Solitary Trees

So there I was, sitting in my car at 5 am in front of a rundown building. It's so cold I can see my breath in the air. I would turn on the heater, but my car is about to run out of gas, so there’s really no point. I'm not sure why, but I do this every morning. After ten years of working at the same restaurant, waking up and getting ready has become second nature. Actually getting myself inside the building is a whole different story. I just sit in the parking lot and stare at the front door; it never seems to get any easier. My car starts to sputter, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm out of gas, or because it's a piece of shit. The Quick Lube recommended service date sticker has been sitting on my windshield for so long, the writing has worn off completely. I probably should have gone in months ago. Maybe I'll take it in tomorrow. I say that every day, but this time I think I mean it.

Wash……..rinse………sanitize. Wash…….. rinse………sanitize.
The sound of dishes being washed, and the clicking and humming of the neon open sign has created a demonic symphony in my head. The song follows me all day, no matter what I do, I hear it. The only peace I get is when we close for the night. Unfortunately the song starts all over again the next morning.
The good part of my day doesn't start until we close and I can sit down and talk to the owner Joella for a while. She's a raging bitch, but good people none the less. Tonight she was sitting in the dining room drinking some kind of alcohol out of a bottle she keeps hidden behind the milk in a stand up cooler. It used to bother me when I first started working here, because kids come in here to eat. I asked her about it one day, she told me, 'I drink because this is a family restaurant, I couldn't get through the day if I didn't. Besides the milk in there is a year old, nobody's going to drink it.' So now I don't really worry about it.
"Hey Jo, how's the biz?" She answered me without looking up.
"We were really busy today."
"Yea, I noticed." She took a big drink from her glass, and then poured me one from the bottle in front of her. "No thanks Jo, I'm not really in the mood." She looked at me as if I had spit in her face.
"Come on, I don't like to drink alone."
"Yes you do." She just laughed and continued pouring. She slid the glass across the table to me, then gave me a thoughtful and interested look. "So, how did they die today Jen?"
"I thought you didn't like hearing about how I mentally kill your costumers."
"Usually I don't, but I have some extra time tonight. So let's hear it." I wasn't sure if I should tell her, she usually gets mad when I talk about that stuff, but, she did ask me and she usually doesn't ask questions unless she wants the answers. "I froze bleach on the top of the ice cream."
"Christ, Jen!" Maybe I was wrong.
"I don't think it would really kill anyone, but in my fantasy it worked perfectly. That's the beauty of fantasies I suppose. Anyway, whenever someone was mean to me, I would give them some ice cream, because no one suspects that ice cream will be there downfall. They take a few bites from the cone I give them, and then they immediately fall to the floor. Then I sweep them up with a broom and dust pan and throw them in the garbage."
"And you do this every day?" She actually sounded interested. It must have been the liquor talking.
"Not every day. I have Thursdays off."
"I see. Well, what was yesterday's fantasy?"
"Bazooka."
"The day before that?"
"Mountain lion."
"And the day before that?"
"Explosive JELL-O."
"How the hell did you manage that one?"
"I'm not sure, in my fantasies I'm always really smart." Jo rolled her eyes and took another drink from her glass.
"Jen, you certainly have a wild imagination."
"Yea, my mom used to read me a lot of fairy tales as a kid."
"When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me the same fairy tale over and over again. As she got older, her memory got worse. Sometimes she would tell me the story several times a day."
"What was it about?"
"I'm tired so I'll give you the quick version. It's about a little Irish girl named Sara. One day Sara ran away from her mother during a picnic. As she was wondering off she found a tree standing all by itself in the middle of a giant field. Living in the branches of this tree was a beautiful fairy. The fairy told Sara that she was a brave little girl for coming all the way to her tree alone, and because of her bravery the fairy would grant her one wish. Sara thought for a very long time about what she wanted, but her little six year old mind wouldn't stray from the idea of a mountain of candy. Right as Sara opened her mouth to make her wish, a raindrop landed right on the tip of her nose. Sara had been thinking so long, that it was starting to rain, and the sun was beginning to set. The little girl suddenly became very scared. She had never been out at night before, and she didn't know where she was. "Beautiful fairy?" the little girl asked. "All I want is to find my mother."
"Granted." Was all the fairy said before she shook her wings dry and flew into the trunk of the tree where it was warm. Sara who was cold and confused turned around and saw her mother walking toward her in the distance. For the rest of her life the little girl looked for another tree sitting in solitude that would harbor a fairy, but she never found one." Jo finished her story, and then finished the rest of what was in her glass. She quickly poured herself another.
"That was a great story, but I'm not sure I understand what it means."
"It means my mother was crazy."
"what?"
"It's bullshit. Fairies aren't real."
"No kidding."
"Of course they're not real, but that's not the point."
"Oh."
"The point is, my mom was a dreamer. There are three types of people in this world, the people who sit around and wait for a fairy to help them out, and there are the people that do things on their own." I wasn't sure I liked where this was going, but I asked anyway. "So which one am I?"
"You're waiting for a solitary tree." I suddenly became very sure I wasn't going to like where this was going. "I appreciate the drink, and the bedtime story, Jo, but why don't you just tell me what you're trying to say."
"I'm saying, Jen, that nobody is going to come in here and help you leave. Every year I listen to you say that you're leaving my fine establishment, and every year you come back. You don't belong here, you're better than this place. And I don't say that about many people." For a brief second I felt touched with her attempt at a compliment. But then the wave of annoyance and confusion set in "If I'm waiting, what are you doing?" She nodded her head as if she had been waiting for me to ask that question. "I, my dear, fall under the third category. I'm not waiting or doing. I'm just riding the wave."
"You're riding the what?"
"The wave."
"No I heard you, but once again I don't understand." I pushed my glass toward her indicating I was going to need more alcohol in my system to follow this one. She gladly poured, and then continued explaining. "I hate this place as much as you do, but, unlike you I can't imagine myself being anywhere else. So instead of selling the place or fantasizing about killing the customers and burning the place down, I bought a bunch of insurance in hopes that something bad will happen to it all on its own. Now I'm just going to ride the wave, and see where it takes me. Either way I'm happy where I am." I couldn't help but laugh a little. I have always found something funny about the concept of happiness. "I really envy your outlook on life Jo, I really do. But until Mother Nature casts a deadly bolt of lightning to this restaurant, I'm going to continue looking for my tree." She raised her glass in the air. "Suit yourself." She said in a mocking tone. I raised my glass with her in a salute of me suiting myself, and then finished my glasses liquid content. She looked a little disappointed when I got up from my chair and put my jacket on. "You know, I saw a rat in the back of your culinary palace earlier today."
"Don't be selfish Jen, rats need food too."
"I quit."
"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." I hate that she knows me.
"Yea, I'll see you tomorrow." I started walking toward the door, and then I remembered that I couldn't leave. "Hey Jo, do you think you could give me a ride home, my car is out of gas."