AT TOM'S DINER (a short story, inspired by Suzanne Vega's lyrics

At Tom’s diner

a short story, by Viviana Giménez ®

(the lyrics are by Suzanne Vega)

I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner

Am I waiting for someone?  There’s absolutely no way for people to know that.  Still, I feel like there’s this aura on me that screams: “She’s alone…and lonely!”  It’s embarrassing, but of course, it must be all in my mind and I’m sure I can fool everyone.

I am waiting at the counter for the man to pour the coffee

Is he ignoring me?  Maybe if I had only said hi or something.  I should be more personable, the way I am has not taken me very far when it comes to relationships.  Even these everyday exchanges with strangers seem such a joy with people with a more affable personality.

I’m still waiting for my coffee, and feeling paranoid now.

And he fills it only half way and before I even argue

He is looking out the window at somebody coming in.

“It is always nice to see you,” says the man behind the counter

to the woman who has come in, she is shaking her umbrella

and I look the other way as they are kissing their hellos

and I’m pretending not to see them, and instead I pour the milk.

Of course, I knew it, I’m just a stranger, he only cares about the locals who stop by here every day.  Who am I, after all?  Not just out of town.  Out of country.  Out of nowhere.

            I look at them kissing and greeting each other and making small talk and I can’t help feeling envious.  I hate them and admire them at the same time.

I open up the paper, there’s a story of an actor

Who had died while he was drinking, it was noone I had heard of

I always fear something like this will happen to me.  You can be very famous: you can be as beautiful as Mariel Hemingway and rot in your room for several days before someone notices your absence and the foul odor.  You can die because you choked in your own vomit and no one was around to help.

And I’m turning to the horoscope and looking for the funnies

Just look on the bright side, that’s what my horoscope says.  So I look for the funnies.  What else will brighten up your day in a newspaper?  But comic strips can make fun of everything because they’re so unreal.  No one leads the life of a cartoon character.

When I’m feeling someone watching me and so I raise my head.

There’s a woman on the outside looking inside, does she see me?

No, she does not really see me ‘cause she sees her own reflection

Sometimes I feel like I’m watching a movie where everyone else is the star but me.  I’m just an espectator in a dark room.  The others are doing cool things and having the time of their lives.  I watch while I'm expecting to live one day.

            I wonder what this woman is thinking when she sees her own reflection.  Is she happy with the image the mirror shows back to her?  Does she wish she were me?  No, she does not really see me.

And I’m trying not to notice that she’s hitching up her skirt

And while she’s straightening her stockings her hair has gotten wet.

It’s embarrassing to stare or be stared at.  Even though we’re just two women who could be doing the same thing in a ladies room.  But it would be different there.  The street is no place to hitch up your skirt, the diner is no place to stare at a woman looking at herself in the window.

Oh, this rain, it will continue through the morning as I’m listening

To the bells of the cathedral

The rain just makes everything worse.  I would probably not feel so depressed today if it were not for this lousy weather.  But shiny days have their drawback as well.  What if the day is too good for me to enjoy in my terrible mood?

            Those bells remind me of something.  What is it?

I am thinking of your voice

And of the midnight picnic once upon a time before the rain began

Of course, you.  That night near the church.  The bench park.  You had this mysterious bag from where you suddenly produced a bottle of champagne, two glasses, a box of strawberries and a can of whipped cream.  I thought it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.  Until the rain began, and then it was all over.

And I finish up my coffee and it’s time to catch the train.

On the train, I feel myself again.  The road is a better place for me.  I’m not the only stranger now.  No one is a local on a train.