The restaurant scene

This is an excerpt from a novel I have worked on. I could say I am currently working on it because it isn't finished, but I haven't focused on it in several years. I instead am focusing on a different novel, which will be the first one I publish.

A little background before I post ... The narrator is talking about her life as a child when her grandfather dies. She has been blind since birth and her grandfather was the only one who really understood her. This scene is in a restaurant shortly after they visited her grandfather for the last time.

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The car pulled into a parking lot and I knew that we were at the road-side diner that we always stopped at on the way home. My legs ached from sitting for so long, and I was glad for the break. The loose gravel crunched under my feet as we walked toward the door. Immediately upon opening them the strong stench of burning vegetable oil violated my nose like a charging ram. I could hear the sputtering of the grease splattering off the skillets and onto the floor. My father led us over to a small booth, and we sat down. The rustle of fabric washed too many times confronted our family as a waitress placed menus before us.

“What’ll it be?” she asked in an unconcerned tone, barely audible through the gum she chewed.

“We will have two dinner specials and two children’s hamburger plates,” my father responded. The pencil of the waitress scratched furiously as she wrote our order down in her own language of shorthand. She quickly gathered the menus as she asked, “Anything to drink?”

“Just water will be fine, and maybe some milk for the kids.” The scratching pencil faded into the background as she walked off. Why my father always came to this place was beyond me. I knew my mother did not approve as she never said anything while we ate. Coming from upper-class society, she certainly did not want to be seen in such an establishment as this. However, I think my father just liked to take a risk every now and again.

The waitress came back with our drinks and set them down. As she passed, I caught the faint aroma of a perfume my grandmother wore, making me relive the memory of my grandfather. He was gone. The realization hit me again as if for the first time. I sulkily kept my head down and played with the fringe on my dress, not wanting to show the tears that were falling.

“Keep your head high and you’ll go places,” he used to say to me.

How can I, I thought. I’m too little.

“You’re never too little.”

But I’m not strong enough.

“Strength will always come when needed.”

I’m scared.

“Remember me, and I will be with you.”

I lifted my head with my eyes closed as the tears coursed down my cheeks. I let them fall freely as I opened my eyes to the darkness before me.

“Honey, are you okay?” my father asked. I could barely hear him as I let the emotions overcome me. I sat confused at what I felt. I should have felt grief, but I didn’t. I should have felt sorrow for losing him, but nothing was there.

Stop the tears. I sat silently as my mother wiped my eyes dry.

“It’s okay.”

Is it? I continued to stare out into nothing as the dark void that I saw enveloped what I felt.

No more tears. Don’t cry anymore. And I never did.

The heat of the restaurant created a stickiness between my legs and the vinyl seat in which I sat. I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down my calf. It tickled, but I didn’t touch it or wipe it away. I barely even breathed. I had no desire to move. The waitress soon arrived with our meals, and I could smell the greasy burger steaming in front of me. The stench rose up into my nose and through my cavity into my mouth as my taste buds told my brain what it was. But nothing seemed to register. It didn’t even seem like food, just a dead cow lying between two pieces of bread. More death.

“Honey, are you going to eat?”

I didn’t even acknowledge my father’s voice. I could feel all their eyes on me as I kept my own fixed on the emptiness before me.

“She doesn’t have to eat, if she doesn’t want to.” I was surprised that my mother would come to my defense, but I soon realized that it wasn’t me she was defending but rather her own desire to eat somewhere else. “I know I wouldn’t want to eat here.”

“Don’t start with that again. I’ve already explained that I just like to get away from the madness of the high life once in a while.”

“Yes, but do you have to do it in such a place? I mean, look at the floor. When do you think was the last time they mopped this place? I’m surprised they even pass inspection.”

“Look, if you want…..” My father’s voice trailed off in my consciousness as my thoughts wandered to my own grief. Thankfully, they had left me alone and turned to their own problems. The smell of the food before me drifted up to my nose once again. I could hear my brother smacking his food loudly in his mouth. I picked up a French fry and felt it in my hand. The grease seeped out of the previously frozen potato slice and ran down my finger. I couldn’t eat. I felt sick to my stomach. I put the fry down and hugged my belly, trying to make the pain stop.