You Are Not Here (11 page)

I’m not sure

what I am supposed to be doing

or what I am supposed to be looking for.

So I just stand there,

by the counter.

Every time the door opens behind me,

I turn to see who it is.

My heart hopes

that Brian will walk through that door

and tell me that all this has been a mistake.

But I know that’s not going to happen.

So I wait

and stare.

After a few minutes a voice breaks my trance.

“Can I help you?”

asks a guy from behind the counter.

Annoyed that he has disrupted my thoughts,

I just shake my head.

I need to keep looking for signs.

But he starts talking again,

“’Cause, you know,

if you like standing around here so much,

you should apply for the waitress job.”

I don’t even process what he’s said.

He is a car honking in the background.

He is an annoying person talking during a movie.

He is a mosquito buzzing in my ear.

I try to focus,

keeping an eye out for signs.

They could come in any form.

“It could be the change

you’re looking for,” he says.

That snaps me to attention.

For the first time since I came in,

I really look at him.

He’s tall and thin,

and maybe a little older than me.

He’s got light hair and brown eyes,

and a glob of pizza sauce on his shirt.

“A change?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Working a few days a week,

making some extra money,

and, of course, all the pizza you can eat.”

“A change?” I ask again.

But this time

I am saying it to myself

and not to him.

I show my mom the job application.

“A pizza place?” she asks skeptically.

“I’m glad you decided to get a job,

but wouldn’t you rather work at a clothing store?

What about the boutique Joy’s working at?

Or babysitting like Marissa?”

“No. I have this feeling

that working at Renzo’s is gonna be good.”

“A feeling?

Well, if this is what you want…

then I think it’s great.”

I go up to my room

and fill out the application.

The top half is easy.

I write in my name,

address, birthday,

social security number,

and school info.

The bottom half is harder:

work experience and skills.

I don’t really have either.

I’ve babysat,

but I don’t think that counts.

So under skills I just write:

I’m really good at math.

I’m a little nervous.

I’ve never done anything

like this before.

In fact, I haven’t done anything

in a long time.

I pass the cemetery.

I don’t stop to see Brian,

but do nod in his direction.

I’ll be back later.

“You’re back,” he says.

“Yeah. I filled out the application.”

He takes it from me and looks it over.

“Annaleah. Nice name.

Looks like you’re good at math, Annaleah.”

It’s a little weird

how he keeps repeating my name.

He says,

“Let me pass this to my boss.”

Pizza Boy comes out from behind the counter

and heads for the kitchen.

He comes back with an older man and says,

“Frank, this is my friend Annaleah.

I think she’d be great

at working the back tables.”

Friend? I only met him yesterday.

I don’t even know his name.

Frank looks me and my application over.

“Ever waitressed before?” he asks.

I attempt a joke,

“No, but I clear the table at home.”

“See, Frank. She’s funny.

Customers will like her,” says Pizza Boy.

“Do you think you can carry the trays?”

Frank asks, pointing to a tray

that’s loaded with dirty plates and cups.

“Definitely,” I say,

even though I’m not so sure.

“Okay, then,” Frank says.

“Can you do a mix

of afternoon and evening shifts

until school starts?

Then maybe some weekends

after September?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I answer,

wondering what Brian’s gotten me into.

“All right, then.

You start in two days.

Come in at four.

Wear black pants and a white polo shirt.

See you then.”

He shakes my hand

and then goes back to the kitchen.

But Pizza Boy is still standing there.

“Thanks for doing that,” I say.

“Telling him you know me, I mean.”

“No problem.”

“I guess now would be a good time

for you to tell me your name…

since we’re
friends
and all.”

“It’s Ethan.”

“Well, Ethan.

See you in two days.”

I tell Brian later that afternoon.

“At first, I wasn’t sure

why you sent me there.

But then that guy asked me

if I was there about the job

and it all clicked.

But visiting you,

talking to you,

has kept you close.

Feeling sad

has kept me busy—

it’s been my job.

And if I come here less,

what will I have?

But I am going to try,

because this

is what you want.”

when I get to Renzo’s

for my first day of work.

“Hey,” I say.

Ethan tosses me an order pad

and an apron

to tie around my waist.

“Frank’s not here yet.

So I’m going to show you around.

This is Lou,” he says.

He’s pointing to a chubby guy

who nods in my direction.

