From the Outside of the Women's Restroom

I never expected to wish for deafness at 16. In the whirlwind of Dolby Atmos and Apple Music, there’s nothing louder than the resonating hum from a dingy diner’s neon. The grease stained air is thick with a moldable tension, and the fryer’s pop pop pop soundtrack doesn’t outscream the OPEN sign to any extent.

I’m sitting across from a linen sheltered skeleton (almost literally, his skin is sea-glass-see-thru and asbestos white) as he implodes over the $15.99 cheeseburger in his overflowing mouth. 

“You know”, he says in between stomach dislocating swallows, “They’re taking a long ass time in there.” 

He nods his thin must(y)ache toward the six empty seats at our booth. Summer Friday’s lipgloss reserve the empty leather seats, but this whole afternoon feels more like a February’s heatless Monday. 

I stole 3 sips from his Diet Coke and paid it back in one long sigh. “They’ll be out soon enough. It’s not like the bathroom has anything crazy in it, right?”

Crazy or not, whatever prison guard that kept their gold-plated laughter locked up wasn’t being paid for his security. Through the glowing crack under the door, you could hear an indefinite familiarity leaking out like secrets from a blacked out talebearer.

The decibel duel of white noise and intoxicated screeches tickled the silverware and splintered the straws. Under the flickering fluorescent prisms and the mildew laced ceilings, the stranger somehow looked even paler than before.

“I mean, I don’t know. They’re your friends, not mine. How come you’re the only person out here anyway?”

He pauses after my silence, and canopies over the half-eaten salads before looking back at me.

“They are, right?”

From the edge of my peripherals, the frosted windows of the restroom doors seemed to glow a bit brighter. “Of course they’re my friends”, I convince myself. I’m selling out reassurance here like it’s an online course, but it really felt like I was desperately buying myself some delusion.

“But you know. It’s the silences like these that just makes me feel distant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I don’t know how to put it into words, give me a second.” He hands me his half empty glass.

“I just feel like a spectator outside of whatever Reality TV show they’re living inside of that ephemeral aviary. You wouldn’t get it, like you’ve never had to experience this.” 

His straight eyebrow metamorphosizes into a slitted arch. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I mean not a single one of your friends is a woman.” 

“Oh yeah, okay, you cunt.” The duet of electric buzzing and feminine laughter becomes a cacophony as we add our own melodies, and the dissonance massages the tension out of the air. For just a moment.