Savannah Jaye

We’ll meet at Cracker Barrel—I don’t know why, I just think it is always the appropriate meeting place on road trips. I will get there first because I was anxious watching the clock’s time tick-tock slowly by, so finally I just got in my car and on the road. I’ll walk in to put my name on the waiting list, but there isn’t much of a wait so I don’t bother.  I slowly walk around the store trying to look like everything is okay and I’m just another customer burning valuable time, but on closer inspection my hands are shaking from nerves and I’m too afraid to pick anything up because I am sure that I will drop it. Finally I get bored, deciding to go outside to wait on the rocking chairs and fiddle with my phone, so that way when you arrive you’ll see me, but it won’t look like I’m desperately waiting like the nervous wreck that I actually am.

25 minutes later you’ll finally show up, and though I was hoping that you wouldn’t catch me looking around for you, you did.  I’m caught off guard, so I only flash a nervous-happy smile to begin with, but then I will follow it up with a genuine one.  After all, I am happy to see you; at least that’s what I kept convincing myself of the entire drive here. We go inside and, of course, there is now a long wait for a table.  I’ll now proceed to feel embarrassed and apologize profusely for not putting my name on the waiting list when I arrived; “It slipped my mind completely! I only got here like 5 minutes ago.” You’ll say it isn’t a big deal, and we’ll wander around the store looking at things.  You’ll probably pick up a tacky Christmas tree ornament, and I’ll giggle pretending like it is the first time I have ever seen it (even though my family has had the exact same one hanging on our tree at home for the past five Christmases). After what feels like an eternity, they’ll call our name and seat us.

First things first. Waters for both of us, I always get nervous ordering a soda when I know the guy is going to order a water.  Next I am going to order my usual: chicken and gravy over mashed potatoes, even though it isn’t nearly as good as what my mom would make and I know that I will only end up being able to finish half. Whatever entrée you order will surprise me in a good way, but I can predict at least 2 of your 3 side items. It’s now, for the first time since your arrival, that we’re forced to look directly at each other, yet we find it refreshing in its own awkward way.

We begin by having surface level small chat to catch-up and get over that initial awkwardness of seeing each other for the first time in so long. However, after a minute, the intense eye contact proves to be too much, so to make it a little less weird I propose a friendly competition. Thus we will play that stupid golf tee/peg game left on the table, and I will get progressively worse and worse at it with each re-do and you will get progressively better and better. I’ll finally laugh and call it quits (while secretly suspecting you of cheating) when you finish our 4th round with 1 peg left and I finish it with 7 pegs left. The small chat we’ve been having all this time, though, isn’t really us. We’ve known each other better than this at previous times in our lives, and talking about internships and our recent favorite bands doesn’t really count as catching up when I know you deepest doubts and hardest struggles.  But our food will be out any second now, which means that our meal and time together is almost over and I’m no closer to understanding why I drove all this way to see you, except for the fact that I knew I didn’t just want, but had to see you. So we both sit there for a moment in silence, slowly eating a biscuit.

Then, before I can build up the courage to inquire why you asked me to lunch, the food is there. And next thing I know, we’re having scattered pieces of conversation: “Oh, wow, this tastes great!”, “And, yes, can I have some more biscuits?”, “Man, I haven’t eaten here in so long.”, “Can I get some more water to drink?”,  ”Yes, everything is fine, thanks for asking.”, “May I get a to-go box?” and “Can we get our checks?” Then the waitress (who only has one star on her apron and probably doesn’t know any better) awkwardly asks, “Is this together or separate?”  And I honestly don’t know, so I get tense for the tenth time today and blurt out “SEPARATE!”, while you whisper out at the same time “Together.” However she only hears me because I’m loud and will always be loud, but that doesn’t really matter to me in this moment, because for the first time that day I will actually see you. I will understand, but it is too little and too late.

So we pay our bills, exchange final hugs, and part ways.  But really the whole time I’m stuck thinking about a “Together.” And on my 3 hour drive back home it will continue to plague me, just as you will be left troubled by a “SEPARATE!” on yours.