My first week back goes quicker than I expect. My boss lets me do half shifts and says I'll only get part-time pay for this week, but he tells me in a happy voice. He even smiles and says he wishes I wasn't going. I don't know what to say to this or how to react so I just apologise and say bye.
The sun shines through the dusty bus and I sit with my head vibrating against the window. The weather has been good recently. In the evening, after I get home from work, I sit in my room and watch the sun through my bedroom window painting the clouds orange, red, pink and purple.
The past week has gone by so fast. My Mum hasn't given me any more university prospectus' to look at. I don't think she's given up hope though. I spoke to Sarah: she still hasn't had a chlamydia test yet. I haven't heard back from the café. I feel good with these little anxieties. Like these are the kinds of things I should be feeling. My Mum cries when people die on TV but I remember going to my Uncle's funeral when I was fifteen and I didn't feel a thing. During the sermon I held my hand up to my face and covered my eyes for a bit, my Mum put her hand over my shoulders and rubbed them gently, but I wasn't crying. Of course I felt sad, and I miss him, but I didn't feel like crying.
My Mum and I make dinner and then wash up together. We don't really talk about anything this whole time but it doesn't really feel like we need to.
I am drinking glass after glass of water. I run the tap and fill my glass, then drink it in a couple of seconds, looking at the bottom, and then start filling it again, I wake up and my mouth is dry, I have a headache and the sun is shining on me. I wash in the sink and have some instant coffee and ibuprofen for breakfast, before running to the bus stop.
There's no one at the bus stop and only a couple of people on the bus when it comes. When I get to the restaurant there are no customers there. I decide to sweep outside, while it is sunny. When I've brushed all the dried dirt and dead leaves off the yellow paving slabs in front of the restaurant I feel proud of myself. I have left one single paving slab unswept and I look over all of them comparing them to this single paving slab.
A BMW pulls up in the car park and two people get out: an old retired couple. The man is wearing mustard corduroys. I follow them into the restaurant holding my broom and go and put it in the store cupboard before going behind the bar to serve them.
They would like two black coffees.
I tell them to sit wherever they like.
It's just me and the old couple in the restaurant, for a long time. The sun is coming through the windows and the whole restaurant is well lit. Later there will be a rush of people coming in after their work-day has finished ordering drinks and food and I'll go into the kitchen and Mozart will look up and say hallo and Ant will say something obnoxious.
The couple say thank you and leave. I clear away their coffees and take their cups to the dishwashing area. No one is there yet. I set everything down and go back out into the restaurant.
My head feels like it's swelling. I look at the clock continually. I feel its beating arm, pulling itself round in a circle. I feel short of breath, like the arm is winding a cord around my neck. I wipe down all the tables, chairs and the bar. In all the time it takes me to do this no one comes in.
Finally, John, a waiter who works part-time, comes in. We talk and this makes the time go quicker. He tells me about school and some essays he has to write. I pretend to seem interested until customers start to come in.
Pretty soon the bar is full of people drinking, eating, making orders. I go into the kitchen. Mozart isn't at his sink. He and Ant are standing at the firedoor, which is always left open. They're talking. They're smiling at each other. They both laugh about something and Ant slaps Mozart on the back. Mozart comes back round to his sink. He spots me and is grinning.
'Hallo,' he says.
'Hi,' I say, cautiously.
Ant looks over from his work area. I expect him to say something insulting but he doesn't.
'I heard you're leaving,' he says.
'Next Friday, I mean not this Friday, but the Friday after.'
'Ah right. Where're you going?'
'What?'
'Do you have another job lined up?'
'Er…kind of. I don't know.' I laugh.
'Well that's fucking stupid,' he says.
I agree and shrug my shoulders. I pick up some plates that are to be taken out and look at the ticket to see what table they are for. I walk out of the kitchen with the plate and the ticket, opening the door with my backside. I look up and both Ant and Mozart are looking at me. Ant makes a last ditch attempt at a joke: 'I guess you could always sell your body,' but I am already out in the restaurant area.
