Broken

Julie picks her head up off my chest.

“What are we doing Sammy?”

Sunlight streams through the window. It’s noon.



“Hey Sammy, order up!” Raul yelled at me passing by his counter full of orders needed to be taken out. I was running behind. Was it my fault that I was just having an off day? I seemed to be having more and more of those lately. My life was a juggling act of fire torches and I seemed destined to go down in a blazing inferno. I picked up the trays of food and walked out into the dining room.

Full house that night.

As I sat in the back for a breather and tried to get the baby throw-up off my shirt, I contemplated just walking out. It would be so easy. Just taking the apron off and walking out those doors.

I walked out the doors. Up to another table.

“How are you tonight?”

A woman looked up, alone at the table.

“Just peachy. How ‘bout you bucko?”

“I’m doing just wonderful. I’m Sammy and I’ll be serving you this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Well, let me see Sam-I-am. How ‘bout a nice glass of ‘get the heck outta my face while I try and decide what to order’? You serve that don’t you?”

“Are we expecting anyone else to join you tonight?”

“Don’t see anyone else in the booth. I guess a girl can’t just go get a nice dinner by herself, has to have someone to eat dinner with.”

“Excuse me a moment.”

“Be my guest.”

I walked away, thoroughly attracted.

She ordered chicken, dry, nothing on it and water to drink.

She lay down on the booth and took a nap.

She cursed me in French.

Her name was Julie. I asked her out.



Julie pours herself some of her cereal that tastes like cardboard. She sloshes milk everywhere and sweeps it back into her bowl. “I don’t want this to be cliché.”

“How can this not be cliché, Julie? We’re breaking up. That’s cliché in itself.”

“Well no, actually, if we stayed together, that would be cliché. We’re against the grain on this one.”

“No, because statistics are showing that—“

“No more statistics.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate when you start getting all those numbers out and I feel the drool start down the side—“

“I meant why are we breaking up?”

“Oh that’s an easy one. We just don’t work Sammy. We’re broken. We were broken when we started.”



One of Julie’s favorite places to visit was antique stores. I think it was because she hated anything new. Julie was an old world spirit. Antique stores may have many different types of objects from different time periods, but they had the same air about them.

We went to this one store. Browsed around for a bit. Julie came up to me, holding something behind her back.

Tears were in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She held out a picture in a dusty old frame. A woman stared out at me from the black-and-white photo.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Sure, I guess. Who is she?”

“My mother.”

“Really?”

“Yep, she’s yours too.”

“What? No she’s not.”

“She’s everyone’s mother. Everyone who didn’t have one.”

“I had one.”

“Fine, she’ll just be mine then.”



I’m sitting on the bed, watching Julie dress. She always starts from the top and works her way to the bottom. It’s some kind of good luck thing she picked up from one of her crazy religions. She walks over to me.

Kisses me on the forehead.

Turns and walks towards the door, opens it.

Turns back around to look at me.

“I don’t like fixing things Sammy.”

“You’ll get fixed though.”

“You think?”

“Yep. Some blonde bimbo will come right along after me and swoop you up.”

“I just want you to stay.”

“You want to stay like this?”

“If it means that you stay, then yes.”

The door shuts.

©Joseph Whitaker 2010