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A SHELL. AN EMPTY, soulless shell is all I’ve become in my life of nineteen years. There is no meaning, no reasoning for my days to draw on from one to the next with no hope of a happily ever after in sight. There is no laughter, no smiling, no reason for being other than working at this miserable diner every day for pennies on the dollar. I can’t even remember the last time I was happy.
Then there’s Amber. Waltzing into the diner at ten minutes past the start of her shift, singing to herself lightly without a care in the world. She’s the vision of carefree with her high ponytail shining in bright red – courtesy of Clairol – and her bright pink fingernails. She wears her shirt loosely tied around her waist with the top three buttons undone, her skirt pulled higher to show more leg. To look at her, you’d think we slung cocktails at the local watering hole rather than delivering Ralph’s famous meatloaf to the town locals. The same locals that hide in the shadows, safely protected in their own homes and dead-end jobs, while ignoring the ever-changing world around them.
In another life – or another place – I could have been like Amber. I could have had a carefree existence as I travelled the globe, viewing the wonders of the world through a lens. I had a happy childhood even if it was just me and my mom for so long. My mother worked hard at two jobs just to make sure I had everything I needed as I was growing up. She was eager to help me attain my dreams; supporting me in my love of photography and encouraging me to make it into a career. Everything was great until she got cancer and died my senior year of high school. I never finished school after skipping the last semester of my senior year to help take care of her, and now I work at the local diner just to make ends meet. My goals have always stretched further than the horizon and remain vastly unattainable.
We had talked frequently about me returning to school for my GED and then continuing to college to pursue a career in photography. She was getting better and better each day that passed and felt there was no reason for me to continue putting my life on hold. At least, that’s what we thought.
I miss her optimism.
I miss her ability to find the silver lining in everything that could possibly have gone wrong.
I miss our life together.
It was a great life – until it wasn’t.
“About time you showed up,” I mumble under my breath as Amber reaches for her apron behind the counter.
“Sorry I’m late,” Amber calls out in her sing-song voice as she ties the apron behind her back and shoves a pencil into her tight ponytail. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had so far.”
I tune her out automatically as I rip my apron from around my waist and toss it beneath the counter. I’m anxious to get out of here and get home. As much as I’m sure Amber is eager to brag about her latest conquest, I just don’t have the desire – or the time – to listen to it.
“Not so fast, Emi,” Ralph calls from the kitchen. “You know you have to put these dishes away before you leave.”
“Ah, come on!” I exclaim. “You know I have to be out of here at a certain time. It’s not my fault Amber was late, and I had to care for her tables.”
“Not my problem. Rules are rules.” Ralph is standing on the other side of the window with a scowl on his face, and his hands on his hips. He’s not a bad guy but he runs a tight ship around here. He’s had the diner since his parents passed a few years ago and has carried on their tradition with the menu and the short staff. But he’s right, rules are rules.
I toss a glare at Amber as she ambles out to the dining room to flirt with the few guests that are left finishing their dinners. Ralph doesn’t say anything else to me as I put away the clean dishes and wipe down the counters again before finally jogging through the door to walk home.
My feet are aching in my tennis shoes while I walk as quickly as I can through town. At a normal pace, I can make it between my house and the diner within thirty minutes. I’m already late getting home and don’t want to take any more time, so I calculate in my head how long it’ll take me if I cut through a few yards and alleys. Picking up the pace, I cut diagonally through the parking lot of the dollar store, barely dodging a car as it backs out of its space without looking.
Twenty minutes. It takes me twenty minutes to get to my porch steps from the diner and my legs feel like overcooked spaghetti noodles. Reaching out, I grab the wobbly banister and pull myself up the three steps to the porch. Standing in front of the door, I take several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. It was a brisk walk but with the way my body reacts, you’d think I just ran a full marathon.
There’s a window on the door, nearly blacked out with years of filth. Through the gaps in the curtain, I can see a faint light on the inside and my heart plummets to the soles of my feet. I don’t remember leaving any lights on when I left the house earlier this afternoon. Bracing myself for what I already know I’ll find inside, I open the door slowly.
