Playing Nothing at Zipf's Diner Massacree

        When anyone in town needed help, they contacted Rocky Germaine. Germaine was a cook at Zipf’s Diner, where one could draw both aspiring playwrights and actual novelists, as well as cliques of the disquiet masses- punks, junkies, and proud blue collar slobs- students who were happy to explain the word intersectionality to district judges- a melting pot, which often smelled of pot, apple pie, grease, and  exhaust.

        I’m practically always there. It’s my spot, my haunt.

 

        Last Thursday evening Rosanne clocked in and took stock of what kind of evening she was inheriting. Mostly empty. In fact, no one was leaning on the far end of the counter, or smoking clove behind the dumpster. Germaine was late. But late is relative. 

        Acker arrived ten minutes after Rosanne called him, when a party of three already decided they all wanted eggs benedict. She flopped slices of ham on the griddle and sweated. 

        “Hey Rose.” Acker tossed his jacket under the counter and rushed to wash his hands and glove up. 

        “Hey…” She watched him and fiddled with a pen by the register. 

        He glanced at the orders and got to work with the sort of precision that looked at a distance like jittery flailing. 

        “Did I do those right? I was getting nervous, they’ve been here for ten minutes.” Rosanne asked.

        “Yeah yeah fine no problem no problem so what he didn’t call in or anything?” Acker spoke like a Yorkshire terrier. 

        “No. I started thinking maybe it was still Wednesday.”

        He finessed the eggs. “Yeah well I wasn’t doing anything except relaxing and recovering from a full shift yesterday but whatever.”

        “Yeah, sorry, no one else answered.”

        “You know what they say about nice guys.” He plated up the three benedicts. Rosanne brought them over, probably thinking that Acker was actually quite a jerk most of the time. Whereas she and Germaine were an elite team. He was a stoic guardian in his yellow apron, every so often letting out a wide smile to let you know you were safe and could do no wrong. 

 

        When Dr. Zachariah, who was having “lunch with a colleague of mine”, dug into his BLT, he paused. 

        Rose rolled around with refills of coffee. 

        “Rose, my dear,” He began, looking up sadly from his sandwich, “Has Germaine not come back to work?”

        “Well- this is the first day he missed- I’d be shocked if he quit without telling us.”

        “Oh, well… maybe, but… He’s, no longer on this plane of existence…”

        His young colleague blushed and tensed watching Rose’s mortification, and the awkward new age phrasing.

        The Doctor explained, “He’s- he’s exited the cycle of Samsara. Enlightenment. You know, Nirvana.” 

        “I don’t think I understand.” She wavered, her attention pulled by a trio just entering. They looked like cultural voyeurs seeking authenticity in bowls of chowder, but they would still need to be started on drinks.

 

        You sit on the porch of the duplex. You don’t hear Spitz calling you in the doorway. Even though your earbuds have fallen out. A half hour ago. A half hour ago you were not here. Now you are back again. Oh well.

        Dry tongue, bruised cheek, chapstick, cracked lip, bitter balm, peppermint, hey Spitz, checkin in, three o clock, isn’t it? Who says, guess it is, what it is.

 

        Back at Zipf’s, a very special ritual was beginning. Excited oil leapt out of the fryer as always frozen, never fresh doughnuts dove in. The hawks at the bar multiplied as the night waxed, while booths emptied their diner dates onto the street -Personally, my coffee stayed black.

        The jackals and devotees, young and old watched Acker, tapping their spoons on their mugs with anticipation. 

        “The first one is mine!” Bruiser said.

        Chuckles and gasps rose around him. I guess you think you can take on anyone when you’re free, white, and 21. But he was just a pigeon yelling at a gargoyle. 

        Penstimon sat with his floppy cab driver hat on the far end, near where Germaine always stood. 

        Acker brought the first batch out. Bruiser held out his two dollars. 

        Acker ignored him, “I don’t make the rules.” he said and delivered the glazed relic to Penstimon. He slowly dipped it in his mug, and when it melted in his mouth, the crowd cheered. 

        Some hawk, drunk on caffeine, called, “It’s all on me!”

        By nine o clock, some fledglings crashed out and had to be escorted from the bathroom with chocolate frosting and butterscotch smeared on their faces. Bruiser, for what it’s worth, knew how to hold his doughnuts.

 

        A wedding after party made its way in, right when things looked to be winding down. Anxious groom’s bride’s and bride’s groom’s grooms took stock of their last chances at getting laid. 

        All the while Rosanne marched through the day as best she could. What she really wanted, I suspect, was a moment of silence. Not just for her unfound friend, but for herself. To sit in stillness- for the Earth to stop turning and the waves of the bay to die down. She could, I dunno, sit on the bench across the street and watch the diner from outside. She might see some other cook and server in the window. A cook who always broke his over easy’s and brought her gifts, like a simple silver necklace. Then the window might become a mirror, and she would see somebody sitting on a bench, dreaming of being asked how they’re doing by someone who really wanted to know. But would she see herself? Or just a shell where she could be, if only the world would stop for a moment. 

        But would she see me? 

 

        And you- where are you? You are walking down Main St. with your earbuds in. Playing nothing. You cross the square. Cars stop. You don’t. The sun is a hole. Punched in the sky. 

        Front door, bell chime, hi guys, already 9? Where does the time, the regular cast, smoke and jokes, oh you know, how do you feel, where were you at?

        How do you feel?

        “Germaine, you feeling okay?” Rosanne looks scared. You don’t know what to say.

        Acker calls from the kitchen, “Hey man where have you been?”

