed away with force whenever it began to creep back into her mind.  

She fell silent, wondering if forgetting her old life and making up a new one really was the key to escaping this endless cycle of damned dates. She’d been watching the couples around her for – she’d long since lost any idea of how long – trying to get some hint from the ones that found their spark, like the two she was staring at now, but she didn’t feel like she was any closer to understanding what made it work.  

Ben, having only just arrived at The Diner, didn’t really understand what Angelina had meant by what she said, or why that angry shadow had passed over her eyes. Not knowing what to say, he started to twist his hands together once again and shifted his weight from one side of his chair to the other. His mouth opened and closed, gasping for a response like a fish struggling for air. He wondered again if the waiter had made a mistake. He never knew how to deal with people like her, who were so sure of themselves and never seemed to say exactly what they meant. That’s what he had loved about Eris, he thought. She always said exactly what she meant. Even when it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.  

“I’m guessing you’re new here? Ever done this before?” Angelina inquired, or rather, demanded, interrupting his reflections before they could become too sentimental. It was always painfully obvious when someone was a new arrival, she thought. They were always getting lost in their own thoughts, feeling sorry for themselves.  

“Yes. Er, I mean, yes, I’m new. Never done this before, no. This is my first time,” Ben stammered.    

“Just my luck,” Angelina sighed before sucking again at her swirly straw.    

“Uh, sorry,” he mumbled, eyes turning downward. to study the shaggy pink carpet.   

The successful couple that Angelina had been observing, discovered, after some time, a way to stand without leaving each other’s necks, and began to shuffle away towards the front of the diner. She watched them go with a frown and finally turned her gaze to Ben.  

“So, what’s the story?” Angelina demanded, quickly growing impatient with the silence now that her distraction was gone. She hoped the conversation might get him to stop staring at the ground like a sad puppy. Something about that sorry-for-himself look Ben had on his face caused a familiar feeling of annoyance to seep through her, though she couldn’t recall why. 

“Story?” Ben asked, not breaking his concentration on the carpet.  

“Everyone here has one,” Angelina said, her long nail picking up speed as it clicked against the table. “No one ends up here without an–” she paused, “– interesting, story.”   

He shuffled his feet.   

“Right. I-I guess that makes sense.”  

“So?”  

“I, um. My fiance left me the day before our wedding. I didn’t take it well.”  

“Killed her?” Angelina asked, a strange, devious tilt making its way into her voice. At this, Ben jumped so badly that Angelina thought he was going to fall out of his chair.   

“What? No!” Ben’s cheeks flushed a deep red that almost matched the color of Angelina’s drink. For a moment, his eyes rose to meet hers. She saw that they were a deep blue, like his tuxedo, and his brief glance seemed to contain a hint of anger, like a flash of lightning over an agitated, uncertain sea. Maybe he isn’t completely hopeless, she thought.  

“The man she was cheating with then?” Angelina offered, disregarding his reaction. Then she caught herself, that sarcastic smirk sliding back across her face, “Oh, or was it a woman?”  

“No, Eris would never –”   

He was cut off by Angelina’s cocked eyebrow. The storm brewing in his eyes seemed to dissipate with the same speed it had formed, and he went back to his inspection of the floor.  

“I didn’t kill them either.” Ben said, mumbling this time. He reached a hand to the collar of his tuxedo, brushing the tip of his finger along the scar circling his throat. His cheeks still burned, but now it was with shame rather than anger. The image of an empty bedroom, with a strand of rope hanging over a single, wobbly chair, the one Eris had been wanting to throw out for weeks, filled his vision.   

“Ah,” Angelina said with another sigh that dispelled the devious tone that had entered her voice. No hope after all, she thought. She moved to take another sip of her drink, but the glass was empty. She began searching past the dim, cupid shaped lamps hanging throughout the diner in the hope of finding the freckled face of the waiter.  

“And you?” Ben asked, not noticing that Angelina had stopped paying attention to him once again.   

“And me?” she replied with disinterest.  

“What’s yours?”  

“My?”  

“Story,” he said, his bushy eyebrows creasing. “What’s your story?”  

“I caught my husband cheating on me with my best friend,” Angelina answered, still distracted by her search. “Killed him. Should have killed her too.”  

“Oh,” Ben started. He braved another look at Angelina, but when he saw she wasn’t looking at him, he began a new study, this time of the heart-patterned wallpaper covering the walls. “So, how did you–”  

“Oh, my dear friend got her revenge,” Angelina answered before he could finish the question. “I was lucky. I didn’t go out slowly like my husband did.”  

That sly smile returned as she gestured to the small holes in her dress, but Ben didn’t think it seemed nearly as genuine this time. Angelina caught sight of the waiter as he guided another newcomer to their table. She gestured to get his attention, raising her empty glass and sending her bracelets clinking together. The waiter nodded to show that he saw her, and began making his way across the diner, not overly surprised that she was already calling him over.   

“Well,” Ben started again, hoping to move past the dark memories their conversation had brought forward, “how long have you been here?”  

He was too busy staring at the wall to notice the waiter who had arrived behind him. If Angelina were to reply honestly, she couldn’t remember. But, honesty was never her forte, she thought.  

“I’ve been here long enough to know this isn’t the one, hun,” she said. “Good look on your next date.”   

She paused, giving a sidelong look at his yellow bowtie, “And the next.”  

He was about to protest that they had barely spoken, despite the feeling of relief that washed over him, but Angelina’s stare silenced him. He wrung his hands together again, and the waiter coughed politely to announce his presence, wondering, again, what management was thinking putting these two together in the first place. Ben rose, and let himself be guided away to the next table. The next date. The next chance to move on.  

Another failure, Angelina thought as she sipped the fresh drink the waiter had left for her. She went back to scanning the many couples around her, as she always did, looking for those smiles that meant they were finally going to leave The Diner. She was certain that, if she watched the others closely enough, she would eventually learn the trick to escaping this place.