Veronica Mullen

ENG 125-01
February 23, 2014


All American Diner

The couple followed the hostess to their booth and slid in on their respective sides. The
enormity of the table between them seemed to push them apart. It did not yield the familiar feeling of
cozy intimacy that is usually associated with dining in a booth. The young woman gazed over left her
shoulder at the table of men a few feet away. She was trying to determine their country of origin. She
loved people. She loved their stories. She loved their peculiarities and vulnerabilities. Throw in some
deep, ethnic roots and she loved them even more. Their lively, non-English banter amused her. She
turned back to look at the young man across the table from her. He was looking at the men, too. The
young woman worried that he was thinking about his father. Things always fell apart if he thought about
his father for too long. Sweetly, yet sadly she looked at him and wondered when it would end.
The young man spoke up with his thick, south Indian accent. With his broken English, he wove
together a sentence about old Indian men enjoying meals together as well. She found the thought
delightful and wished there was a table of Indian men on the other side of the restaurant that she could
study as well. She joked that if she was his old American wife, that she would encourage him to go out
with his cronies. Neither one of them laughed in the pause that followed. Again, she wondered when it
was finally going to be over. She worried that the joke hurt him. He was so damned sensitive and she
frequently found herself walking on eggshells. She worried that he was thinking of his father and his
relationship with her at the same time. The muscles in her neck that had been tensing up at the thought
of him broaching either subject. When he nonchalantly stated that all non-western men enjoyed
gathering together to share stories and a meal, she felt her body relax.
The womans eyes drifted over to a table of three elderly people that she assumed to be
Americans. She was not aware of another country that would style all of that white hair in such a
manner. She heard the young man in the booth with her open his mouth to speak and she instantly
turned to face him. Did he notice her anticipation? Had he made not of her quick attention to the sound
of his slight movement? She loved him and she wanted him to know it. He loved her, too. She was
certain of this although his methods were a bit exhausting. She was indeed, very tired.
He asked her why she never told him stories. She replied that it was because he didnt listen. It
was really the oddest thing. He would listen so intently at the most mundane things; grocery store
lists...he heard it; how work was....he was all ears.... but let her start telling a meaningful story and he
just covers himself in the sound of her voice and falls asleep with his eyes wide open. It was maddening
when she assumed it was because he didnt feel the need to know her on that level. It was forgivable if
not slightly captivating when she ascribed it to language barriers. Her thoughts shifted and she
wondered again when it would be over.
One of the men started to sing to the others at their table. They were Greek. She looked at the
Hellenic ring on her own finger and wished she was back in Greece. It was a horrible vacation that she
took to get away from a horrible man. The country was beautiful, but she took more emotional baggage
with her than actual luggage. This man, the one in front of her, wasnt quite as bad. He had his good
moments and she enjoyed the differences that he brought to her daily, boringly American routine. She
wouldnt need to spend $3,000 just to get away from him, but she really needed something to happen.
She needed this to end. She couldnt live the rest of her life worrying if he was going to erupt at the
thought of his fathers death or her randomly unforgivable Americanness.
Greeks are western she pointed out with a well established Carolina lilt.
No was all he said.
She had no idea why that made her so mad. It was as if an innocent snowflake upset the delicate
balance of buried misdeeds and caused an avalanche. He looked at her as if she was declaring a turf war
in the most darling manner possible. She looked back at his bewitching eyes and thought about how
much she would miss them when it was finally over. She decided that she would end it before he flew to
Andhra Pradesh. Their food had still not arrived and she hoped the grilled vegetable sub that he
recommended would take away her urge for a burger. She looked out the window of the diner as a
Greek Orthodox priest walked past towards the entrance. She thought perhaps when this ended that
she would learn Greek.