paper rings (l.h.)

49

Somewhere in Mississippi, Mary's POV

"The cakes and hog," I repeat back to the customer, my pen pressed to my notepad as I jot his order across the the page. I hated the way I said these menu items, how foreign they sounded on my tongue. I felt out of place already, and my feet were already aching and I'm not even three hours into my new gig. "How do you want your eggs again?"

He grimaces. "Scrambled. Add some toma-ters with that," shoving the menu into my hands, and once I regain my balance I couldn't help but stare at him in awe before I make my way back to the servers' station.

The diner was loud now, forks on plates chimed throughout the room and the chefs in the kitchen barking out orders to each other. I wanted to escape out the back door more than anything, enjoy the quietness just for a second. But I didn't, and I won't. Instead, I fill a cup of his coffee.

"He's a douchebag," the kitchen doors slam open, a young girl in a greasy Patsy's shirt, matching the one I wore that was already covered in syrup and ketchup and everything else in between. I stepped away from my task to see the voice leaning against the counter I found myself hiding in. My braided hair down my shoulder, I look up at the voice.

"But it's a tradition, the newest gets the old fart," she crosses her arms, watching how my hips bump into the saucer beneath the coffee cup, sending it's contents dribbling down the side to collect underneath it. "He'll like you, though. He likes the younger girls, anyway."

I felt shivers down my spine as she said this, not even ten minutes into our first conversation and she's already put me in fight or flight. My eyes wide, yet avoiding hers as soon as she reveals this truth. I clean my mess, pairing the coffee with a few creams, and a spoon.

"Stop scaring the new hire," a man calls out from behind me, his voice scratchy and thick with the local twang of Southern-Mississippians. His arms were covered in tattoos that were once black and neat, but now faded to almost a dark blue or green. Holding his hand out, I looked at the table behind him, and then back to the body that stood between me and the 'old fart.' "I'm Tommy,"

I flashed him my kindest grin despite my silent wishing of him to move out of my way, that I was thrown off of my focus by their need to introduce themselves in the middle of my very first rush. "I'm Mary."

"Mary," he nods, glancing towards the dark tattoos and their shading — some I even went as far to color red. The once bright reds turned darker over time, which I admired. "A pretty name for a pr-"

"Tommy! What the fuck did I just tell you to do?" Amy came towards us through the kitchen doors, her shirt greasier today than it was this morning. Her hair was pulled back now, covered in a hairnet and her hands gloved in latex. A black flour-covered apron tied around her waist. Tommy threw his hands up in defense as he took a step back from the charging bull.

I scoffed after realizing what was about to happen, and grabbed the coffee and creamer and positioned it carefully onto my tray. It was harder to carry than I remember it being, so I ensure that both of my hands stay on the tray between food and beverage drop-offs. "Here you go, sir," I say under my breath, trying to glance at the yelling voices that have travelled into the kitchen. "Your food will be out shortly."

Without anything more than a glance up from behind his newspaper, I turn around to tend to my other three tables. It was not crowded in my side of the restaurant, half of what could be used as tables were housing various napkins and straws, condiment packets and other office supplies that were overflowing the back office. I didn't mind the lack of tables, or being in the most secluded spot in the place. I felt the sun shining down on my warm skin through the windows I had taken the time to wipe down, and open the blinds. Rays of sunlight fell across the aisle between tables, warming my back as I stood beneath it.