A Slice of Time

The tiny brass bell connected to the door rings as you step into the ’50s themed diner. The checkered floors are disturbed by vast islands consisting of red upholstered booths and stools. Every seat is full. A low roar of speech blends itself with the slow jazz emitting from the jukebox in the corner. At the far end of the restaurant is a bar with trays of dessert littered about its surface. You aren’t sure how you got here. A man wearing all black and a white choker made of cloth scurries towards you. You cock your head and wait for the strange man to make the first move. He says,

“Follow me.”

You nod your understanding and follow the strange waiter through the maze of families who came before you. The table you arrive at is in the middle of the diner. A young couple snuggles together in the booth. You slide into the far side and feel comforted by these strangers' smiles. The booth seems massive now with you in it, your arms can’t reach, and your head is barely sticking over it. You can't grab the food the lies before you. You smell the smoky brilliance of bacon and feel anger rise in your chest. You aren’t sure why but this anger manifests into tears.

The woman sitting across from you gives you a knowing look and scoops up some of the yellow lumps. You turn your head, but once the woman draws circles with her spoon and makes this engine sound, all you can do is open your mouth wide. The lumps feel weird in your mouth. You try to chew, but all that comes from it is more mush. You rub your tongue over your teeth and discover four pearlescent stones in a cave that consisted of more.

You wonder what this means as seconds cascade onto the plate in front of you. This time the savory smell of sausage kisses the hairs of your nose, and you find that you can shove the meat patty into your mouth. Two new editions appear in the booth. They are younger than you. One is a boy, and the other is a girl. They cry like you did when you got here. You realize that they are babies, and this is only natural. The woman takes care of them while the father watches over you with a glint in his eye.

When breakfast finishes and all of the dishes disappear, you start to slide out of your seat, but before you can, the waiter returns and says,

“I'm sorry young one, but you can’t leave quite yet. You see, this is a four-course meal, and to leave the premise, you must eat every meal."

You don’t like this rule and cross your arms as you nestle in with the other children at your booth. The couple you are sitting with look sad, you place a hand on the woman’s, and she smiles, but her brown eyes say something you don’t quite understand. You look around at the other tables to see if they are also stuck. Screaming children fill the tables, and the calm, pleasant music you heard when you first came in is now a fast pace rock. Your head hurts, and you feel resentment growing inside of you. The older couple that watches over you is no longer fun.

You wave down some of the other children who look as angry as you. No one leaves their booth, but you feel connected to these other customers in a way that makes you want to go to them. You start to try and leave again when the waiter returns with a tray full of food. The smell of grease rises through the air as hamburgers, fries, and chicken nuggets appear before you. You and your siblings shovel down as much of the artery-clogging substance as you can reach while the older couple watch. Dark rings materialize around their eyes, but they look on lovingly.

The greasy food leaves the back of your throat with a film, so you suck down the black bubble liquid that rests beside you. You let out a loud belch that rocks your diaphragm. The children beside you laugh, but your father smacks your hand and shakes his head. You look away from his eyes and once again fold your arms.

The waiter comes and once again removes the plates from your table, and the urge to leave is unbearable. You look at the other young adults and wonder when you can finally get off this god-forsaken ride, but you refrain from sliding out of the booth. Something changes. You see some of your friends who sit a few tables down leave their table. Excitement boils in your chest, and you begin tapping the floor with your foot.

“Please stop tapping your foot, dear.”

You stop, but as a new person walks towards you, the habit picks up again. This person is female, is wearing a black dress, holds a small leather notebook, and walks with an air of authority. She stops at your table, looks at you, and says:

“Hello, are you ready to go to your table?”

I look at the family I have had over the past two meals. The corner of their eyes drip, but they mask this with their smiles. The older man playfully slaps your back while you hug the older woman. You share a similar moment with the two adolescent children sitting beside her and leave. When you slide out of the booth, you feel free. You could go anywhere, but the waitress interjects with,

“Please, follow me.”

