Table Nine
by Frankie Davis

---5 tables occupied, 11 customers in all, 3 couples, 1 single and a family of 4. Looks like it might be a slow night ahead. The checks are all dropped at the tables. Deb straightens the skirt that she’s just squirted mustard on. Luckily it’s a hue off so it’s not too noticeable. Trying to rub away at the tangy goo, she sighs for 2 seconds. Deb has a theory on sighs; she believes that everything can be explained through numbers, even emotions. ---1 second for anger. ---2 seconds for frustration. ---3 seconds for exasperation. ---A hopeless sigh can echo forever. ---There’s a soft ting of the bell on the restaurant door as it opens. Through the door comes a young man with a notebook in hand. He’s been a regular here for the last 3 months. Deb cringes when she sees him. Normally regulars are a heartwarming experience for a waitress, but serving him feels like a duty. The young man always sits alone and never wants to talk. The notebook always has his undivided attention and he protectively hides what he is writing when anyone nears. At least his tips were decent. ---Deb puts his order in to the cook and heads to grab his coffee. He always wants a cup of black coffee, glass of water no ice and a grilled cheese, side of fries with ranch dressing, keep the coffee coming. The order never changes, he is consistent, and Deb knows his pattern. ---The young man always stayed exactly an hour and 15 minutes each visit. He allotted 1 hour to write and left the remaining 15 minutes to eat. ---Deb knows this because she is fanatical about watching the clock. When you’re the only waitress at a diner you have to be, she always tells herself. Sometimes she watches the clock to see how long it takes for the cooks to make the food or wonders when the last person has come in. She always watches how long it takes them to pay their bill. ---Fascinated by the clock, time and numbers, she tries to figure out what the numbers mean in that particular moment. If it were 2:20 she would figure out how the 20 and 2 were interconnecting. Sometimes she counts things that relate to each other in 2’s until she gets to 20. Someone once told her that this was obsessive behavior but she finds that silly. Her queries always work out. Nothing is a puzzle when an end result can be found. In math, there is always an answer to the question. Numbers are always right. ---Math had always been her best subject in school. She would have liked being a math teacher had she not had kids so young. Her children were born 2 years apart. The 1st was 22 days after her 17th birthday, which was February 2nd. Her 2nd baby was born 22 days after the 1st baby’s 2nd birthday. ---Always a pattern, she smiles to herself. ---Her children are now grown and she finds the thought of herself being a schoolteacher amusing. She’s served the public for exactly 23 years and 3 months, but it’s consistently been burgers and fries. ---Deb wonders if the young man knows his patterns. He is always so precise and she wonders if it has purpose for him. She wonders if it has to do with what he is writing. He always stays for the same amount of time, visits 3 times a week and feverishly writes 9 pages in his notebook. ---Deb even started counting the number of cups of coffee he drinks. She notices a pattern here but it switches with every other visit. Sometimes it is 3 cups, the next it is 5 cups. Prime numbers. Adding prime numbers into her equations always excites her. Prime numbers are unbreakable; they are the statues of the number world. The 3 and the 5 multiplied equals the 15 minutes it takes him to eat. He always stops on the 15th minute, even if he hasn’t finished his meal. ---Deb doesn’t know his name but she knows his patterns. ---He’s been coming here for 3 months, 3 times a week, that’s been 36 grilled cheese sandwiches and 540 minutes to eat them with 72 ounces of ranch dressing. Due to the 2 ounce per customer policy, she reminds herself. She fixes his water and coffee as she calculates the time he has spent eating his sandwiches. ---9 hours in 3 months. 3 months, 3 times a week. Multiply the numbers and you will get the 9 hours, she sums up. ---She places the coffee and water in front of him. He briefly surveys her and gives a polite, silent nod in thanks and on cue opens the notebook exactly 3 seconds after he takes his 1st sip of the coffee. He does this on this 3-cup days, it’s 5 seconds on his 5-cup days. ---The young man starts writing and Deb starts sweeping the floor, counting the strokes to a practiced rhythm. The ding of a bell lets her know the dinner is done; it lingers for the usual 2 seconds. Grabbing the grilled cheese from the window she walks over to the young man and places the steaming, soggy yet crispy on the edges, sandwich in front of him. She glances at the clock on the wall, the plastic covering yellowed from the cigarette smoke. ---At that precise moment the hand hits 9pm. ---He is starting his 9th hour eating the grilled cheese at 9pm. ---It’s September, the 9th month. “What day is it?” she spits at him. He looks at her confused and startled; she is gripping the plate even though it’s sitting on the table. ---“Wednesday….” --- 9 letters. ---“The 9th.” --- He concentrates on her face. Deb helps herself to the seat across from him, lets her grip off the plate and holds his gaze as she sits down. Her eyes inquiring, asks him, “Is the number 9 significant to you?” ---“It follows me everywhere I go.” His stoic nature returns and he seems unmoved by her question.