Conversations at Metro Diner
Susan and Melanie sit at a booth. It’s 7 a.m. Both are eating pancakes and drinking coffee. They are tired and hung over.
By David Hopkins
I.
Mike and his friend Peter sit across from each other. It’s 2 a.m. They’ve been out drinking, not quite drunk, but hazy—if you can make such a distinction. They stopped for coffee and breakfast food before heading home. Mike is restless.
“The grand gesture is dead. It just is.”
“Like flowers and all that?”
“No bigger than that. Grand gestures. You read—what’s that book—with that wealthy dude, and that girl Daisy and those parties—Great Gatsby! You ever read that book?”
“We were supposed to in high school. I never did.”
“Well, it’s a book about grand gestures. The guy becomes a millionaire and throws these ridiculously expensive parties all to impress this girl, and what happens? That girl Daisy stays with her husband.”
“Spoiler.”
“Whatever. The novel has been out forever. Like, yeah, Daisy is married. She has a kid, and a life with this jerk of a husband. Gatsby tries to win her over with money and his grand gestures. Nothing.”
“But she was married. Why would we care about Gatsby?”
“Because the other guy is racist and an asshole. The writer tries really hard to make you hate the husband, Tom, I think.”
“Maybe the grand gesture doesn’t work with married women?”
“Nah. See. Here’s the thing. If Daisy truly loved Gatsby, it would’ve worked. Maybe. But if she didn’t love him, it’s just creepy. If the girl likes the guy, then throwing rocks at her window is endearing. If the girl doesn’t like the guy, she’s calling the cops.”
“The grand gesture is dead.”
“…because it’s never about what the guy does, it’s about how the girl responds. The guy can’t sway the girl with dramatic proclamations of his love for her.”
“What about small gestures?”
“Hell. I dunno. The Internet ruined everything. It’s now all Facebook and dating sites. Algorithms and whatever. There’s a whole generation of people out there who view potential mates like they were Wikipedia entries or something.”
The waitress approaches and takes their order. Mike orders scrambled eggs and sausage links. Peter orders pancakes.
“That’s what makes the thing about Alisha Bryant so frustrating.”
“Wait. Who?”
“That girl, that girl when I was in high school.”
“You’re 25. We’re going all the way back there?”
“I’m 27.”
“27. Where did this come from?”
“The grand gesture. With Alisha, the grand gesture didn’t resolve anything. There was no conclusion. I liked her, but not enough to jeopardize anything I had going with Sarah.”
“You were in a relationship, but looking.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m not looking.”
“Yeah right. No conclusion with Alisha.”
“What happened?”
“Alright, no joke, it was prom. We sat next to each other all year in U.S. History. We talked a lot, and I’d say we were friends. She was beautiful, but I never ever thought I could date her. I knew a relationship with her probably wouldn’t go anywhere. Or she’d say no and that would be the end of it. So, I took another girl to prom.”
“Sarah.”
“Sarah. We had been together for about a year.”
“In high school? That’s like six years in adult time.”
“Sarah and I both knew it was just a high school thing. We didn’t think we’d get married or anything dumb like that. Seriously, high school couples that talk about engagement; it’s creepy. Sarah and I were together, but it was because there wasn’t a good reason not to be together. We broke up a few months after graduation. No drama.”
“But you rather would have gone to prom with Alisha?”
“Not really. I loved Sarah. I did.”
“Alisha was hot.”
“She was. I wasn’t excited about the idea of dating an attractive person. It seemed dangerous.”
“You wanted to take Alisha to prom, but you didn’t want to not take Sarah.”
“Dude, you’re messing with my words. Let me just tell the story.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. So, I wanted to take Alisha to prom, but I didn’t want to not take Sarah—”
“I just said that!”
“Good for you. It’s like I wanted two parallel universes where I could’ve asked Alisha and she would’ve said yes, and maybe something would’ve happened between us. And I want the universe where I took Sarah and we had a lot of friends with us, and it was fun.”
“Dudes shouldn’t talk about prom this much. You sound like a ‘90s teen movie.”
“Story. Let me finish. I stayed with Sarah, and I took Sarah to the prom. Alisha, I found out, didn’t take anyone to prom. She went with a bunch of her friends. During one slow song, I asked Sarah if I could dance with a friend of mine instead.”
“And she was cool with that?”
“Of course. She was always cool.”
“Do you still have her number?”
“I left the table, and I found Alisha in the lobby. I didn’t even say anything. I just grabbed her hand, and led her to the dance floor. And get this, she went with me. All her friends were like ‘aww’ and thought it was just the sweetest thing.”
“It would’ve been sweeter if you were single.”
“No kidding. But she went with me. She could’ve just pulled her hand away and said no way.”
“Maybe you embarrassed her, and she didn’t know how to respond?”
“Yeah…”
“What?”
“I didn’t think of that.”
“She didn’t dance with you, because she was secretly in love with you and wanted to date you. She danced with you, because you two were friends and she was a nice person. You may have been the only person who asked her. Why would she say no to that?”
“Huh.”