“Lou’s usually on the ovens with me.

Come on, I’ll introduce you

to the cooks in back.”

Ethan leads me into the back

and through old saloon-type doors.

“Mike, Frank, Jimmy,

this is Annaleah.

She’s the new waitress.”

They all smile and wave at me

from behind columns of steam

and piles of chopped vegetables.

I push out a smile

and wave back.

Smiling is new.

For the last few weeks,

none of the muscles in my face

have been put to much use.

No smiles.

No frowns.

No eyebrows raised.

No wrinkled brow.

No nothing.

It all hung there

on the bone—

motionless.

Ethan grabs a menu

and we sit down in one of the booths.

“If someone orders

pizza or calzones and stuff like that,

let us know up front.

If it’s kitchen stuff

like salad, meat, and pasta,

let the guys know in the back.”

Ethan points to the menu and says,

“If someone orders from this side of the menu,

they get a salad to start

and steamed vegetable of the day.”

He goes on to list

more dressings than I can remember at once,

to explain how each booth has a number,

and that as soon as someone sits down,

I should give them a breadbasket

and take their drink orders.

“You getting all this?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say as I try to repeat

all those dressings in my head.

“Ribbit.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, totally confused.

“R-I-B-B-T.

Ranch, Italian, blue cheese, balsamic, thousand island.

It’ll help you remember.”

“Pretty clever, thanks.”

“No problem.

So, if it’s quiet, you can refill

the salt, pepper, and sugar.

You can also make napkin wraps

or just hang out with me and Lou.

All right, Annaleah,

that’s pretty much the end of your tutorial.”

As Ethan walks back up front,

he looks over his shoulder and says,

“If you need anything,

I’m here.”

of how many slices of pizza

it takes to make me feel really sick:

three and a half.

bits of crust, straws,

gum wrappers,

and shredded napkins

into piles,

into a dustpan,

and into the garbage can.

I want to do the same

with my feelings.

I want to sweep them together

into neat piles,

then toss them out.

I want them

away from me.

“At Renzo’s, I’m just a waitress.

I’m not the girl

whose quasi-boyfriend died.

To Ethan,

to Lou,

to the customers,

I’m just a regular girl.

No one asks questions like:

Are you okay?

Why don’t you call me back?

How do you feel?

Did you eat today?

Did you sleep last night?

The only questions I get are:

Can I get some more bread?

Do you have root beer?

Does this have anchovies?

But when I leave work,

I go back to being me.

To being sad.

To visiting you.”

when I turn around and see Marissa

and Jessica Bennett giving Ethan

their order at the front counter.

This is the first time I’ve seen Marissa

since she stormed out of my house.

“What are you doing here?”

she asks, walking toward me.

“I started working here a few days ago.”

“Oh,” she says.

She looks wounded

that I didn’t tell her earlier.

“It happened kind of quick.”

“Well…how are you?”

“Okay, I guess.

I needed to get out of the house,

you know.”

But maybe that isn’t the right thing to say.

Marissa’s been trying to get me

out of the house since Brian died,

and I haven’t been willing.

Marissa looks back toward the counter.

“So…Jess is waiting.

I should—”

“Yeah.

I’ve gotta get back to work.”

But that’s not true.

It’s quiet enough that I could talk to her.

If I wanted to.

If she wanted to.

If it weren’t so weird.

While Marissa and Jessica

wait up front for their orders,

I check on my tables,

refill some waters,

get someone a straw.

Marissa is only a few yards away,

but she’s never felt so far.

makes me think I should

tell Parker and Joy

about getting a job.

I don’t want to talk,

so I send a text instead.

Got job @ renzos pizza

on richardson & park.

Come visit if u want.

OMG! Thurs?

Im gonna make u work

4 yr tip!

Parker texts the next day.

Waitress? For reals?

Will try to come by soon.

I see a dead bird

lying on the sidewalk.

It isn’t a translucent chick,

fallen from its nest.

It isn’t flattened

from the impact of a car.

It is perfect.

Yellow and brown,

with waxy feathers,

a full round body,

and an open eye

looking right at me.

I wonder where this bird came from.

I wonder how it got here.

It’s not even near a tree.

I wonder how it died.

It looks as if it

were flying one moment.

Then the next,

struck down from the sky,

dead.