No Ice

He moved away from the counter with his third Dr Pepper refill and sat alone with his books at the table for four. The waitress behind the counter frowned at him once he had turned away. The waitress who was clearing the salad bar noticed the face her coworker had made, and decided to ask about it when she wheeled the condiment stand into the kitchen.

�What�s the matter?�

�The phantom student is here again.�

�Who?�

�He wasn�t around last semester, and I didn�t miss him.�

�Who!�

�You never closed before, did you?�

�Could you tell by the way I broke down the salad bar?� the waitress laughed.

�No,� the other said. �It�s him. This is already about the tenth time this semester I saw him in here and it�s always the same. He�ll keep drinking Dr Peppers, no ice, and studying until closing time.�

�So?�

�I don�t know. There�s just something not right about studying like that.�

�But it�s even quieter here this time of night than it is in the library stacks.�

�Yeah, but I still think there�s something wrong with working the way he does. He studies too much.�

�My teachers always said there was no such thing as studying too much.�

�I thought that too, until he started coming here. He almost killed himself a couple semesters back.�

�Suicide? Why?�

�Who knows? I think he got his first B in something.�

�His first B ? When I got my first B, I threw a party.�

�I hear that. We expect C�s and thrill to get B�s. But not the phantom student. When he lost the four-oh, he freaked.�

�How?�

�Next time he comes up, look at his wrists. He would have made it if a friend of mine from his rooming house didn�t walk in on him. Now he�s working on doing it again.�

The waitress who had just finished closing the salad bar for the night had to go around clearing and wiping down the tables before taking her shift behind the counter so the other could mop up. She saved the tables around the studier for last. By the time she got over to his section, all of the other tables were clean and empty. They were the only three in the place.

�Would you like another DP yet?�

He looked up from his notes. �Yes, thanks. No ice.� As he stretched the cup toward her, the waitress stared at two long dark red lines, starting just after the palm and ending where his forearm thickened. They were just changing from dark red to scar toned. He looked into her eyes and smiled. She snatched the cup and hurried away.

When she returned and placed the soda on his table, he asked, �How can you stand working this late at night?�

�I was going to ask you the same thing,� the waitress said. �What is this?�

�Microbiology,� he answered. �Midterm�s tomorrow.�

�Ew! I try to say clear of that stuff.�

�What�s your major?�

�Special Ed.�

�What�s so special about Special Ed?�

�The kids.�

�Sure,� he said. �I was trying to joke.�

�Oh,� the waitress said. �Well, I�ll let you get back to your science.�

When she got back behind the counter, the other waitress was already in the back getting out the mop and bucket. Before wheeling the bucket out front, the waitress used to closing asked the new one, �So what do you think of the phantom student?�

�I can�t believe it.�

�Did you see the scars?�

�How could I miss them?�

�Yeah, he did a fine job on himself, didn�t he? Most people think the cuts go across the wrists, but not him. That guy knows his shit.�

�How was he saved?�

�The bathroom door doesn�t lock. The girl who accidentally found him in the tub is in a lot of my classes.�

�He seems pretty normal to me.�

�Look out at those tables,� the knowledgeable waitress said. �How many people do you see?�

�We�re here.�

�We have to be.�

The regular night shift worker started her mopping over near the student�s table, not troubling to make her work quiet or discreet.

The student looked up from his notes. �Can you get me another refill, please?�

�Take it up to the counter, please. I�ve got mopping to do. We close in less than a half hour, you know.�

As he stood up, he looked at his watch. �Twenty minutes,� he said, and turned to the counter.

As the waitress behind the counter gave him the refill and a new straw, she couldn�t help asking, �How come you study here instead of at the library?�

�I like looking at cowgirls,� he smiled.

�Right. These uniforms look ridiculous.� She fingered the skirt's hem self-consciously.

�The lights are terrible in that library,� he answered seriously. �Did you ever study there?�

�I do all my homework in my room,� the waitress said.

�I don�t like studying in my room.�

�Oh.�

�I guess this is my last refill for tonight.�

The waitress looked at the wall clock. �Guess so. Good luck with your Micro midterm.�

�Thanks,� he said, starting back to his table.

�Was it really because you got a B ?� His head snapped back around to her, and when she saw his eyes, the waitress realized she had overstepped something. �I�m sorry. Don�t answer that.�

�It�s okay,� the student said. �At the time I didn�t think so, but getting that B was the best thing that could have happened to me. It took off all the pressure, like when a tough lid finally turns and air has a chance to get in.�

�Well, that�s good then.�

�Sure.�

The waitress walked back to her room exhausted from her first night shift. She was sure she�d fall asleep as soon as she threw off her uniform and hit the mattress. Her coworker walked part of the way with her. Even though it was only her first night, she disagreed with all she was hearing about the �phantom student,� and was sure she knew him better than the other waitress did. Suicide is the danger in taking this life too seriously, and she�d often been guilty of that herself. From her bed, just before nodding off she tried to wish him well and send him confident thoughts. But just as she felt sure she knew him better than her coworker could, she was also sure he�d do worse on tomorrow�s midterm than he�d ever done in any.

When the student got back to his room, he couldn�t fall asleep. This was nothing new, since this was another night before an exam. Even after he had convinced himself that he�d studied as well as he could and was as ready as he could be, he was still distracted. He wasn�t letting himself think about his notes, possible questions and his answers�what usually gave him insomnia. But he couldn�t stop thoughts of the new night waitress from keeping him awake.

This page is maintained by
Jeff and Cathy Romanczuk, [email protected]