I'm not going to call this a memoir. I'm going to call it what it was: a dream. One long dream interspersed with brief, jarring moments of reality that faded until they were as black as the ice that freezes on the highway. You can't see it, but it's there, and it'll kill you if you don't go slowly.
Much like people. People can kill you, too, without you ever seeing them.
Sneaky little buggers.
The waitress came to my table again, her short hair curled in a way that screamed "I'm middle-aged!" She fluffed out her apron to retrieve a pen and paper from the side pouch, filling the already coffee-laden air with the delicate scent of cinnamon and powdered cream. "You sure you don't want anything, hon?"
I shot my eyes to the door, to the sidewalk beyond, to the empty parking spots. "Um–"
A green Corolla pulled in. His Corolla was supposed to be green, wasn't it? My heart grew to twice its size, my blood heated to an unnatural temperature–
Until a woman got out, then unhitched her toddler from the backseat.
Everything returned to normal. "No. Thanks."
The waitress tucked her pad and pencil back into her apron. "Have a nice day, then." The tenseness behind her smile said something decidedly less friendly as she took my menu and roll of silverware. I didn't blame her, though; if some depressing little girl had taken up space in my coffeehouse for the past forty-five minutes and not given me business, I would have actually said those things the waitress kept behind her smile.