"Everything I know about life I've learned sitting in Denny's."
Whenever Jenny has something to say, I'm attuned to every word, every subtle variation in tone and pitch. Just by the nuances of her speech patterns, I can tell when she's smiling, frowning, smirking, or whatever, even without looking at her. I've had plenty of practice. It may appear that I'm trying to get the waitress to bring another iced tea, or that I'm just staring at that guy over there with the tattoo on his head, but the focus of my attention is definitely Jenny.
"Seriously," she continues. "This is the only place where we actually think about things. In school, we're too busy trying to attract the other gender to give a damn about what teachers say. At home, our parents don't say anything to us. They're afraid that if they tell us to do something, we'll rebel and do the opposite."
"Yeah," says T.J. "And if they tell us to do the opposite of what they want us to do, they're afraid we'll do what they say."
"Exactly," Jenny answers. "This is our roundtable. The way I see it, there is no time or place home to so much philosophical discourse as Denny's at two a.m. on a Friday night."
As Walt checks his watch, I realize that Jenny's right. All the profound insights that I order my life around, I, too, have learned here at the Denny's. Perhaps it's because I only come here when Jenny's here or when I'm with my friend Suzi. They are the only people I feel I can really talk to. I can't talk to Jenny with the guys around, though.
The conversation is accompanied by the usual backdrop of clanging plates and barking customers. The laments of the various customers actually serve as a delicate chorus for the dance of impatient waitresses. Gliding from table to table, the flustered hirelings execute their practiced movements in perfect time to the strains of indignant customers. Maybe it isn't really a dazzling spectacle, but it's a more romantic image than the grease fires of witless short-order cooks and the blank stares of idiot busboys.
I'll be the first to admit that my perspective changes dramatically when Jenny's around. Her presence just does something to me. Everything suddenly appears faultless: the cooks look out for my health by forgetting the french fries I ordered, the customers serenade Jenny and I from across the room, the police officer who stands near the door protects us from the outside world, and the lovely waitresses dance a brilliant fandango for our benefit alone.
"Hey, Al!" Slack interrupts my visions of beauty. "Check out Sinead over there. Why would anyone do that shit to their face? She can't possibly think it's attractive."
I can always count on one of the guys to break in, if not when I'm deep in conversation with Jenny, then when I'm just thinking about her. This time it's Slack, indicating a bald girl with a chain running from her nose to her ear. That's Slack in the corner of the booth, under the light fixture that I've just noticed is missing a bulb. Sitting there looking like the offspring of Eddie Bauer and J. Crew, he poses a striking contrast to the woman in black he's pointed out.
"Oh, come now." I respond. "You got your ear pierced."
"It's hardly the same as coating your face with holes and chains."
Everyone else agrees with him, but I find it ironic that Slack is repulsed by pierced noses and eyebrows and the like, yet believes his gold earring adds charm to his own face. Jenny likes some of his earrings, though. For her brother's shotgun wedding, she borrowed Slack's handcuff earrings. I thought she looked better in the sun and moon ones, although really she looks great with or without any of them.
"Are you going to eat those pickles?"
Now it's T.J.' turn to interrupt. Sitting smug there on the end with his Ballpark Slam, T.J. wants nothing more than to gorge himself on what he considers to be the "finest culinary artistry in America." He says he would called it the best in the world if he hadn't been to Lyon with his dad. Apparently Denny's doesn't come close.
T's a big guy, but I wouldn't call him fat. He eats a lot, but he also works out. The end result is the starting right tackle for our football team, the Highland High Green Knights. I'm just thankful he considers himself a friend of mine.
Ooh--he just took a particularly large mouthful--"How's the burger, T.?"
"Mrrmph!" He gives the thumbs up and nods.
That's T, the only person I know who actually goes to Denny's for the food.
Walter's there in the middle. Sturdy, dependable. He thinks of himself as the glue that holds our group together. I think of him as the only one with absolutely no semblance of a life whatsoever. I mean, we're all pretty sorry, but Walt's the only one who will always join us, no matter what. Sometimes it can be difficult getting everyone together, what with T.J. practicing or working out all the time, Slack perpetually grounded, Jenny occasionally going out with her female friends, and me sometimes cutting out to study--usually when Jenny's out with her friends. Walt's always available, though.
The waitress finally checks on us after missing in action for ten minutes. I raise my glass, "Another iced tea, please."
"Geez, Al." Walt says. "How many is that?"
"If she ever brings it, I believe it'll be my sixth."
"Going for the record, buddy?" Slack says. "I think you had seven after the Cleeping Hedgehog concert."
"That's not the record," T.J. replies. "He had eight after the playoff game against Lakeland." It was T that had prompted me to eight that night to commemorate his M.V.P. performance. He set a conference record with eight quarterback sacks.
