Six Pages in the Formalist Tradition (hopefully)

[Wing'd Icarus]

a very rough draft.

The Diner
By:
Maurice J. Irvin

put down my pen. I must have been visibly upset.
“What’s it about?” she asked me, reaching for the spoon next to a bowl of soup. She was delirious with hunger.
“There’s this guy – I know it always starts off that way – but anyway, he’s just a regular guy. He thinks he’s quirky and neurotic but any genuine quirky neurotic could tell you he isn’t. He’s just like every one else and yet somehow he maintains his individuality – though I really don’t discuss this since I never understood how it was possible myself. Regardless, it’s a day in the life of this guy – I’m very into the regular monotony of day-to-day life right now.”
“I see.”
Her eyes wandered as she picked up her spoon. She liked watching people; their faces seemed familiar even though she was certain she’d never seen any of them before in her life. The noises of the diner were warm and comforting.
“He wakes up and kind of wastes his time until one o’clock because he knows he has to meet this girl at some anonymous diner. It doesn’t matter what the diner looks like, what it’s named, where it is, because anybody who reads it more likely than not has been to a diner and already has their own preconceived notions of what diner it is – I’m not about to **** with that.”
“Right,” she said, grabbing for a napkin to wipe her mouth with and doing her best to seem interested. “That’s an interesting idea.”
A waitress came to the table.
“Ya’ll need anything?” the waitress asked.
“Oh! Um, no, thank you,” she replied, demurely avoiding eye contact. She noticed the waitress’s black apron and white blouse sleeve as she poured coffee into a cup. She wondered why she used the word ‘ya’ll’ when she didn’t have a Southern accent.
The waitress left.
“Anyway, he leaves half an hour early because he has to go to the ATM at the bank and get some cash to pay for the meal. Even though the two aren’t together or anything he feels like being a gentleman and treating the girl. He wouldn’t have it any…”
“Thanks for saying you’d pick up the check, by the way. It’s really nice of you but not necessary,” she said, protesting politely even though she wasn’t about to pass up a free meal. The soup looked delicious she thought, reaching for her spoon – its metallic glint made her recall the torture devices of antiquity she had just been conversationally describing, which she had seen at the Vatican thirty-six hours prior.
“No problem, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Anyway, he arrives at the diner earlier than he planned and so he gets a table for two and orders a milk shake, which is a crisis because he doesn’t know if she’ll get there on time and there is no telling if by the time she does get there that his shake won’t already be melted or gone entirely. At five after he begins to panic and thinks she won’t show. He doesn’t want to be rude and order much less eat alone even more less eat without a drink. And, come on, if you have a milk shake, you want it cold....”
“That reminds me, sorry I was late. I don’t know what happened, time just got away from me, I guess,” she said apologetically, retrieving a napkin from the holder. She was famished but resisted eating as rapidly as she was tempted to. She passed the napkin over her lips certain that she was a mess. To her surprise, she evidently was not.
“It’s okay. The guy likes watching people; their faces seem familiar even though he is certain he’s never seen any of them before in his life. She does end up showing, though, and they chat about this and that. The girl just came back from the Vatican and relays an interesting story about torture devices of antiquity.”
“Very cute. I can see where you get your inspiration from,” she wryly commented, picking up the spoon and pushing around the contents of her soup. She hadn’t even made a dent in it. She grabbed for a napkin to clean up the dribble she had caused to flow over the side of the bowl. “Good call on the thing about the faces, though. I know exactly what you…”
The waitress returned and poured more coffee.
“Ya’ll need anything?”
“Uh, no. Thanks, though,” she said, annoyed but impressed by the waitress’s commitment to her customers. She would add some money to whatever tip was left to appear generous and give the impression she felt a little bit of guilt for accepting a free meal.
“When she comes in she’s wearing green, which compliments her eyes of the same color and long red hair. She wears a lot of green.”
