Bend Fly Run

Letter: Part 2

It was a slow morning. I can't recall why- probably the weather. Some days are too hot for fried eggs and coffee. Most of the staff had gone home. I'd spent the previous hour topping off Jamie's water, bending past him to wipe at nothing on the table and laughing at every word that he spoke. When a family of four finally left I slipped my notepad away and walked directly to his booth. He set down his paper and grinned.

I loved that grin.

Or I guess that's not true. Not yet. In the beginning I just loved the idea of it, what it implied. Everyone knew me in Walton. Everyone knew my parents or my siblings. Everyone knew me as young.

I didn't want to feel young.

When Jamie left Cam emerged from the kitchen and flipped the window sign to close. He told me I was reckless. He told me I was lucky our parents hadn't seen. He told me a married father of two, a thirty-five-year-old, should have no interest in talking to me.

Then he paced back to Jaime's table.

I watched with narrowed eyes as he pulled a rag from his pocket, scrubbed and wiped at every speck of someone else's meal. I looked around at the empty space I'd grown up in, the worn-leather booths and checkerboard ceiling. I listened to the familiar whirr of its fan. I stared down at a dull scuff on the tile- a scuff I could never get out. I turned back to Cam and I wanted to scream.

Instead I went home and found Jamie's Facebook. I sent a note asking about an article I had seen him reading. He wrote back the next day with a link. And somewhere in the ensuing weeks lines were crossed. Decisions made. At first it was thrilling- the crossing itself the appeal. The sneaking around. The careful calls and the secrets. I'd been waiting for something to happen in Walton. I'd been waiting and now it was mine.

You once told me that I lied well. I had to get better at it, you see. I had to learn.

This is how I learned.