At the Diner

I’m sitting at a black and white checkered table, cautiously sipping coffee that I know is too hot. The air is light which is fitting for the beginning moments of your day. Before it becomes heavy from to do lists, tiring conversations, life’s daily stresses, and a greasy, but delicious breakfast entering your stomach.

As I sip my coffee, I look up and see a row of booths like dominoes. All filled up with different people who are also starting their day with large portions of eggs, pancakes, toast, and conversation. Nothing can bring together a group of strangers like good breakfast food. Most important meal of the day, folks.

I see two girls holding their cell phones and looking around as they talk. I imagine they’re capturing the most perfect Snapchat story and catching up on the newest gossip in their friend group. I want to lean in and tell them to soak that moment in. I want them to know that while I’m sure they have their struggles and difficulties, they also have the most hope while they’re still young. And I don’t mean that in a belittling way, but in the type of I-earnestly-want-to-go-back-in-time-and-be-just-like-you-again way.

I see a girl and her mother. I imagine sitting across from my mother at breakfast. My mom doesn’t eat breakfast, nor would she want to go out to eat for it. Despite the same DNA, we live on two entirely different spectrums. You could say she’s a homebody, and I’m more of the “wanderlust” type. I can’t help but smirk thinking about how the idea of sitting at the diner illustrates that so perfectly. I imagine me finishing my plate and immediately worrying about the judgment I’m about to receive. I wonder if this girl and her mother are close or if their relationship is more like the one I’m used to.

I sit and see a boy and girl, and I wonder where this diner appears in the timeline of their story. Maybe this is the beginning of something magical, a first date. More first dates should take place at breakfast. Nothing shows true colors like who a person is in the morning. Or maybe this is just a casual day in their lull of love. Or maybe it’s simply two friends catching up. But why is my first instinct to picture these two together as more than friends? Maybe it’s a sign of what I subconsciously want (because consciously I just want some coffee and eggs). I want these two to know that whatever the circumstances are – I’m rooting for them. Not only as one entity but as individuals.

In fact, I am rooting for everybody at the diner. Because why the hell wouldn’t we all root for each other?

Life is already handing us enough on our plates. We don’t need to add a side of competition, aggression, or judgment.

My thoughts that are far too absurd at such an early hour are interrupted by a “More coffee?”

…and despite life filling our plates, I’ll always say yes to more coffee, please.

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