The Egg Said Nothing - Caris O'Malley [5]
“Here you go,” she said, sliding a plate of pie and an empty mug in front of me. She filled the cup from a carafe, which she left on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks.” I said quietly, giving her all the smile I could muster. I looked down at the pie, the gelatinous filling spilling over microwaved crumbles. I took a sip of bitter coffee. The pool of liquid in my mouth cooled before I swallowed it. I watched the waitress and took a tentative bite of pie. As I chewed, she wiped off tables, brushing errant crumbs to the floor.
The remainder of the pie glared up at me like a bad decision. Like a carpet stain. Like an impossibility.
I set my fork down on the edge of the plate. Rising from my seat, I looked in the waitress’s direction. She caught my gaze and smiled.
“Night,” she said, her back bent slightly as she rearranged the saltshaker and bottle of ketchup. I smiled back at her and turned towards the door. No bell jingled as I walked out, though I felt that one ought to have had. The air was cooler on my face than it had been on my way there. I walked across the street and paused upon reaching the other side. As I turned, I saw her pick up my dishes. Her face was as blank as if she were at work, cleaning up after a stranger. I headed home.
My feet carried me to my building. I walked straight for the elevator and was on my way to my safe haven, the place where I could sit and think. Elevator doors slid open, revealing the dimly lit hallway and—
“Oh, fuck.”
The mugger. Waiting outside my door with his goddamned shovel. He looked surprised to see me. I was surprised as shit to see him. He grinned and lifted the tool, testing its weight in his hands. He rushed toward me. I pressed the elevator’s down arrow and the doors began to close. He jabbed the head of the shovel into the elevator. Instinctively, I grabbed the business end and pulled up and away. It slid easily out of his hands.
Baffled, he looked down at his empty paws before charging me. I pirouetted out of the way, pretty fucking gracefully for a guy with a shovel, and darted out of the elevator. The asshole turned around, made another run at me. I wound up like Jose fucking Canseco and clanged that motherfucker right in his forehead. His legs swung from underneath him, all pendulum-like. He lay still on the ground.
I took a step away and helped myself to a deep breath. The garden tool felt familiar, like an old friend. I walked around the motionless body.
“Hey, you stupid fuck, apologize for frightening me so.” I kicked his leg. “Apologize or I’m gonna clang you in the fucking teeth.” He didn’t respond. I clanged him in the fucking teeth.
I dropped the shovel and bent over his face. Whatever he looked like before, he was a Picasso now. He’d have to steal a lot of purses to pay for the reconstructive surgery he’d need. I reached over and flicked him on the nose. Nothing.
“Huh,” I said aloud. “Maybe you’ll think a little harder before you try to fuck with somebody you don’t know.”
I soon reconsidered my brash statement. It didn’t appear he’d be thinking about much of anything, ever again. He couldn’t stay there, all lifeless and soaking into the carpet. Taking hold of his feet, I dragged him down the hallway. I leaned him against the back wall of the waiting elevator and tossed his shovel in after him. After pressing the down button, I watched as the doors closed and one of my problems disappeared into the bowels of the slum I called home.
Should I call the police? I wondered. Nah.
I shrugged my shoulders and walked into my apartment. Locking the door behind me, I immediately started telling the egg about the waitress.
~Chapter 3~
In which the narrator calls a telephone psychic.