"Yeah, but he went to the bathroom after the sixth that night. His record for straight iced teas, no break, is seven."
"I didn't know we were talking about the no bathroom record. Does anyone want that last mozzarella stick?"
I am content to just listen to them debate my achievements in the world of iced tea imbibing. Theirs' seems like a petty conversation; I wonder where all the philosophical discourse is that Jenny spoke of. Maybe it's because I'm the only one going to college in the fall, except Jenny--she's going to Waterford Community College--but I'm the only one going away. I'll be moving on to a new life, new friends, and actually continuing my education. They are my friends, but sometimes I feel like I don't fit in any more, that they're just complacent with their stale lives and I'm waving to them from the high-speed lane. Maybe I'm just overreacting; these are educated people, afterall. Perhaps Denny's just isn't their place to flaunt their intelligence. They proabably just come here to relax and have a little fun, to hang out with friends over a burger. But then I see the vacuous looks on their faces--
"Hey Al!" Slack interrupts. "It looks like Jenny's going down on that mozzarella stick!" He laughs.
"--and I hear the incredibly idiotic things they say and I wonder if maybe they aren't really that stupid. Why do I continue to surround myself with such ignorance? All they do is eat chicken fingers and sip chocolate shakes and question the sexual orientation of the waiters and waitresses here. How can I be a part of this? I continue to ask myself the question, but I know why I continue to be a part of all this. Jenny.
Wonderful Jenny. Beautiful, exciting, creative, witty, daring Jenny. She is so different from the others. I really got to know her last year when we went out--well, maybe went out is the wrong phrase--we never really had a date--not in the usual sense of the word, but we screwed around a little. The guys don't know about that, nor do they need to. Jenny said the less they know about things, the better. I think she's right. They probably wouldn't understand, anyway. Jenny said she liked me because I was more intelligent than them; she felt she could really discuss things with me.
In the end, though, things didn't work out. Jenny was seeing some college guy, and I was really hurt when I found out. The only thing the guy had on me was about six years, but I guess that was enough. They've since parted ways, but I still haven't gotten over her.
Jenny and I were really great together. She understood me better than anyone else I know. I remember when I took her for walks through Richmond Park. We'd sit on the swings and talk about things that really mattered: politics and religion, family, the meaning of life and death, growing up. When we held hands, we just fit so well together. I couldn't believe it when she said she wanted to spend more time with Sean. Then came that Fred character. Or was it John and then Fred? And what was the name of that accountant? Of course, I mustn't forget the twins, Matt and Pat. Now she's seeing that Larry bastard.
"Anyone want to do something tomorrow night?" Walt brings me back to the conversation at hand.
I'd like to find Larry and introduce him to T.J.'s fist, but I don't say anything.
"I'm grounded," Slack says. "But I can probably sneak out again. Got anything specific in mind?"
"My church is having a carnival all this weekend. Tickets are three dollars, but my mom says she can sneak us in, if we promise to help clean up afterwards.
T is the first to reply. "I really need to work out all day tomorrow. Coach says if I don't lose ten pounds before the Walken game, he'll bench my ass."
"That's not exactly my cup of tea," I say. "Count me out."
"I'm grounded," Slack says. "Wish I could, though."
"I can help out, Walt," Jenny smiles.
Shit! I should have waited until Jenny spoke before answering. Now Walt will have her all to himself at the stupid carnival and I'll be home picking my nose. Damn.
I guess I'm so hung up on her because she's such a strong-minded woman. She does what she wants. She doesn't let anyone get in her way, and she doesn't care who get's left in her wake. Yes, Jenny is all woman.
I don't understand the other guys: Slack only drools over blondes adorned from head to toe in American Eagle or Gap clothing. T.J. only consents to date girls who will cook for him, or at least provide him a kitchen and food; he's actually a pretty good cook. I don't much know what Walt's interest is, as he's so uncomfortable discussing such matters. I think maybe he likes Jenny, but how could he not? It always surprises me when I hear that someone doesn't like her. T.J., for example, thinks she's a tease, but I think he's just sore that she stopped seeing Ted, one of his friends on the offensive line.
Anyway, I myself am only interested in someone who can kick my ass, keep me in place. A stubborn woman who knows she's the boss. In short, a challenge. There's something thrilling about a woman who knows what she wants and gets it. Unfortunately, that's not who I attract. I tend to attract the inexperienced women, the ones who fall in love with the first guy they go out with. I'm always that guy.
Maybe I should consider myself lucky to have these women fawn all over me, but as the astrology love guide my mom has notes: "Aquarius men always prefer a partner they can look on with respect, as an equal." I don't want someone who only has free time and wants to spend it all with me. Jenny is definitely not like that--Oh, God. She's looking at me.
"...Alan?"
© 2001 ryan@forsythe.to