almost okay

8:29 a.m.

I sat at a side booth in the smoke-free diner reading my book and waiting for my breakfast. I was working on the last twenty pages of 'Memoirs of a Shy Pornographer'. Budd was dead and learning the ropes in Heaven. The over-medium eggs, corned beef hash and wheat toast were taking their time to arrive due to my request of 'extra crispy on the hash'. Sunshine was abundant and it streamed through the slats in the blinds throwing wide lines of warm light across the Formica table top in front of me. Budd had mastered his angel wings and had just met up with his beloved Priscilla in the afterlife when my food arrived.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bathroom sink had been draining slowly for months. During the course of an easy shave or my normal perfunctory brushing of the teeth it would fill with water and slowly drain away. Now it had stopped draining almost entirely, leaving the basin three-quarters full of dirty gray water after only a minute's use. Water that would remain for over a half-hour, leaving a slimy film of toothpaste, whiskers and phlegm behind as the level sank. Reluctantly, I decided it was time to do something.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I set the book aside. The ghostly waitress put the plate before me and apologized for how long they took in the kitchen to prepare it. She seemed to be in pain, frowned at me with sad, pale eyes.

“Sorry about the wait,” she said. “But the hash is well-done, like you ordered.” She acted as though she expect a backhand slap.

“Not a problem,” I said with a smile. “It looks great.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I think I'm good,” I said.

After generously peppering the hash and the eggs separately, I sliced the welded pair of eggs in two with my fork, careful not to break the yolks, then pulled each of them onto the heap of nicely browned hash before chopping them down and releasing the golden goo inside. I spun the jelly caddy around, found a tub of orange marmalade and peeled back the foil top. The toast was cut into four triangles and stacked on one side of the plate. I knifed half the tub of marmalade onto the top piece and spread it around.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a short-handled plunger, the kind with the shallow orange rubber cup, and I kept it under the sink. I ran some warm water into the basin and positioned the plunger directly over the drain. Once the sink was half full, I started pumping. I used short swift motions, working up a good suction, then lifted higher to pull up the clog. With a swoosh and a gurgle out came several bits of black jelly, some of the chunks so large that they didn't go back down the drain. They seemed to be made up of solidified soap scum mixed with beard hair and sludge. There was a strong aroma of sewage. I reached in with my hand and pulled out the largest of the chunks, dropped it into the toilet with a wet plop.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I hadn't eaten since dinner the day before, fueling myself only with coffee all Sunday morning as I sat reading on the living room couch. It was nearly noon and I was starving. I fell upon the breakfast like a lion on a freshly-killed antelope, chomping at the toast and forking bits of egg and hash in my mouth as my cheeks bulged to accommodate the food. After a few bites my mustache was sticky with the marmalade and I wiped it clean with a paper napkin. My ice water had been served in a large red plastic glass with a white Coca Cola logo on the side. When I tipped it towards my lips, elbow on the table top, the ice broke loose in a single chunk and slapped me in the nose, water rushing to my open mouth and around the sides of the glass in dribbles. After a few deep quaffs I got back to the food.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I had to choke back a gag reflex as more plunging produced even larger, hairier chunks of jelly-like debris from the trap. I scooped up each in turn from the sink and deposited it in the toilet. More plunging, more slimy, black jellyclog.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There was an overall din of conversation in the room, but nothing so loud that I could make out individual words. Except for one of the waitresses, who's pasted on smile and false cheer always made me feel ill.

“More coffee?” she asked in a loud voice as she worked her way around her tables. “A little more coffee here? Care for some more coffee? Would you like some more coffee?”

Her wretched voice became a swift bongo beat on my brain. Somebody told her to have a good day when they were leaving.

“Thanks, hon. You, too,” she said. “Have a WONderful day!” Always too many words.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Finally the water seemed to be draining swiftly from the sink, producing swirls and gurgles as the last of a full sink disappeared. The water in the toilet was fouled with the disgusting jellyhair chunks and my fingernails were black underneath from handling them. I pushed the handle on the toilet and flushed away the mess, dropped my shorts to the floor and jumped in the shower.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A second tub of marmalade for the last two triangles of toast, more water and a scrape of the plate to get up all the yolk and I was done with my meal. Nary a scrap of food was left, and for the moment my hunger was satisfied. My sad waitress brought the check and the overly-zealous one kept dancing back and forth and talking in a loud, crazed voice, laughing a high witch's cackle at things that weren't particularly funny, calling everyone 'Hon'. Just as I was about to rise to leave, she scurried by, a pair of coffee pots in hand, one decaf, one regular. She stopped, turned on her heel and reversed her direction for one step, stopped, then spun around again before scurrying back along her original path, as though her mind was firing rapidly between opposing tasks.

I really wanted to relax for a few more minutes, finish my book and find out what Heaven was really like according to Patchen, but her high-pitched screech and nervous hurrying prevented me from concentrating on the reading, so I left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The warm water felt good on my skin as I showered. I twisted back and forth, moved to face the wall so that it could work its magic on both my shoulders, as well as the muscles between spine and shoulder blade that so often cramp and cause me pain. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in Heaven, learning to use my wings as Budd had, meeting at long last with a harem of former loves and imagined lovers...

When I opened my eyes I looked down and I was ankle deep in soapy water. Fuck. The tub was ready for plunging, too.