The Impatient Man and His Suit

The Moon

I stared up at my ceiling fan locked eyes with the spinning blades, then letting out a giant sigh, I turned on my side to face my alarm clock. 6:00 A.M.

The most unpleasant thing in the world is waking up thirty minutes before your alarm. I stared at the burning red digits and blinked heavily as I started to think about the day ahead. Working doubles every day was finally taking its toll on my energy. Drifting further into my thought, I remembered what Darla said the other night.

"...He simply just asked for you, by name that is..."

Pulling my covers closer to my face, I shuddered. Despite my horror, I considered the situation fully, hoping I could conclude my fears to be baseless. But no matter my efforts to reason with my anxieties, I found no viable answer as to why this man returned to the diner and requested me. His knowledge of my name was the most baffling thing.

Startled more than usual by the sound of my alarm, I scrambled to turn it off.

Forcing myself out of bed and leaving my worries buried beneath my comforter, I reluctantly started my day. My routine was completed with even more dread than before, and I collapsed on the bench in the foyer, waiting for Hattie to pull up and haul me off to my potential death.

"It's raining hard again isn't it?" she said with a mouth full of bacon and tomato before offering the sandwich, "Have a bite."

"No, thank you..." I groaned, reaching for the AC dial. 

Hattie gave a loud croak as she choked on her food, "Hands off the heater. 'Isn't good for this leather," she stated as she slapped my hand. I stared at her slightly offended.

"When heat is applied to this stuff they absolutely wreak, and I highly doubt you want that."

Surprised by her reasoning, I looked around myself as I observed the vintage leather seats. "

"Where did you get these things again?" I questioned cautiously. She purposely hesitated as she bit into her sandwich, then replied, "Never mind that. All you need to know is that the colder it gets the better off me and you are." 

Vigilant of what I touched, I continued in whatever topic of conversation my friend and I would get into. After a short amount of time, I started to rant about the recent events of the previous two nights.

"...and then he called me-- something outrageous... a "muggle"? Can you believe it?" I angrily laughed.

"A knob! If I were you I'd--... Well, what does Muggle mean..?" Hattie returned curiously.

"Well you see, it--...I honestly don't know...But it couldn't have meant something pleasant on his part, right?" I admitted.

"Mugg-muggy-muggle..." she repeated, hoping to find its definition through synonyms. "Maybe it's slang for mugger? Or perhaps meddler?" she tried.

"Whatever it means, it's not a compliment," I assured my friend.

"But...What was all that food he had for then?" she questioned again.

"That's what really got me," I started, "I was thinking maybe he was distributing food to the homeless...But he seems too cold-hearted a bloke for that".

"That's it! He thought you were homeless! That explains why he came back looking for you. He felt bad!" she exclaimed, "He saw you setting up home at the bus stop and decided to help you out. But he realized who you were!" she went on with a hint of sarcasm. 

"Stop giving me a hard time! This is serious. What if he means to stalk and kill me!" I whined as I punched her shoulder.

Our conversation offered me little peace and by the time we arrived at the diner, my stomach was doing summersaults. 

"Don't forget I'm going to pick you up this time!" Hattie yelled after me as I hopped up onto the curb.

 I nodded, unable to smile, and waved my friend goodbye. Half-tempted to meander outside for five more minutes, I reconsidered my disadvantaged exposure and hastily went in. After exchanging greetings, I walked into the kitchen and situated myself. It was thirty minutes later when Michael came bursting into the door with a smug look on his face.

"Late again, Michael," I mumbled, following our opening ritual and tossing his stain-covered apron in his direction. 

"Actually, Ms. (L/N), I came in early yestermorning, ye' see. But you wasn't there to witness it," he retorted, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

"I simply don't believe it. Your capabilities never serve you that well," I replied in good humor.

Darla wobbled onto the floor and interrupted, "He did come in rather early yesterday." 

Letting out a triumphant "hah!", Michael directed it at me but was shortly interrupted by Darla once more, "That doesn't mean I'm on your side. You came in thirty minutes late this mornin' and I don't want to see it happenen' again." 

His toothy smile quickly disappeared from his face as he sulkily retreated to the kitchen.

The day was slow, just as I had hoped. But it made the anticipation of my enemy's possible arrival unbearable. Every time the bell at the door jingled, my anxiety was riled up again, and I could barely keep myself occupied long enough before I started drifting into a series of maladaptive daydreams. Worn out from the migraine that had plagued me, and deprived of sleep, I was still prompt and present at my job, but I wished desperately for the day to end. I thought of the approaching weekend and felt rejuvenated at last.

Hour after hour, minute after minute, and still no blonde appeared. My concerns had worn off for the most part as I considered that he wouldn't come. Perhaps he had given up on pursuing me and my ruin. But as closing hour descended upon us, my dread returned. He had come just before closing the other night. I waited so long and with such fearful anticipation that it began to alter my features, plastering an unrelenting scowl on my face.

"You alright, dear?" inquired Darla, approaching the counter. 

"Just tired is all," I offered her a smile. 

Placing her hands on her hips she sighed, "I don't want you catching another cold. With the way you look now, I doubt it's completely left you."

Her notion was correct. As the day went on, my condition worsened. I struggled to keep my eyes open, my head felt like an air balloon, and my body ached in every spot. The whole day I had served twenty customers, mopped the kitchen floor twice, and wiped down all of the booths. The rain had cleared up thankfully, and the clouds seemed to show a little of the moon as they passed along. 

"Full moon," Michael stated somberly as he rested his chin on his hand. I walked over to the booth where he stood and gazed at the glowing circle. It almost seemed bright yellow as a veil of thin clouds covered its half. 

"It's beautiful. Wish I could have a closer look," I pondered.

"You'd need a telescope for that. Or maybe you could ride a broom..."

Michael and I jerked our heads around to see whose owner the voice belonged to, and behold; my enemy stood in his suit with a frown stretching across his lips. Chills shivering down my spine, I stared baffled by his comment. I didn't even hear the bell jingle and there he was, like a specter appearing out of thin air.

Maintaining his disagreeable expression, he held up a piece of paper and motioned at the counter, "Let's get a move on then."