“If you hadn’t asked her out after sitting next to her for an entire year, regardless of Sarah, it was probably your inner-self telling you that you never had a shot to begin with.”
“Um…”
“Face it. That was as close as you were ever going to get. There is no parallel universe where this ended well for you. Why didn’t you ask her out weeks or months earlier?”
“I didn’t date girls that went to my high school.”
“Why?”
“I was a geek at my school. I found out that if I dated girls in other towns, people I met at elsewhere, my chances were better. Sarah lived about 30 minutes away.”
“See? You never had a chance.”
The waitress returns, and places the plates in front of Mike and Peter. Peter eats his pancakes. Mike stares at his plate.
“Why would you say that?”
“M’what?”
“You completely destroyed the illusion I was operating under. I was so sure she liked me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I liked the delusion—just one grand gesture away from winning her.”
“Dude, women can’t be won. And hey, Sarah.”
“Yeah. Sarah.”
“What about Facebook? Have you looked up Alisha?”
“She’s married, to this big hulk of a guy.”
“There you go. You need to become a millionaire, move a few houses down from her, and throw these insane parties. Maybe she’ll come by the party, and see how awesome you are, leave her husband and marry you. Gatsby!”
“Nah.”
“What?”
“I don’t think we have much in common. It would never work.”
“One night stand?”
“Totally.”
Peter raises his glass of water. Mike picks up his glass. They lift them towards each other in a toast.
II.
Susan and Melanie sit at a booth. It’s 7 a.m. Both are eating pancakes and drinking coffee. They are tired and hung over.
“I can’t believe we missed the party. Becca told me there was juggling and magic.”
“That all?”
“Juggling and magic.”
“Big deal.”
“Juggling and magic. I can’t remember the last party I’ve been to that was halfway interesting—just a keg, a kitchen counter of liquor, then some cheese and crackers or a plate of carrots with ranch dressing.”
“Did Krista and David hire the magician?”
“No, I think he just showed up.”
“No way.”
“From what I heard, he was a friend of a friend. Someone knew he was a magician, and everyone convinced him to perform.”
“That’s cool.”
“Did you hear what happened though? He seriously hurt someone.”
“Oh my god. How?”
“He was doing the magic box trick where you shove swords through a box and the volunteer inside isn’t harmed.”
“Yeah.”
“His volunteer was harmed.”
“No!”
“Drove the sword straight through him.”
“Bullshit. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. From what I heard, the volunteer was very drunk. He didn’t even feel it. Apparently, he was a big guy, and the sword went through the fatty part of his side. No major organs were impaled, I guess. No one knew anything had gone wrong except the magician. He immediately let the guy out of the box. The guy stands up walks around, doesn’t even notice he has a sword sticking in his side.”
“You’re making this up.”
“Ask Becca. She was there. I heard it from her. At first, everyone thought it was part of the trick, but then a small bit of blood started staining his shirt where the sword was. People pointed it out to the guy; he looks down. ‘What do you know? I have a sword in me.’”
“What did they do?”
“They weren’t going to pull the sword out. That might be even worse. He sat down. They called 911, and he had another drink.”
“He wasn’t in pain.”
“He thought it was funny.”
“Then an ambulance came for him?”
“Nope. They called 911, but no one showed up. He sat there for about an hour—talking with people, letting people get their photo taken next to the sword. The bleeding stopped soon after he got up from the box, so no one was too worried. After about an hour, he got bored and left. No one is sure where he went.”
“That’s amazing. I can’t believe we missed the party. Did the magician also juggle?”
“No, the juggler was another guy. That’s a crazy story too. Shawn Marion was there.”
“Who’s that?”
“Professional basketball player. He brought some friends.”
“Did he know anyone there?”
“I have no idea. Someone also brought a box full of puppies.”
“A box full of puppies?”
“Someone’s dog had a liter of pups, and this girl needed to find a home for them. She brought the box of puppies for everyone to play with ‘em at the party.”
“I can’t believe we missed the party.”
“That band, Shovels and Rope. They were in town. They had played at La Grange earlier that night, then stopped by the party and played a few songs. Erykah Badu was at the party too. She spun some records.”
“How did everyone know about this party?”
“I have no idea, but the juggler ruined everything.”
“How’s that?”
“He started into his juggling bit. Everyone thought was great. But then, he tried to make it more interesting and juggled fire. The juggler took a step backwards and accidentally stepped on one of a puppy’s tail. It yelped, which startled the juggler and one of his flaming sticks hit Shawn Marion’s coat. Shawn Marion threw his coat across the room, where it freaked out the Mormon missionaries—”
“Mormon missionaries.”
“Long story. They ran for the door and knocked over the table with all the snacks and drinks. Chaos ensued. Someone threw one of the go-karts out the window. It was a big mess.”
“Wow. Where were we?”
A large man walks past Susan and Melanie’s booth. He has a sword lodged in his side. They do not notice him.
“No kidding. We miss all the great parties.”
III.
John and Irene sit across from each other. It’s 3 p.m. They each drink coffee. The diner is mostly empty. Tension hangs between the couple. Finally, John breaks the silence.
“How was the sex, you know, with the other guy?”