--- ---He always writes 9 pages. ---“What do you write about in your notebook?” Deb asks. ---“What if.” ---“What if what?” ---The young man holds a long pause before he speaks. ---“Any ‘what if’ you can think of, any possible ‘what if’.” ---“I don’t understand.” ---“What if you didn’t ask me about the number 9, what would have happened?” ---If she had to explain, it would make her sound crazy, she deducts. ---“I probably would have driven myself bonkers wondering. Do you want me to explain?” ---“No, not really. I was just wondering what would have happened had you not asked.” ---He slides the plate of food towards him and picks through the fries until he finds one acceptable enough to eat. The fries, like the sandwich, are soggy yet crispy on the edges. He acts as if she is not there anymore. Not sure if she should elaborate more to save face or get up and leave, she sits with her eyes fixed on him, unsure of her position. ---Munching on a fry, he stares at his plate, contemplation creeping on his face. He finally meets her gaze with amusement shining in his eyes. ---“What if I told you that you’re crazy?” ---Her mouth falls wide open, a large zero. ---“Crazy for counting, that is?” ---“How did you know I do that?” ---“Because you asked me about the number 9. Because I watch you count the strokes as you sweep. Because I purposely created a pattern to see if you would catch on.” ---“Why would you do that?” ---“Because I think you’re fucking crazy.” He tosses a fry into his mouth. ---Her mouth remains open. A dull ache throbs in her chest and her mouth is suddenly dry. ---“How many fries do you put on my plate every time?” ---“36” she whispers. ---“The same amount of sandwiches I’ve eaten in 3 months?” his amusement multiplies. ---Tears pooling in her eyelids, she nods. ---“The same amount of brush strokes you sweep back and forth before you’ll put down the broom?” ---A single tear streaks down her swollen red cheek. ---“The same 36 seconds that you count from the time it takes you to start fixing my beverages until the time you bring them to my table?” ---Her bottom lip begins to quiver, she cannot imagine trying to count the quivers per second. Her lower jaw is beginning to ache and a hollow throb has flourished in her throat. ---“Don’t cry, Deb,” miraculously his hard face softens. “I’m only here to help you understand.” Her face is streaked with tears, she blinks slowly and another runs down her face. That would be the 9th tear she thinks. The realization makes her sob. ---“The patterns?” she stutters. ---“No, the ‘What if?’” How do you think that pertains to the patterns?” ---“I don’t know.” She stumbles, she’s shaking. ---“What if you think about something so much that it starts to make sense? You start believing that it’s true. You can convince yourself of anything.” ---He pauses. ---“Deb, if you keep looking at every second, you will only see what you want to see. Of course you’ll find patterns, because you’re just looking for something that will make sense but you will not see anything outside of that. Because you don’t want to destroy your equation.” ---She absorbs his words as he carefully chooses another fry from his plate and pops it into his mouth. ---“Do you really think I’m crazy?” ---He pauses. ---He’s like a statue. ---He’s a 5. ---He’s a 3. ---He’s a… ---One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand… ---Laughter erupts from behind her. She snaps her head around, she’s forgotten about the other customers. Their eyes are glued on her. They are all laughing except for the little boy with the family of four. He sits looking at her, curious. Horrendous, mocking laughter blasts her ears. She feels the young man slap her on the back, he is laughing too. Fry spittle flying from his mouth onto the table. ---“Of course you’re fucking crazy!” he shouts in her face with magnified laughter. ---The little boy pulls on her sleeve, he is holding up one hand, fingers spread, his little palm facing her. He puts his other hand up; lifting fingers proudly “6, 7, 8…” ---“9!” A voice booms. “Table 9!” ---Deb is jarred out of her sleep. She must have dozed off in the back on her break. ---“Deb!! Table 9 has been waiting for you forever!!” the cook is screaming at her. ---“What…9?” ----“God, Deb…wake up!” In an angry whisper and starts shaking her arm. ---Getting up from the chair at the break table, her eyes carry over to the mirror that hangs in the back. The mirror is cracked and chipped but still does not hide how tired and raggedy she appears. She glances at the clock on the wall and realizes she has passed her 15-minute break limit. ---Only by 2 minutes and 37 seconds. ---Deb wipes the sleep from her eyes, straightens her stained skirt and hobbles out into the restaurant on two thick heavy legs. ---I’m not crazy. That doctor didn’t know what he was talking about. I count because I enjoy numbers, not from compulsion. I am not obsessed. I can see what others cannot. I see the patterns. I don’t have a disorder; I have discovered and mastered my own unique craft. ---Numbers have always been here, time has always been here. How can you deny that? When numbers have existed for so long, how could they not sync themselves? If they never changed, how can they not develop a routine? I just see what others cannot, she calculates. ---I’ve taken the time to look at the numbers. The days, the hours, the minutes, I can see between the seconds, she reasons. It’s really as simple as addition. ---All the patterns, everyday, all my equations work out in every way, she sings her comfort song in her head, putting a little smile back on her face. ---The cook scurries by her very annoyed, “Table 9 needs some coffee Deb. Get him his coffee!” She sighs. For the first time, she fears to count the seconds. Deb knows she is over her 3-second theory. ---Only 5 seconds to walk to the coffee station, 3 seconds to pour and 12 steps to table 9 from the station. My 12 steps take 1 second for every 2 steps. In my younger days it would have been 1 second for every 4 steps. I’m not the woman I used to be. He’ll have his coffee in less than 30 seconds. How’s that for customer service? ---Deb turns and looks at the culprit that caused the conflict with the cook. At table 9, the young man sits, scribbling in his notebook.

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