I take the plates to a couple sitting by a window. As soon as I set them down someone else asks for a bill. Time is moving in fast forwards.
The sun shines through the dusty bus and I sit with my head vibrating against the window. The weather has been good recently. In the evening, after I get home from work, I sit in my room and watch the sun through my bedroom window painting the clouds orange, red, pink and purple.
The past week has gone by so fast. My Mum hasn't given me any more university prospectus' to look at. I don't think she's given up hope though. I spoke to Sarah: she still hasn't had a chlamydia test yet. I haven't heard back from the café. I feel good with these little anxieties. Like these are the kinds of things I should be feeling. My Mum cries when people die on TV but I remember going to my Uncle's funeral when I was fifteen and I didn't feel a thing. During the sermon I held my hand up to my face and covered my eyes for a bit, my Mum put her hand over my shoulders and rubbed them gently, but I wasn't crying. Of course I felt sad, and I miss him, but I didn't feel like crying.
My Mum and I make dinner and then wash up together. We don't really talk about anything this whole time but it doesn't really feel like we need to.
I am drinking glass after glass of water. I run the tap and fill my glass, then drink it in a couple of seconds, looking at the bottom, and then start filling it again, I wake up and my mouth is dry, I have a headache and the sun is shining on me. I wash in the sink and have some instant coffee and ibuprofen for breakfast, before running to the bus stop.
There's no one at the bus stop and only a couple of people on the bus when it comes. When I get to the restaurant there are no customers there. I decide to sweep outside, while it is sunny. When I've brushed all the dried dirt and dead leaves off the yellow paving slabs in front of the restaurant I feel proud of myself. I have left one single paving slab unswept and I look over all of them comparing them to this single paving slab.
A BMW pulls up in the car park and two people get out: an old retired couple. The man is wearing mustard corduroys. I follow them into the restaurant holding my broom and go and put it in the store cupboard before going behind the bar to serve them.
They would like two black coffees.
I tell them to sit wherever they like.
It's just me and the old couple in the restaurant, for a long time. The sun is coming through the windows and the whole restaurant is well lit. Later there will be a rush of people coming in after their work-day has finished ordering drinks and food and I'll go into the kitchen and Mozart will look up and say hallo and Ant will say something obnoxious.
The couple say thank you and leave. I clear away their coffees and take their cups to the dishwashing area. No one is there yet. I set everything down and go back out into the restaurant.
My head feels like it's swelling. I look at the clock continually. I feel its beating arm, pulling itself round in a circle. I feel short of breath, like the arm is winding a cord around my neck. I wipe down all the tables, chairs and the bar. In all the time it takes me to do this no one comes in.
Finally, John, a waiter who works part-time, comes in. We talk and this makes the time go quicker. He tells me about school and some essays he has to write. I pretend to seem interested until customers start to come in.
Pretty soon the bar is full of people drinking, eating, making orders. I go into the kitchen. Mozart isn't at his sink. He and Ant are standing at the firedoor, which is always left open. They're talking. They're smiling at each other. They both laugh about something and Ant slaps Mozart on the back. Mozart comes back round to his sink. He spots me and is grinning.
'Hallo,' he says.
'Hi,' I say, cautiously.
Ant looks over from his work area. I expect him to say something insulting but he doesn't.
'I heard you're leaving,' he says.
'Next Friday, I mean not this Friday, but the Friday after.'
'Ah right. Where're you going?'
'What?'
'Do you have another job lined up?'
'Er…kind of. I don't know.' I laugh.
'Well that's fucking stupid,' he says.
I agree and shrug my shoulders. I pick up some plates that are to be taken out and look at the ticket to see what table they are for. I walk out of the kitchen with the plate and the ticket, opening the door with my backside. I look up and both Ant and Mozart are looking at me. Ant makes a last ditch attempt at a joke: 'I guess you could always sell your body,' but I am already out in the restaurant area.
I take the plates to a couple sitting by a window. As soon as I set them down someone else asks for a bill. Time is moving in fast forwards.
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