“It was mind blowing, amazing. Thank you for asking.”
“Is this your way of saying you’re leaving me?”
“It is.”
“Okay then.”
“I didn’t plan for this to happen. It’s like there’s this thing in everybody, not just me, where we are constantly looking for the great love of our life. We keep looking and looking.”
“And now you found him.”
“No. I found him in you. But I, we, none of us can turn it off, that thing, that need to find the great love. We’re always looking for the great love, even after we’ve found it. We keep looking.”
“You’re saying I’m the great love of your life.”
“Kinda. But this guy, he’ll be the great love of my life too… until I ditch him for the next great love of my life. It’s a cycle.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“You’re no different. You just don’t realize it yet. You’ll recover from this and meet someone amazing. In fact, you’ll be surprised how quickly you stop missing me. You’ll feel guilty, and try to get dramatic as a way to keep up the illusion.”
“There’s no great love.”
“It’s a mass delusion created from hormones and the biological urge to procreate. Maybe it’s part of our evolutionary heritage?”
“Marriage, monogamy, one great love—all impossible?”
“I don’t know. It probably requires people to repress that part of them that needs to keep searching. Or it’s an issue of weighing the benefits of staying in a secure long-term relationship versus the opportunity for something new, and possibly better.”
“Could you have dumped me before you explored the possibility of something better?”
“Not really. I was hedging my bets.”
There is a long pause. The conversation is broken. John and Irene sit and drink their coffee. They look out the same window, staring at completely different scenery from the same outside. John waits for Irene to take a sip before he speaks again.
“I cheated on you too.”
Irene gags on her coffee. John smiles.
“You asshole. Why did you wait to tell me after? I just confessed and was made to look like the villain here.”
“In my version of this break up, you’re still the villain.”
“Fess up. Who is she?”
“A few months ago, I received a gift from an ex-girlfriend. It was a doomsday device.”
“Oh really.”
“In the Fantastic Four comic book, there’s this thing called the Ultimate Nullifier. It’s the most devastating weapon in the universe. It belongs to Galactus—he’s the devourer of worlds, powerful being—but the Fantastic Four stole the Nullifier from him. This thing can completely eliminate anyone, destroy an entire life, like they never existed. The Fantastic Four threatened to use it against Galactus.”
“Sounds like a deus ex machina. The writer didn’t know how to beat the Galaxy guy.”
“Galactus. Show some respect. I always thought the Ultimate Nullifier looked cool. My ex-girlfriend knew I had been searching for one, a nice collectible, something I could keep displayed on my bookshelf. She found one and brought it to me. We started talking and stuff happened.”
“Stuff happened. You two had sex.”
“Yes, but our sex was different than your sex.”
“How?”
“I was having sex with someone I already had sex with previously. This was goodbye-and-remembering-old-times sex. Your sex was with a brand new person, possibly-starting-a-new-relationship sex.”
“It’s not cheating if you’ve had sex with them prior to dating a new person?”
“It’s still cheating. I said I cheated. It’s just not as bad.”
“If that’s how you plan to rationalize it, go for it. So, the Nullifier. How does it work?”
“Shrouded in mystery. It’s so powerful that it’s only been used once or twice, and each time with completely different results. The only thing we know for sure is that Galactus is terrified of it, reason enough to be wary. I assume you point and pull the trigger. If the user isn’t careful, it can nullify him as well.”
Irene holds up her hand, index figure pointed to John.
“Pow. I just nullified you and this relationship.”
“And yourself.”
“No, my mind is strong.”
“Yes, but if you erase my timeline, I’m part of your timeline and that could erase you as well.”
“Then the Nullifier doesn’t make sense. We don’t have individual timelines. Everything is interconnected. I erase you. I erase me, and my dog, my mom and dad, my aunt, all my friends, my college professor, this diner, the architect who built this diner, anyone who has every talked with you or me, or walked past us, the molecules in the air, the ground underneath us, the Nullifier in my hand. It’s a paradox.”
“It’s not easy to erase things. Galactus must have known this.”
“Yeah. Do you think Galactus ever had a girlfriend?”
“He devoured worlds. That was his thing.”
“Why?”
“Never-ending, unquenchable hunger. He couldn’t satisfy his infinite appetite.”
“You’re saying he can’t turn it off, that thing, that need, he’s searching—”
“Galactus destroying a planet is not the same as your inability to stay faithful.”
“How did you pull me into this nerd conversation? An ex-girlfriend gave you an Ultimate Nullifier, and you had sex with her. How was the sex, you know, with the other girl?”
“It was okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay.”
“I wouldn’t nullify you. Us. Sometimes, it’s just easier to slash and burn the past. Completely remove it, so you can have a fresh start.”
“First, I’m not past. Second, there’s no such thing as a fresh start. There are the words ‘fresh start,’ but the concept doesn’t exist. You can leave me, and leave the next person, and the next, but we don’t disappear.”
“I settle then.”
“Not if you don’t want to, but don’t call it a fresh start.”
“Pow.”
“Pow.”
Both John and Irene reach for their wallets to pay for the coffee.