“Where have you been?” Closing the door softly, I freeze in place and close my eyes. I’m still facing the door, my hand on the knob, Charlie’s harsh words sending a chill down my spine. I had hoped that he wouldn’t be home yet. That he would have still been out with his friends or sitting at the bar drowning his worthless existence in a whiskey. At least, that’s what he does most nights.
“I’ve been at work. You know I had to work this afternoon.” Taking a deep breath, I ready myself to turn and face him sitting in his recliner chair. As I turn around, I take in the disaster of the house around him. No matter how much I try to keep it picked up, all it takes is one bad day for Charlie and it’s destroyed again. He obviously had a rough day judging by the number of broken dishes and paper strewn throughout the living room and attached kitchen. Not that I expect anything less – he has more rough days than not.
I’ve been on my feet all day at the diner. I was hoping that I might be able to come home and get a few minutes off my feet before having to work again around the house. Obviously, I was mistaken.
“I was waiting for you. You know I expect dinner when I get home from work.”
“I’m sorry.” Stepping away from the door, I begin to walk into the kitchen. I don’t stop to pick up any of the trash on the floor, I don’t take my sweater or my shoes off. I go straight to the refrigerator to pull out the fixings for tonight’s dinner.
“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” I listen to the sound of the recliner snapping back into place, the hard footsteps of Charlie’s work boots on the hard wood floor as he stalks toward me. I don’t even have a chance to brace myself before I’m shoved against the kitchen counter. I barely have a second to brace my hands against the bite of the hard edge against my hip before my ponytail is grabbed and yanked backward. Losing my balance, I stumble and fall to the floor, the shock reverberating through my body as I land on my side with a loud thud, my head knocking hard against the cheap linoleum. Charlie just barely steps out of the way, so I don’t fall into him. My hands immediately move up to cover my face, knowing what comes next. I don’t need marks on my face that anyone at work will be able to see. I don’t need anyone to be brought into the hell that is my life.
“I’m going to the bar.” Charlie steps around me, leaving me sitting on the floor with my hands over my face. “I expect this house to be cleaned and dinner ready when I get back.”
I don’t move. I barely breathe. I stay lying on the floor in the middle of the kitchen as I listen to his footsteps get further and further away. I wait until the front door slams shut and I hear his truck pulling out of the garage before I finally get up and begin working on the house. Only when the trash is picked up, the broken dishes thrown away, do I finally take off my sweater and hang it on the hook by the front door. I wince against the pain as I pull my arms out of the sleeves, releasing a final calming breath before moving into the kitchen to start on Charlie’s dinner.
I could have gotten away from all of this years ago if only people would have listened to me when I said there was trouble in my home. No one believed me though. No one would listen to me.
I’ve spent so much time talking to people that I thought were my friends, even my coworkers. They just smile and nod and pretend to pay attention to me. I told them that I wasn’t happy, but they responded with words like “I understand. I know how you feel. I feel unhappy myself sometimes.” But they couldn’t possibly understand the thoughts and feelings that were going through my head. They don’t even listen.
Even now, they don’t see it. No one notices or pays attention to the fact that I have long sleeves on all day, instead of my waitressing uniform, to hide the bruises running down the length of my arms. No one sees how I have to take in my pants, so they aren’t falling off my hips because I can’t eat. They don’t see the skin that hangs from my bones beneath my baggy clothes from losing too much weight too fast. They don’t even notice how I’ve had to add extra layers to my makeup to cover the dark circles beneath my eyes from the lack of sleep.
I can see it. I see the signs of the trouble I have at home every time I look at my reflection in a mirror. But no one else sees it. Or they choose to ignore it and look the other way. Everyone in this town knows Charlie, he grew up here. He’s always been popular in town and never goes long without a job. He was the captain of the football team in our little high school before he graduated. They don’t see the terrible drunk that he became when he got older. They only see the championships that he won for the football team. No one believes that he’s a has-been.
After cooking a simple dinner of hamburgers and fried potatoes, I leave a plate for Charlie in the microwave and take a shower. I rush through it and go straight to bed. Knowing that my night will be plagued with never-ending nightmares, I double check the locks on my bedroom door before laying down and forcing myself to go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day, hopefully a better one.
If I’m lucky, Charlie will drink himself to death before I have to deal with him again.