The best ideas are always written on restaurant napkins.
-The Burning Man.
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I had a
lot on my mind that night. Earlier that week a close friend of mine had passed
away suddenly and I was still trying to wrap my head around it. It was a night
like this that he fell asleep while driving home from work and ran into the
back of some farm equipment at high speed. Only a couple months earlier I had
promised to buy him breakfast after work, but we were never able to settle on a
day. Now I found myself in the very truck stop I had pictured when I had first
mentioned the idea to him.
I didn't
bother waiting for the waitress to find me a seat since this was my usual
choice for late-night food. I had just plopped down at one of the booths and
slid to the wall so I could put my feet up on the bench when the waitress came
around the corner. It was a girl I had never seen before and a tall, cute one
at that.
"Sorry,
I didn't see you come in." she said hurriedly in a sweet voice. "What
can I get you to drink?" she added looking down at my shoes briefly.
For a
second I wondered if maybe I needed a distraction more than I needed food, but then
I thought better of it. I glanced over at her name tag for a brief moment then
quickly averted my eyes when I realized she was looking right at me. I could
practically hear what she was thinking. I
can't believe he's just gonna stare at my breasts like that! What a pig! I swear women wear shirts with
words on them just to get the upper hand on guys. Either we're left ogling
while pretending to read them or are actually trying to read when we get that
what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look.
"I'll
have an iced tea, Alley" I replied emphasizing her name a bit.
"Okay,"
she paused briefly "and... do you know what you want to eat or do you need
a few minutes?" She asked looking down at her notepad. She could only
have been working here for a few weeks and already she was stuck in the steady
drone of redundancy. I couldn't help myself, this poor girl needed a bit of
excitement on this quiet morning.
"Do
you have Spanish omelets?" I asked.
"Sure
do!"
I could
see that she had started to write down the shorthand for 'omelet' on her little
book. "Are they imported?" I piped up as straight-faced as I could
muster.
A slight
smile crept onto her face and she stopped writing to give me a second look.
Suddenly her eyes went wide with surprise. "OH MY GOD! YOU'RE ON
FIRE!"
I could
tell that she was about to panic or, even worse, grab a fire
extinguisher. "Whoa! It's okay. Calm down. I didn't think you would
notice. I'm alright, it's nothing." She still just stood there transfixed
by the tall, orange flames coming off of my bare arms, shoulders, head, and
even the lines of fire rising up from the legs of my blue jeans. From my
perspective it appeared as if she was trying to picture me naked. Now who's staring inappropriately? I
thought.
Still, it
looked as though she might opt for the extinguisher any second so I reached
over, grabbed a napkin and dropped it right on top of the leg that she was
gaping at. The thick paper landed lightly on my knee and the flames quickly
engulfed it, but it never caught fire. It didn't scorch or dissolve in the
heat, it simply laid there untouched.
I picked the
napkin back up and held it out to her. "It's more of an illusion than
anything." I reassured her. Instead of grabbing the napkin she leaned down
with her palm flat trying to feel the heat of the flames coming off my legs.
After a second she tentatively grabbed my jeans and found them to be roughly
room temperature.
"Does
it hurt?" She asked.
"Sometimes."
"Well..."
she hesitated, "have you seen a doctor or something?"
I let out
a long sigh. "I did once a long time ago." I tell her. "The
doctor gave me some skin cream for the burning and told me to come back if it
gets any worse."
"Well
that is just the darnedest thing." She said shaking her head. "So,
you wanted the omelet?"
"No."
I reply with a light laugh. "How about the French toast and fried
eggs?"
"Sure
thing, hun. I'll get that right in for you!"
It seemed
that after her initial shock wore off everything had gone back to normal. Other
than a couple quick glances as she brought my food over or refilled my glass
the flames were all but forgotten. It's crazy how fast something so odd can be
rationalized and fades from memory. That's pretty much how it always went.
Hell, most people don't even pay enough attention to notice the fire in the
first place.
The rest
of the evening was pretty uneventful despite the early excitement. I ate my
breakfast, worked on a crossword puzzle, paid the bill and left. Even on the
ride home there was no one around. The streets were empty on this sleepy Sunday
evening. I drove my car up the alley of my block, into the newly formed ruts in
my back yard and parked next to a big tree. The soft soil and dew-covered grass
didn't stand a chance against my heavy 1963 Chevy Impala. It was a luxury
vehicle from the muscle-car era. Meaning, it weighed as much as a cement truck,
but had the option of coming with a motor big enough to pick both front tires
up off the ground at a green light. It also happened to have a trunk lid long
enough and solid enough to lie down on. Good for star gazing or, in this case,
for talking to a tree.
I hauled
myself up on the driver’s side, leaned back against the rear glass, and looked
up at the tall oak. I counted the thick branches up the right side of the trunk
as best I could in the dark to where I knew that a dull gleam from a steel
padlock would shine through to reveal a grave marker. With each branch I
recalled my climb up to the thick knot of wood about twenty feet off of the
ground.
It was
all the higher I could climb with a black book bag full of tools strapped to my
back. When I had finally settled on a suitable location my hands were raw and
my muscles shaking. Tree climbing was a past time I thoroughly enjoyed as a
kid, but hadn't done it since before high school and it certainly showed. Even
so, in front of me was a knot where someone had once cut this branch's life
short. It would be the perfect spot for what I needed. I pulled out a cordless
drill and the first of several thick drill bits of various sizes. It didn't
take long for them to start gumming up since this was, in fact, still a living
tree. When I felt that I had finally made a deep enough hole and had ran out of
fresh bits I put the drill back in the bag and pulled out a small, white
biodegradable box with ashes inside. The nick-name of the tree didn't come from
its type, but from the name that used to belong to the ashes that I poured into
the hole seven branches from the bottom. He had been my oldest and closest
friend, but was never able to find his place in life. His name was Ceder and I
had hoped that here he would finally find peace. After filling the rest of the
hole in with wood glue I climbed down.
"I
wish you were still here." I began, still staring up into the glint of
metal between the branches. "I could really use someone trustworthy to get
advice from right about now. No one else really gets me the way you did."
I stopped for a moment; letting those words sink in before moving on to the
next topic. "Shotgun died this week. He was even younger than you and now
he's gone too. Oh, and there was a tall, cute girl at breakfast I think you
would've liked. She noticed my flames even. I still don't know why some people
see it and some don't, but I bet you would've figured it out by now."
After
that there was a long pause and finally I realized that I had summed up
everything that had been on my mind all week into just a few short sentences.
"I
really wish you were still here." I repeated, knowing instantly that that
had been the most important part of our little one-sided conversation. And,
with that there was nothing more to say. So I slid off the side of my car and
went inside to go to bed. That's when the dreams came.
