Mary Mary by Adam Kluger

Pen Gipperson wasn’t thrilled that he had to visit the attorney handling the lawsuit against him at a fuckhole office in Connecticut. Extremely inconvenient. But because of legal matters there was no way around it.

Thank goodness for Spotify and ear buds.

Other passengers on the train always pissed Pen off with their inane conversations that he had no desire to be a part of.

The Rolling Stones  and a Stephen King paperback made the hour ride bearable. The meeting with the attorney generally wasn’t too bad. The lawsuit seemed to be under control and the damage seemed to be manageable.

After the lawyer meeting he would walk to the local diner. He liked it despite the oppressive heat and old people. The waitress had a great figure that she usually hid in a baseball shirt and tight sweatpants and the coffee and French fries and gravy cost less that 5 bucks. At least 4 free coffee refills too. Great deal.

There was usually one old woman with an annoying voice who would gad about the diner- sidling up to diners offering some doggerel or nonsense about the government or the weather or the price of milk. Her name was Mary and she was a regular which meant she was tolerated by the owner manager and other regulars.

Mary was old and sickly and walked around with a balding head and bent like a pretzel body that was painful to watch as it slowly moved from table to table. Mary laughed at her own jokes and sayings like a drunk – but Mary wasn’t drunk she was old and near death. Her cheeks were sunken in and her hair was grey and frizzy.

Maybe she had AIDS or maybe it was another deadly illness. Pen just knew that he wanted to sit as far away from Mary as possible. Didn’t want to look at her or talk to her. Or worse, smell her.

The older waitress scolded, “Mary, Mary!” for being a scamp and Pen buried his face in a newspaper.

He disliked Mary and was pissed off that every time he would go to the diner that she was holding court. Holding on. Fighting for attention. Spending her last days hours and minutes and seconds at the only diner near his shit-heel lawyer.

The food at the diner was good enough and half of what you would pay at any other diner. Only problem was the Mary tax. Being forced to listen to a sing-songy, old hag’s cackle that grated like a fork on metal.

Mary and her fellow octogenarians seemed to know each other and even like each other. The bone yard was getting ready for all of them and the diner was apparently their refuge. It was cheap, well lit and they were tolerated.

Why Pen felt so put upon is anybody’s guess. Maybe it was the stress of the lawsuit or maybe he was just an age-ist .

Pen slid his french fry into the bubbling hot cup of gravy and then into his mouth almost burning his tongue. His head was throbbing and he glanced at Mary with her sunken face rifling through her warm-up suit to pull out a pack of Kools.

She was dying. Probably would not last the year. Why not smoke em if you got em? Pen decided.

It was also time to get up and get the fuck out of this diner and never ever come back Pen thought as he threw 10 dollars down grabbed his jacket and briefcase and newspaper and made his way toward the door, with Mary’s voice receding into the background and the train station only about half a mile away.

Adam Kluger

Banner Image: Interior of a cafe from Pixabay.com

Image: a sketch of a woman with long hair and a heart shaped face looking at a laptop screen with a pen and paper beside her. By the author.