Disclaimer:
Why do we always include these things? I recognize that all things
pertaining to Sailor Moon are not mine. I further recognize that "Tom's
Diner" (1) and future lyric inspirations are not mine. This is called
"fanfiction" which means that "hey, somebody else's stuff really
inspired me to streth a few artistic muscles and to pay homage to said
stuff's greatness." Yes, I know I changed the tense of the songs
slightly.
Summary:
The subway station across from Andrew's
diner provides him with customers. Andrew provides me with pancakes in
the mornings. Serena-centric. AU.
Author's note: It's a little nerve-wracking to send your brain child into the world. I do want to learn how to improve my writing through this exercise, but please be courteous in your reviews.
September the 29th:
The subway station across from Andrew's diner provides him with customers. Andrew provides me with pancakes in the mornings and in every other time of day. Andrew formerly worked at my favorite teenage arcade. Perhaps it is fate that he has always been a familiar face in my daily life. That is, if I believed in fate.
The day that the diner opened, I hadn't even known he was interested in diners. I'd just flopped yet another interview. "Well, we have many other qualified candidates," the interviewer had informed me, "we will get back to you in a few days." I'd heard lines like that before. My wounded pride and empty stomach had been drawn in by an enticing smell. Food fixes everything. I remember the food Lita created - there was nothing to soothe a difficult cold like her soup.
A bell jingled as I had opened the diner's door. "Serena!" I jumped back slightly and looked up. I must have been gazing down past my shoes for some time. My heart had unpleasantly fluttered. "Come in! Did you get my email? I tried to call you, but no one seems to know your number. In fact, no one seemed to know where you've been," he had frowned. I did not respond to his bait. Rather than pressing the matter, Andrew had sat me down and served me his home-style pancakes and rich, bittersweet coffee.
Since then I have been coming once, if not twice, a week. I feel special being a regular. Even now, I sit in my favorite booth near the back where I can watch the coming and going customers. The sunlight glimers through the rain soaked, tinted windows. The customers' chatter and their rustling newspapers compete with the TV new station.
"How are you, Sere'?" Andrew questions me as he places a plate of pancakes and sausage down. The steam warms my nose. Andrew begins to pour my coffee. I look down to watch as the dark liquid swishes and sloshes and suddenly stops halfway.
I watch as Rita enters. Happily, he greets her, "It is always nice to see you." She shakes her umbrella. Andrew and Rita have been going out since a few months after you and I first met. Why did it work for them, but not us? I look other way as they kiss their hellos. I pretend not to see them. I fill the rest of the mug with milk. I'd much rather be forgotten than request the remainder of my coffee.
I open up the newspaper. Its acidic pages rubbing the dark ink onto my fingers. There is a story of some singer who died while he was drinking. I hadn't heard of him before. I turn to the horoscope predicting my "impending fortune". Whatever.
I begin to look for the funnies. Why can't they ever stay on a consistent page? Better yet, why can't they be on the front page? I feel someone watching me. Mina is outside the diner looking inside. I become tense. Does she see me? No, she doesn't really see me. She only sees her reflection. I try not to notice as she's hitching up her skirt. Really, Mina, isn't it short enough already? While she's straightening her stockings her hair is getting wet.
"This rain will continue through the morning," the weather-caster announces. I pause to listen to the distant chimes of the cathedral tolling the time. You'd told me I was beautiful when rain drenched. Despite the weather, our midnight picnic had been romantic. . .
No. I am not going to go there. Why is your absence still haunting me?
I finish milk-coffee while poking my sausage with a fork. It's time to catch the train.