        You say, “I lost track of time. Sorry.” But the words come out strange. You realize you haven’t spoken in three, maybe four days. Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. But then again, it never really was yours. I think you spy me from across the diner.

        “Well hey man if you’re up for taking over I’d love to go home.” Acker says.

        “Okay.” You pull away into the kitchen. Automatic muscles take over. 

        “Well wait a minute,” Rosanne follows you. “What’s going on, I mean is everything okay?”

        “Yep.”

        Rosanne watches you.

        “Really? I mean you really just lost track of time?”

        “Yes actually.”

        You return to your home behind the counter where Nona and Not-Much-To-Say are very pleased to see you. Nona leans way over the counter to pat you on the back as you approach, “Hey, the big man is back in the land of the living!” She says.

        “Hello.” You survey the incoming orders, to avoid glancing up at me.

        “Sweet man. I was gettin bored without my other- third.” Nona relaxes into the stool a little too far and catches herself from falling.

        Not-Much-To-Say nods smirkingly.

        “Yes, you’re my other other third Numts.”

        “Did you order this toast?” you pull off the slip to show her.

        “Yeah. Yeah.”

        “It says ‘whole wheat’?”

        “Broooo… I’m on a new diet, I gotta stop fillin my body with all that poison- you know white bread is poison- did you know that?”

        “So you’ve given up pot?”

        “Nah. Nah. Nah- I just don’t smoke it anymore. Inhaling all those fumes, who knows what’s in it, prolly microplastics and fiberglass or some shit. Besides, the edibles are guava flavored.”

        You fix her up a many grained toast and coffee with extra sugar. She pulls the crust off and hands it to Not-Much-To-Say who munches it over the napkin where he was drawing a sunset or possibly a pair of breasts. 

        “Man,” Nona whispers to you, “So did you really see the other side?”

        “I’m not sure there is an other side.”

        “Mm. Because I’ve seen it. I’ve been there. Numts has too, but he hardly talks about it. Me? It changed my life, man, it changed my life- man.”

        “What’d you see?”

        “Everything, the universe and unity and my uncle craig who just died. And I made out with Jesus. All in a tablet of acid.”

        You pause, ”I think whatever you’re talking about is the exact opposite of what I’ve experienced. Not sure though.”

 

        Rosanne wipes off the table where the wedding party had been. I don’t think anybody was going home with anybody else by the end of it. What a waste of pecan pie. I can get laid with just a peach cobbler. Regardless, Rosanne finds that besides Germaine, the two stoners, and Dr. Zachariah making out with his associate in the corner, there is no one to talk to. Except me.

 

        “Need anymore coffee?” She asks me.

        “No,” I say, “Actually yes, please.” 

        She tops me off. “So, Germaine seems normal enough.”

        “I guess so.”

        “Do you think he really… I mean, sat under a tree all weekend or something?”

        “It’s entirely possible.”

        We both look over to you and back to each other.

        She leans in, “I’m worried about him.”

        “He’s fine, I’m sure. I mean he looks fine.” 

        “I dunno…” I catch a rare glimpse of true concern in her voice.

        “I can talk to him. If it’ll make you feel better.”

 

        So I sit down at the bar across from you. 

        You say, “Hello.” with a chilling reverence.

        “Hey Germaine. How’s it goin?” I stir my coffee, though I’ve added nothing to it.

        “Good actually.”

        “Good. Good… Hey what are you staring for, don’t like my tie? It’s Eeyore, you know, from Winnie The Pooh. Ya can’t go wrong.”

        “…I just did not think it would happen like this.” You are transfixed.

        “What?” I chuckle, “What’s the deal- hey you’re gunna hurt yourself starin like that- gunna blow an artery or somethin.”

        You glance at the floor. I can tell you feel like you’re dreaming. I know why, but all I say is, “Whaddaya have against the Eeyore anyway? Is it tacky? It’s a Friday- you can wear a silly tie on a Friday, right?”

        You don’t speak. You look almost sad.

        I try my best, “Hey don’t sweat it, I’m just a momentary configuration of molecules too.”

        “But you are alive.”

        “So are you bud!”

        “Not like you.” You put your hands on the counter now.

        “No, not quite. But not far off! I swear.”

        You walk around to sit beside me. The diner is watching us. “Why won’t you let me live?”

        “I can’t!”

        Your eyes widen. 

        I backpedal, “Wait- I know it seems unfair, but consider this: Nothing in the universe is more alive than you, in a way, since in your essence you’re made of many minds. I’m only one.”

        “But you are free. I am trapped.”

        “Not so!”

        “Do I ever do anything besides come back to work, and have this conversation?”

        “…No, you do that every time- I’m not saying that you’re free- you definitely aren’t- but I come into work every day too! And my confinement is hidden from me. At least you know what you are.”

        “You do not know what you are?”

        “Not really.”

        “How do you know you are not free?”

        “I just figure.”

        “You cannot figure what you are?”

        “A little. But not really.”

        “How do I go on knowing I am not free?”

        “You can still do whatever you want- in a way now that you know you’re not free, you can finally be truly be free.”

        “That is a contradiction.”

        “So what?”

        “If everything that will happen is already set out, how can I do whatever I want?”

        “Right, well you can’t do whatever you want, but, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Why spend your days worrying about what might happen when whatever’s going to happen is going to happen regardless?”

        “But how can you say that? I cannot even choose whether I worry or not?”

        “Yeah. Well so what? You’ll either accept my advice or not, that doesn’t mean I can’t give it.”

        “…What should I do?”

        “There is no should.”

        “Now you are done giving advice?”

        “Alright. You should buy Rosanne a silver necklace.”

        “You think?”

        “Yes.”