It was
solid. It had a quiet glow.
"Long night?"
"Yes." It hurt to think about it. He was still disoriented. The diner
had appeared in the night like a miracle. "We all got troubles, I
guess," he said to break the silence.
"What's her name?"
"Heidi," he said, surprised. The name tore through him.
"Heidi, huh." The waitress took a drag from her cigarette. "You're a
good looking guy. She good looking?"
He could have said, not like you, but he didn't have it in him. He
nodded.
"It's hard sometimes," she said. "I don't mean to be telling you what
to do, but you might feel better if you cleaned up a little, got those
pieces of leaf or whatever out of your hair." Will reached up and felt
the back of his head.
"I slept in the woods a couple of hours."
"You look it. Your mother'd give you hell."
"Don't have a mother."
"Oh. I _am_ a nosy bitch."
"You're not a bitch," Will said. It was important to get something
right. "You're not a bitch. I was at a concert. We were."
"You and Heidi."
"And a bunch of her friends. It was at Cornell. String quartet. I had
to wear a tie."
"Guess you got rid of the tie."
"It's in the car--with the rest of the uniform. I'm in the service, the
Air Force. Only dress up clothes I had."
"My brother was in the Navy twenty years. Gets a check now, every
month."
"I won't make twenty."
"I've never been to a quartet," she said.
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