She smiled and coyly flipped her red hair over her shoulders, exposing her green sweater. She was flattered.
“You’re sweet. My m…”
“Her mother always buys her green clothes because she insists they are befitting of a good Irish girl. The girl doesn’t mind much, though, she likes green.”
“How did you know…” she began, surprised and yet charmed.
The waitress returned.
“Ya’ll need anything?”
“No! Thank you,” she said, becoming indignant at the sight of the coffee pot pouring more coffee. She debated leaving the additional tip.
The waitress left.
“How did you know about my mom?” she asked, overwhelmed by the urge to pick up her spoon and demolish the still forebodingly full bowl of soup.
“She was still incredibly hungry.”
“Huh?” she asked, bewildered.
The noises of the diner prevailed. She attempted to listen for a moment, hoping to distract herself from the awkward moment, but found she could not make sense of the chatter.
“Well, what about the rest of the story? What happens next?”
No reply.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, “Why won’t you answer?”
“The silence had now become unbearable.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Fear overcame her.”
“All right, I see what you’re doing. This isn’t funny. I don’t have to sit here…”
“’…and take this bullshit,’ she snapped. She was growing visibly upset. Just then the waitress came to the table again to check on her customers.”
“Will you be quiet, she can hear you! You’re embarrassing me.”
“Ya’ll need anything?”
“Yes, actually. Could I get the check please?”
“She inquired. The waitress poured coffee and then left.”
“Excuse me, Miss? I said I’d like the check! What was that about?”
“She wondered. She didn’t care if she had to pay for the check herself, she wanted to get away from the crackpot sitting across from her.”
“Listen, I’m this close to punching you…”
“The waitress came back.”
“Ya’ll need anything?”
“Yes, the check, now!”
“She stated as firmly as possible. The waitress filled the coffee cup.”
“How can you keep filling this thing? I haven’t taken a single sip, not one! Look, look at this!”
“She said, infuriated. The cup slipped from her hand as she displayed it and crashed to floor, causing coffee to spill all over the waitress and floor.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”
“She turned to grab napkins from the holder and knocked her spoon into her lap.”
“Will you stop that and help me!”
“She turned to find the waitress gone. She looked over the edge of the table. The cup shards were missing and there was no spill. She sat upright and saw the cup full and in its original place, the napkins no longer in her hand but in the undisturbed holder, her spoon next to her soup bowl. The waitress returned with her pristine sleeves and apron.”
“Ya’ll need anything?”
“What the hell is this?”
“The waitress poured and left. Raising her eyes, she noticed the passing waitress had no face. Looking around more closely for the first time, she realized that, in fact, none of the familiar patrons had distinguishable faces. The diner was full of out-of-focus figures emanating the unintelligible diner racket.
’What is this…” she uttered They as she actually backed away used from the this booth and three-pronged headed for clamp the door. to Her own rip reflection materialized the in the breast glass: a completely blurry face off. with vivid green I eyes, mean, bright Italians red were hair brutal and in a their crude, day. hand-drawn line for a Hey, smiling mouth. are you listening?
“What?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“What are you writing?”
“It’s a story for class.”
“Oh yeah? How’s it coming?”
“Badly,” I said as the waitress came, poured coffee and checked on us in her Southern drawl – nobody needed anything. I gave a deep sigh, took off my glasses and

[Botley]

and what?

[Wing'd Icarus]

okay, so that must not be effective. was wondering why no one was saying anything.

the story is meant to double back on itself. Kind of an Escher concept. perhaps I shouldn't have put "a very rough draft" at the top. and also the emoticons are supposed to be the letters a) and b).

ah well.

[Botley]

Ah! I see now. I must have skimmed it to quickly to notice. Very nicely done.

[darksideofoz]

Yeah, I got that (the "I gave a deep sigh, took off my glasses and put down my pen" bit). I liked it. Nice work.

[Wing'd Icarus]

thanks.

[Simon]

Dude Maurice - that bit where the guy kinda repeats/describes what the girl syays/does was very cool. Real nice... I almost had the effect of 'tripping'