At the diner, part 1

It's 3:30 AM and I'm sitting in a shitty little diner doing my homework, because what the hell else would I be doing at 3:30 AM on a Saturday? What was I doing the night before? Don't I care about any of this school shit? And more importantly, don't I care about being a proper adult, the kind that goes to bed at a decent time and definitely doesn't go to a diner at an unreasonable hour and buy illicit things on the dark, scary internet? Who the fuck am I?

A website I don't trust anymore just told me I write like Cory Doctorow. Who is that? And why does he write like me? There are so many uncertain things this early in the morning. For example, how many waitresses have come and gone since I got here, and who, if any of them, remembers that I paid for coffee AND a tea, damnit. Both cups are empty.


Fortunately, my brain doesn't really care too much- it's been buzzing along happily without refills, which is I guess proof that medication works. On me, anyway. If I could get high off my own prescriptions, I'd be pretty fucked pretty soon. S'all I'm sayin'. 

Earlier, I went out for a smoke and it was way too cold outside for anyone, and I had a really awkward imaginary conversation with my boyfriend and some guy I went out with for a terrifying week a long time ago. In my mind, I was walking through the mall with my boyfriend, and a guy stopped, like he recognized me, and said "Hey! Meghan!" 

In my mind, we stopped walking. I looked at the person who had called me, and I struggled for a moment to place him while my bf looked at me with a curious look on his face. 

 And then, oh no. No, it wasn't. Fuck. It WAS. It was HIM. THAT GUY.

I remembered that guy. 

Since he clearly remembered me, and since we'd all stopped walking and were now staring at each other in an awkward little triangle, I thought I'd better say something.

So I said, as cheerily as I could, "Hey!" 

And then we exchanged (un)pleasantries while my brain yelled out things about drugs and bad decisions. I was perfectly enthusiastic, totally normal, and not at all as legitimately terrified as I was. Because I would be, if I ever did run into him again. It would all come back, and I'd have to look at Past-Meghan again and we really didn't get along. 

This all sounds much worse than it is. 

Anyway, after we'd finished up and went on our separate ways, my bf turned to me and asked "so, what the fuck?" 

And I told him, while my brain cringed inside my skull. I'd imagine my hands were probably shaking a bit at this point. 

And then I was outside again, smoking in the freezing cold outside a shitty diner so early in the AM it was still dark. My everything was numb, and my cigarette was disgusting. I ground it out with my boot, and went back inside.
 

Something I wrote months ago

Tonight I met my memory of my best friend as a child. He called himself “Peter,” but he had the same intelligence in his eyes and I knew it was him. We talked about dreams and travelling and things insomniacs see out of the corners of their eyes (but don’t talk about except to other insomniacs), and he waited for me while I peed on the beach. I almost thought he’d disappeared back into the shadows, and I had a flicker of acceptance for something I hadn’t put words to yet. Something personal and deeply calming. But then he was there, and we walked back to my car while I waited for the hangover to pass. We almost robbed a bank- he picked it out like he was casing a job.

- and I remembered-

In eighth grade, me and my friends camped out for opening night at the Royal Theatre. We wore our Harry Potter scarves, and ordered pizza to the sidewalk, and across the street, a drunk person tried to break into the BMO in broad daylight. At least 3 police cars pulled up, and it was the only time I’d ever seen guns being held up, like proper guns. No one got shot- the drunk tried to hide under a truck outside the bank, and everything was taken care of before anyone knew anything had happened. But I remember, when everyone moved away and tried to duck behind doorways and behind vehicles (so they could watch without been seen to have watched) I ran up to the corner, and stood behind a tree in case any stray bullets came my way. My mom yelled at me, I think, but I don’t remember why she would have been there, so I might have imagined her. 

“-Hold my hand!” I said hurriedly, and we walked past, politely trying to stay out of their way. He had his hand stuck in his pocket and I’m sure the bank officers saw through it. Peter laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, and I found myself hoping we never ended up somewhere where he had to keep a straight face, or have a pretense of any sort. 

I worried about Jessica when we got to my car. What if she’d walked into something awful after I saw her turn that last corner? But then I found something else to say, something bitchy and snarky, and I forgot I used to be the kind of person who would’ve walked her home even if I hated her, which I still don’t. 

I drove Christopher Rabbit home, and I made him show me where he *really* lived. He was quiet for a second, and then he said he felt guilty for having 3 vehicles in the driveway while kids were starving in Ethiopia. It didn’t sound cheesy or stupid, though. He just said it. It was just something you might say if you were drunk and confused and yet certain of your own shit being total shit at 4:30 AM and therefore important. 

We hugged, and he kissed my neck. It was sort of a peck- he’d told me he sees demons, and I asked him what they looked like, so we were sort of friends now, anyway- and less intimate than a proper kiss. He might’ve been leaning in for a proper kiss, but I’m good at awkward moments. He’d also told me he was gay, or at least on the spectrum of- like that really means anything. But he’d said it, and I was holding him to it.

I have the name he called himself and a pre-approved friend request on Facebook. I have a dead phone, and the hope that I’m a better person than Julie was. I also have a boyfriend, who’ll wonder what sorts of things I’ve been up to when I tell him he wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had, and who’ll fear the worst no matter how honest I am. Besides, he knows me a little, so he’ll probably believe me. I wish things like that happened when he was around. He always thinks I’m exaggerating when I tell him where I was.