Meetings & Yesteryears: “Like Red on a Rose” Chapter One, Part III
Piri loved working the night shift for two reasons: she’s a night owl, and she rarely had to deal with children. There’s the stream of nocturnal weirdos, sure, but against the life she lived, their eccentricities ran dry. You can’t win a game of Crazy Chicken against someone who did anything to survive. This night was tame. Mostly. She sensed a bit of tension from a group of her regulars.
She was in the bathroom when they came in, so they weren’t on her dance card. Because of that, she only knew what she picked up in passing. Something about not acknowledging a girlfriend’s presence and not caring if she died. Said girlfriend left the diner crying, and her fella tossed a glass of water in Silent Treatment’s face before joining her.
The first thing Rudella noticed was Piri’s gloves, fingerless and lace. A striking sight in most places, but definitely in this Indiana eatery. Piri told Rudella, after they made love for the first time, that’s how she noticed her. She basically greeted people with one of eight stock jokes about her eye patch, so she was pleasantly startled when Rudella’s attention was on her hands.
Piri also revealed, in the afterglow, that she started wearing those gloves because she broke out into hives her first night waitressing. But here, they’re strangers with that and much, much, much, much more ahead of them.
Piri’s attention was split twixt Rudella and the drama of her regulars, until Rudella remarked on the laced hand gripping the coffee pot. She’d hear their story the next time the group was in, so she focused on earning her tip. Besides, they weren’t her table that night. In mortuary college, Rudella picked up the peculiar habit of dipping fries in creamy soups. To Piri’s surprise, even if it’s cream of potato.
The night was average, so Piri was able check in with small talk. She hated it because it rarely led to meaningful conversation, which she adored, but she learned that customers were like cacti. A little water went a long way. Rudella also hated small talk; something they sensed in each other.
Though it wasn’t Christmastime, they got into the stop-start rhythm of their disdain for “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, pride of Chicago. The town gave him shit for being different until it benefited them. The two closed out agreeing that fair-weather friends were the worst. Piri was bummed that Rudella left, but liked watching her leave.
A few nights later, Rudella comes back to a slightly packed house. Piri’s her waitress, but she was having a pistachio situation. The wife of an elderly couple was having a fit because her ice cream wasn’t what she asked. Piri prided herself on her ability to take orders. Plus, it’s hard to mishear “pistachio ice cream”. None of this mattered to the wife. The husband was a broken man long before he sat down.
Piri chose to be compassionate to the world, but the service industry taught her that compassion was on a spectrum. She decided to handle the nag in a Bugs Bunny sort of way, setting up a series of logic traps that ended with the couple leaving. Tipless, but satiating Piri’s server sadism was worth more than what they would’ve left.
She knew the rest of her shift would be a series of similarities, so she told Rudella when she’s working again and sent her off with a cherry Dum-Dum.
Rudella came back the night she was told, and knew that getting there later meant business was slower meant that they could have meaningful conversation. She’d pay for it at work, but being somber and being sleepy looked similar to the layman. Piri appreciated the rationale, though she secretly worried that Rudella wouldn’t show up.
After a while, Piri addressed the elephant in the booth and asked why Rudella hadn’t asked about her eye patch. Rudella figured everyone did, so she wasn’t unless Piri brought it up. Piri asked what’d be a good Halloween costume for her, daring her to resist the obvious Sexy Pirate. Success. May at the end of “May”. Piri was piqued; Rudella told her that May gouged out her lazy eye, then gave it to the doll she made out of human body parts.
Rudella liked to let people know what they’re in for with her as soon as possible. Her philosophy was that if they wouldn’t get along, it was better to rip the bandage off instead of tug it. Piri said that she’d look for “May” the next day.
A month’s worth of coffee and soup-dipped fries later, Rudella received a gift from Piri as she paid her bill. Rudella didn’t have many women friends because she tended to get lost in the fantasy of being in a relationship with them. Because of that, she put a lot of effort into trying to view the waitress through a platonic lens.
Then a crush turned into a like.
Piri took whatever opportunities presented themselves. Her philosophy was that you missed 100% of the chances you didn’t take. Rudella seemed like a chance worth taking, so she made her a mix CD. As you can imagine, a fan of Aqua and System of a Down had the capacity to make a chaotic setlist. Because her main influence was radio, there was no rhyme or reason in the songs she chose.
Rudella picked a cardinal direction and aimlessly drove through all 79:43 of “Lake Stop Hot Shot”. Alexandra Stan’s “Mr. Saxobeat” was one of many surprises, and she latched onto Unwound’s “Terminus”. Rudella repaid the effort her next visit by giving Piri “Skullomania”. Since she grew up with albums, Rudella’s setlist had a flow. Myrath’s “Braving the Seas” rocked her down to her gel insoles.
Life went on, with all its undulations, ’til Rudella and Piri met a photographer who’d change everything.
The Fine Print
Rudella and Piri wish to inform you, dear reader, that they represent no one but themselves.
They neither belong to any group nor want to belong.
Whatever good or bad Rudella and Piri do is a reflection of Rudella and Piri.
They have no interest in your politics.
They’ll disappoint you. A lot.
They don’t have to like what you like.
They don’t have to like who you like.
They want neither fame nor acclaim for being who they are.
They get that you might see yourself in them, but that doesn’t mean you can hate them for not making your choices.
They don’t owe you anything.
They don’t make pop culture references to impress you. They live in the real world, and the real world has video games and Tori Amos.
And, most importantly, they’re fiction.
If these things aren’t to your liking, do the adult thing and stop reading now. They won’t get offended. There’s plenty out there with you in mind. Don’t waste your time with an obviously bad fit.
If you’re sticking around, welcome to the freakshow.
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