Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Two Weeks' Notice

Torn down and there’s nothing left to tell who she was before. She carries her head low, mumbles the answers to questions and smiles without soul. She’s lost something and everyone can tell. She’s different and silent and still.
She glides across the floor in small blue shoes, taking orders and delivering food. Her tips reflect a real loss of personality. People who used to pay for a smile or a laugh now pocket an extra dollar almost sadly. Her trips to the kitchen are short, in one door and out the other just long enough to place the order. No one asks her questions or tells her jokes, not like they used to. She doesn't laugh anymore, she doesn't know how to.

Tell her you need a coffee and she pours you a cup. Tell her you’re bored and she sighs. Her feet are sore from standing, her eyes are deeply red, her tongue is swollen from disuse and her mind is ready for bed. It’s been a long week and the year is longer still. If she just makes it through today, she thinks tomorrow will be the same. If she makes it through the month her mind will be made. She isn't staying long she decides, not long enough to be noticed. Everyone here will forget me after I put in my two weeks’ notice.

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