A (very) short story exercise.
The sound of breaking glass stopped her at her tracks.
“Ten years ago, I said I’d never look back. Now here I am, finding myself rehashing the past. The truth is, I hated being sheltered, now I hate myself for washing dishes from hicks and tricks who never wipe when they do the number two. Brutes. I used to be royalty, motherfuckers.”
On route 81 lies a diner, a haven for truck drivers and passers-by. This place has never seen nor made food that isn't processed.
With nimble fingers, Angela slowly begins to pluck every morsel from the melamine dishes, usually when its meatloaf smothered in sauce, or nachos and cheese it’s harder to clean when it dries off. So she scrubs the plates with her tousled hair framing her face.
She scrubs not because she wants to, but because she has to. For fear of that Indian guy, Najeeb.
That creepy supervisor who never seems to leave her alone.
“Angela, you better get the plates real clean this time.” Najeeb bobbles his head when he talks, in his monotonic voice. Bobble, bobble.
“I’m washing, am I not?”
“Yes, but Carmela says there’s particles on the plate!” Angela rolls her eyes and throws her hands exhaustively in submission. Suddenly, with an accusatory finger she points to Najeeb.
“How do you do that?”
“How I do what?” he reaches for the back of his neck, and his hand kind of stays there.
“That.” As Angela mimics Najeeb’s bobbling head and tone.
At this point, Najeeb is convinced. She is at her most beautiful state when she starts mocking him. There was a mystery to her, she was quiet and yet disturbing. Beautiful yet unnerving.
Najeeb, let out a sly smile. “Angie, I was wondering if….”
“Naj, if it isn’t something work-related, then spare me” She hates that name, Angie. She hates a lot of things, like the smell of the unclean kitchen and the fact that the cook smokes while he flips food of unknown provenance on the griddle.
Najeeb walks out of the kitchen knowing that blatant rejection was his idea of a challenge. Maybe someday. But for now, this wasn’t where she wanted to be.