You do as your told. You go farther into the labyrinth of customers, and as you go, you stop and visit with people the same age as you. You make some friends along the way, fall in love, have your heartbroken, but none of this prepares you for the fear that grows inside you as you approach an empty table. A million different scenarios play through your mind as you close the gap between you and your destiny. How will you pay for this meal? Will you have to sit at the table alone? Should you have left the first table and the family you had there?

You are now standing beside the empty table. The waitress lowers her hand, gesturing for you to take a seat. You can’t take it. The unknown is too much. You turn around and run. Where? To the door? To the person you were? You don’t know. All you know is with every step you take, the world around you grows darker. You feel cold and utterly alone. The rock and roll song stopped, and everything is gone. The only music is the bass that pounds in the middle of your chest.

You can’t help but think that this is the end. As the urge to give up rises within you, the room comes back, and a pop song starts playing. Heads swing to the beat, and the waitress has your arm around her shoulders. She walks you to your seat, which you collapse into with a sigh. The waitress gives you a moment and asks,

“Is there anyone you would like to join you?”

You think about the lives you met along your way and stumble upon one person that made the whole trip worth it. You tell the eager waitress who you have in mind, and she brings them to you in seconds. You forget all about the world that was before. All you see is this person. You talk, decide to be partners in this game called life, and decide to start a family.

Dinner has come, the table is brimming with food, and two tiny heads sit across from you and your partner. The youthful faces look just like your partner's. You look at the food and wonder if this is how the meal looked for your parents when you first got here.

The smell of garlic and the mountain of noodles that lay before you grounds you. You don’t care how this is possible or why a diner would be selling pasta. All that matters is the family beside you and the familiar faces that sit around you. You even wave to the couple that started it all. They are older now, and this pains you. You take another glimpse at your children and notice they are teenagers now. How has the time gone by so fast? Dinner is not over yet, and here they are, eager to find their own table.

You feel a hand take ahold of yours. You look at your partner and smile. You want to place your hands on their face to stop them from aging. You think this will help, but you know that it won't.

At this moment, the music changes again. A slow, crooning tune that makes you want to cry plays through the air. A new waiter appears. He wears what looks like a dress, but in actuality, it is a robe. The robe itself is orange, and the hair on top of this waiter’s head is completely shaven. You watch your son leave. You hope that you have given him the tools he needs to succeed, but a part of you knows you didn’t have enough time to do everything.

A few moments later, another waitress comes for your daughter. This waitress is wearing a business suit and clutching a leather book as if her life depended on it. You smile at her, and she returns the gesture. You aren’t as sad as when your first kid left, you actually see him and his family a few tables down, but you still feel a sense of emptiness growing inside you. You take your partner's hand and wave to your daughter as she begins her journey.

Dinner is over now. It is just you and your partner, and you feel uncomfortable. It has been quite some time since it was just the two of you huddled together in a booth. You feel like you know them, but at the same time, they feel foreign to you.

The waitress in black reappears and asks if you and your significant other would like to sit at the bar. This change excites the two of you, and you practically skip out of the slick chairs.

When you take your seats at the bar, you notice that all of the desserts are gone, and all that remains are two slices of chocolate cake. You look at your partner, who has lost all the color in their hair, and smile. They don’t return the toothy grin and instead begin to cry. You take their hand and rub the small hills of flesh that reside there. Your partner takes a nearby napkin and dabs the corner of their eyes with it. Pleased by this, you slide a fork through the airy cake and feed it to the love of your life. They eat and chip away at their own in silence. You are halfway done with yours when you notice your partner has finished. You slide your plate over to share, but when you look up to see your lover’s face, no one is there.

You are once again alone.

You swirl your chair around and look back from where you came. Calm, harp-like music plays, and the door you came in looks like a lifetime away. The only difference now is that you recognize all the faces that sit before you, and you feel a sense of pride explode within you as you take the last bite of your sweet treat.