our windowsill

I felt a wave of nausea crash into me, as if I were a pebble on a shoreline. With my eyes cast downward, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, I walked swiftly into the back room. Sally peered at me over her bifocals as I closed the door behind me, smoke wafting from the cigarette that dangled limply between her red-stained lips. I could feel her watching me over her crossword puzzle as I struggled not to dry heave.

“Did the grease bubble over again? I hate that fuckin’ smell,” she coughed lightly, shaking her head. I didn’t respond, wiping my clammy hands on my apron over and over again. I couldn’t get my hands to stop sweating. I was sure Sally could hear my heart pounding, embarrassment reddening my cheeks.

“What’sa matter, baby?”

“Can you clock in for a sec?” I asked weakly. “I just need a minute.”

“Sure, hun. Anything I need to know before I head out there?”

I finally met Sally’s gaze. Her dark, penciled eyebrows were arched in concern, and mild annoyance. She wasn’t much older than my mom, but she looked like she could be my grandma. Her tan skin crinkled around her dark, twinkling eyes, her tortoiseshell glasses sitting at the end of her sharp nose. Her crimson lips scowled at me, almost daring me to lie to her and tell her everything was fine.

I gulped. I wasn’t afraid of Sally, but I was terrified of admitting that I was in way over my head with this breakup.

“Thomas and I broke up,” I said after a moment, fighting the tremble in my voice. “Mr. Simmer just kicked him out after he threatened a customer.”

Sally’s eyes widened, the cigarette almost dropping into her lap.

“Are you kidding?” she squawked, decades of smoke thickening her voice.

I shook my head.

“Was the customer gettin’ rowdy or something?”

“Well, I… I took his order.”

Sally’s shock warped into something angrier. “That’s all?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sally looked me over one more time and, with a sigh, squashed her cigarette in the ashtray on the breakroom table. With a loving rub on my back, she left the room, and I immediately went to open the window. I didn’t want the smoke to linger in case Mr. Simmer came back and smelled her habit. He hated that Sally smoked inside the restaurant, said it made the place smell like “white trash,” but I never minded. It was comforting at this point, and I could pick up the hints of her mixed with the tobacco. Her jasmine and rosewood perfume mingled delicately with the cigarettes, something that I always found beautiful and unique about Sally. It never smelled like what the men at the bar reek of after a couple of pints, later in the evening.

I took a shaky breath of fresh air as the clouds began to roll in. The air was cooling down, though it was still thick with humidity. I let the air cool my face as I took more steadying breaths. I remembered what my old pediatric therapist told me all those years ago about breathing through the pain, even though I wasn’t exactly grieving anything right now. The exercises always helped me calm down, and I needed to get back to work.

I thought of that boy at the counter, his dark, wavy hair falling into his eyes as Thomas ripped his hoodie down and threatened him at knifepoint. I thought about the surprise, the fear in his gaze as the switchblade glinted in the bar light. Another wave of nausea crashed over me, accompanied by guilt. I should have known better. It was too soon, too fresh in the breakup to start stirring the pot. What was I thinking, throwing myself at a boy right in front of Thomas?

I shook my head, scolding myself. I was doing my job. I was being kind to a stranger. I would have done it anyway, if Thomas weren’t there. He shouldn’t have that kind of influence on me, he never should have.

I remembered the boy’s swollen eye, his busted face. I flinched with guilt again. Even if I wasn’t in the wrong with Thomas, I certainly made the stranger’s bad day significantly worse. All sorts of thoughts and feelings swam around in my head.

Finally, after a minute of trying to settle myself, I grabbed a styrofoam cup and took a swig of ice cold water from the cooler. Shutting the window, I adjusted my uniform and headed back out to the dining area.

The lively chatter resumed, and I could hear Sally’s cackling laughter as she took an order from across the room. I chuckled in admiration; she was so good with people. One of the fastest friends a person could make, Mr. Simmer always said. I wandered behind the bar and started sorting cutlery, waiting for Sally to give the kitchen her order before I sent her back on her break. I felt some eyes on me, and chose to ignore them, figuring it was customers who had witnessed the outburst, until I heard someone softly clear their throat at the bar. I looked up, and saw the hooded stranger.

“I, um…” the young man faltered, peering at me from under his hood hesitantly. He had a fresh glint of anxiety in his eyes, and I noticed fresh blood crinkle from his busted lips as he subconsciously pursed them. I fought the urge to look at him with pity. I fucking hated pity, but it was hard not to visibly cringe at the wounds on his face. Suddenly, I remembered I hadn’t taken his order.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I admonished myself. “I am so sorry. You’ve been waiting forever, thank you for your patience. How can I help you today, sir?” I prepped my notepad, desperately hoping the burning shame on my face wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. I was not on top of my game today.

“No, no, it’s okay,” the young man insisted, fully meeting my gaze now. His green eyes were bright against the burst capillaries, and I once again struggled not to shrink with sympathy. I offered a small smile instead, that he fleetingly returned. “I just wanted a hot tea. And to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Sure thing,” I said, scrawling Tea on the ticket and placing it back in my apron pocket. I rifled through the tea bags under the counter, hardly touched unless I was prepping the next day’s sweet tea before clocking out. “Any flavor you prefer?”

