Someone at Waffle House Reminded Me of You
The server at Waffle House smirked as he poured my coffee. I wondered if it had something to do with the music of Andrea Bocelli pouring out of the wall-mounted jukebox at 6:17 in the morning. My wife is doing this, he said, from home. I was awestruck at the thought that somewhere in our town was a wife, alone in bed, queuing Italian pop-opera into the playlist of a Waffle House jukebox as some kind of lovers inside joke. Twinges of recollection glittered across his face with each ironic note, while across some invisible divide she whispered secrets - dripping with grease and butter - that only he could decipher.
Matthew Merson is a traveling salesman in Charleston, South Carolina where he lives with his wife, two kids, and several dogs.