Slow Dancing - Bonnie Smetts

Shit, I’m up running around my little room looking for my uniform, I’d laid it out all nice the night before, but I don’t remember doing that and now I’m wondering where it is. As I’ve said a few times, I’m not at my best first thing. Especially now that I’d volunteered to take care of the diner until Richard is out of danger, that’s what Shirley said to me, and that’s what the doctors had said to her.

And so there’s me, trying to run the diner all on my own, me an Roalo, him cooking and me taking the order and delivering the food when it’s ready, when he’s hit the little domed with the bell inside letting me know I gotta hurry again.

But this morning, the third morning in a row I gotta get up, I set an alarm. I took the little clock from Shirley’s desk to the side of the kitchen where she makes up the order for food. I had to borrow the clock because I had to have somebody tell me to wake up. And today it had been especially hard.

I’d been drifting along in sleep, slowing dancing with somebody that I love, with a feeling I’d never felt in real life. I’d had this dream a few times, and I’m not one to remember dreams, but this one, I remember every single one. A soft feeling, a feeling that I’m all filled up with this softness, a feeling that I’m sure is better than going to heaven. And I never know who’s the person that’s loving me so sweetly, just rocking me back and forth, and last night we were dancing to a slow waltz, at least that’s what I’d like to think it was. And we weren’t even holding on too tightly, just resting together like laundry blowing into each other in the wind.

And suddenly I’m up, this buzzer screaming in my ear. At first I can’t figure out what the damn noise is. Buzzing, buzzing into my dream. Then both eyes open, I see it’s dark and then I remember that I got to crack the eggs, grate two million potatoes and all the rest. And I forget that I’d tried to help myself out by laying out my dress at the end of my bed.

And that wasted me a few precious minutes, getting put together to clomp on down the stairs, turn the key to the diner, and light up the place so that we can get to work. Roalo’s waiting at the back door. We do our little bows,

“Good morning,” I say.

He nods, “Good morning.”

“Here we go again, huh?” I say, and he nods again. And so we’re off, pulling the buckets out from under the kitchen counter, seems like we’d just washed them and put them away. And I’m washing the potatoes in the big sink before I realize I haven’t put my apron on the cover up my pink uniform. I’m already wet and I’m already tired. That’s when I realize I haven’t made the coffee and that’s when I know I got a good place to start to make me a better day.