“Black is fine.”

“Can do.” I poured a large mug of hot water and presented it to the young man, with some packets of sugar and creamer. “What kind of questions can I answer for you?”

He hesitated, drawing out the silence as he stirred the tea, watching the water turn a dark amber. I continued to roll silverware, the lull of the restaurant quieting to a dull hum as Sally rang up half the customers and clocked back out.

“Are you from around here?” the young man finally asked, still staring at his tea. I didn’t pause in my silverware rolling, but the question pricked my wariness. This was a question I was normally prepared for after sundown.

“More or less,” I answered, keeping my voice light. I didn’t need whatever bruised him to follow me home, either.

“This is my first stop off the Greyhound and I’m a bit lost,” he said, still refusing to meet my gaze. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to that, uh…” He cleared his throat, briefly glancing at me. “You’ve been very nice, so. I just hoped you could help me get my bearings, maybe point me toward some lodging or something.”

My body relaxed a bit, guilt pricking at my heart a bit. He was clearly down on his luck, and I’d immediately assumed the worst situation for myself. Maybe I wasn’t as nice as he thought I was.

“Well, welcome to Tanninburge,” I say. “We’re a small town on the edge of Delaware.”

His eyes widened. “Delaware?”

I nodded as concern grew in the pit of my stomach. “Are you coming from out of state? Maryland?”

“Wyoming.”

This led me to pause. That was days worth of travel by road. His bloodshot eyes were piercing mine over the lip of his mug as he sipped his tea. I noticed a small tremor in his hands as he set the mug back down, clattering unsteadily on the saucer.

“How did you say you got here again?” I asked quietly.

“I got here by bus.”

“Did the bus leave from Wyoming? No stops?” I pressed. He pursed his lips, wincing slightly, but did not answer. I heard a customer clear their throat at the cash register, and with an apologetic glance to the young man, went to ring them out. After doing a round in the dining area, filling waters and offering anything else before closing tabs, I went back to the kitchen.

“Can I give my lunch to one of the customers?” I asked Mr. Simmer, lowering my voice and turning my back to the service window. He arched a bushy eyebrow at me, jerking his head toward the young man at the bar with an implied clarification. I nodded. If this had been his first pitstop since Wyoming, as far as he was aware, then he must be starving. I didn’t want to charge him for a melt sandwich and steamed vegetables that I would have been getting for free. After all, my stomach was still fluttering with anxiety regarding Thomas. I wouldn’t be able to eat lunch if I wanted to.

“Just this once,” I insisted to Mr. Simmer. “He’s clearly had a hard day. And he’s not from around here, just visiting.” I wouldn’t give free hand-outs to a regular, as far as Mr. Simmer needed to know.

“You oughta get that soft spot checked out, Margie,” Mr. Simmer chuckled, shaking his head as he started making my regular ham and cheese melt. “It’s gonna bruise one day.”

As if it isn’t bruised already, I thought snarkily. As if I wasn’t on edge thinking about helping this boy any more than I should. Instead of retorting, I squeezed Mr. Simmer’s arm and flashed a smile in thanks, and headed back to the dining area.

“If you need a place to stay,” I said quietly, refilling his mug with hot water and plopping in a fresh teabag, “then you’re going to want to go to the motel closer to uptown. It’s called the Fairweather Motel, it has a little umbrella on the sign outside. How much money do you have?”

The young man was staring at me, jaw hanging slightly open as he watched me pour another cup of tea. When I asked about the money, his cheeks reddened.

“Not a lot. I don’t need anywhere fancy, just… somewhere dry.”

“Somewhere dry? It doesn’t even need to be indoors?” I teased lightly.

He simply shook his head.

I met his gaze again, my heart pinching with worry. Before I could respond, Mr. Simmer whistled behind me. I turned and saw the melt and veggies steaming off the plate he placed on the service window. I quickly nabbed it, mouthed thank you to Mr. Simmer, and set the plate down next to the young man’s tea mug.

The young man’s face deepened to a crimson.

“I didn’t… I can’t afford that.”

I shook my head. “You’re not being charged for it. This is typically my lunch, but I wanted to make sure you had something to eat before you hopped back on another insanely long bus ride.” I meant it as a lighthearted joke, but I couldn’t keep the worry out of my voice.

The young man shook his head back at me. “I won’t steal your lunch, ma’am.”

I shook my head again, exaggerated. “My name isn’t ma’am, it’s Margo. And if it’ll make you feel better…” I snatched his fork, took a few steamed carrots from his plate, and ate them.

“There,” I said, mouth full of honey glazed carrot. “I’m stuffed. Please, enjoy my leftovers.” I swallowed the food and handed him his fork back.

His jaw dropped again, this time a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. I shrugged at him, sharing his smile as I went to bus a couple of tables.