The Beginning of My Freeze-Frame Narrative

The tired waitress is standing attentively next to a lonely table of two by the only window. In her left hand, she grips a battered grey notepad. In her right hand, she clutches a fluffy pink biro. Her body is leaning towards the elderly couple seated before her, holding hands lovingly over the table’s wooden surface. The waitress’s curly auburn hair is pinned on the top of her head with a black grip, strands have fallen around her face from the mad rush an hour ago. The generic black apron is tied tight, and is wrapped a whole two times around her petite waist. Patches of scrambled egg and brown sauce which have escaped certain plates earlier stand out against the black cotton. The elderly couple smile warmly at her, greeting her with familiarity. The elderly lady wears a neat purple flowery shirt buttoned to the top, complete with a sparkly butterfly broach on the crisp white collar. The elderly gentleman wears his usual cream shirt, his usual light brown tie, and has his usual dark brown blazer resting comfortably around the back of the leather chair. Before she has chance to ask them what they would like she knows. They never change. Always two large lattes and always two toasted current teacakes without butter. The waitress politely nods. But something immediately catches her attention outside. It couldn’t be. Dropping the pad and pen she runs through the door hoping to catch him but once she’s outside he’s vanished, nowhere to be seen. It is as if he has evaporated into the atmosphere around her. Then she remembers. He said he was never coming back.


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