The Egg Said Nothing - Caris O'Malley [8]
She smiled her half smile and turned away, moving back through the door into the restaurant. I watched her figure pass by the large window before continuing on my own way.
I stopped off at the liquor store and bought two bottles of cheap red wine and carried the paper bag home quickly.
Once there, I put the bag on the kitchen counter and wandered into the bedroom. The egg was sitting where I left it, looking comfortable and cozy. I ran my fingers over its top.
In the kitchen, I took the two bottles out of the bag, opened the cabinet and pulled out a wine glass. I felt it in my hand. It was a gift from my mother. She has Alzheimer’s and isn’t aware of anything I do, so I take things out of her apartment to save them. She already threw away all of the family photo albums. My entire photographic past sits in a landfill, buried beneath diapers and coffee grounds. This glass was part of a set my grandmother treasured.
I set the glass on the counter and pulled the wrapping off one of the wine bottles. A cork. I thought for sure there would be a screw top on such cheap shit. I went to the junk drawer and took out a hammer. Tilting the neck of the bottle against the counter’s edge, I gave it a tap, sending glass flying across the countertop.
After pouring a drink, I swirled the liquid around to let the aroma escape. Then I threw back the wine like a shot and smashed the glass on the floor, celebrating my first drink like a Jewish wedding. I wiped the back of my hand on my pants and picked up the bottle. The living room seemed inviting, so I sat down on the couch and stared at the empty television, looking at the reflection of my apartment behind me in the blank screen.
I took a pull of the wine, not caring to avoid the jagged glass. My eyelids drooped. My body was warm, and, for a moment, I didn’t feel alone.
~Chapter 5~
In which the narrator has a real conversation with the waitress.
Prior to the egg’s appearance, I did almost nothing. I would sneak out at night to loot fountains to pay for bills and sustenance. Other than that, I mostly slept a lot and stayed home. Late night television was a good friend of mine. I didn’t talk to anyone. My phone was almost exclusively ornamental, and my computer was only ever turned on to play a few halfhearted games of Minesweeper.
As odd as it all seemed, my life was going somewhere. I felt a desire for human contact for the first time in as long as I could remember. And I couldn’t help but think that the sudden responsibility I felt for the egg, combined with all the violence I had been experiencing, meant something. It was not only that my life was going somewhere; it was that something seemed to dictate its direction.
Deciding to go along for the ride, I left my apartment. I walked down the street and caught a movie. It was an old one, some cheesy sci-fi flick about radioactive weasels. I had no real desire to see it, but it would kill the requisite amount of time. As I left the theatre, I felt tightness in my chest. I was nervous. The heaviness in my feet only made the problem worse. I wanted more than anything to see the waitress again. But I was scared.
If I acted improperly, everything would be lost. All the happiness I fantasized about would be history, or rather, the opposite of history. If I did things right, I had a real shot at it.
Of course, that wasn’t going to be easy. I had no evidence at all that the waitress dug me in any sense of the term. I didn’t even know if she was interested in being a casual acquaintance, let alone a life partner. All I really knew was that she was beautiful, and I wanted her to spend her time with me. It didn’t seem so much to ask.
By the time I made it to Pete’s, my breath was difficult to manage. I was sweating profusely. Looking down to ascertain the condition of my clothes, I realized I was wearing the same ones from yesterday.