brunch

Jake insists we go to Denny's for brunch.

"It's not really brunch at Denny's. " I say. And I object for a brief second, but since I never let Jake get his way and since we got to sleep in, and it makes Jake happy to get eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes for under four dollars I give in. Denny's confounds me. Jake can get his grandslam for the price of dirt and all I want is toast instead of pancakes and all of a sudden the price is seven dollars.

I drive because I always drive. In the car on the radio they are talking about all these different types of soy sauce. The guest on the show is male and he says to the host, "here go ahead try this one." And I wonder if the host is really trying the soy sauce or just pretending to, maybe just holding it up to her lips and smelling it. "Mmmm...gingery," she says.

Denny's is packed and it seems like every child has a microphone held up to their mouths. There is a ten to fifteen minute wait.

"Let's sit at the counter." I say.

"No. I feel like everyone is looking at me when we sit there."

There is an old man by the counter in a red motorized wheels chair. The back has a placard that says [heart] my job, [heart] my boss, I'm self-employed.

"Come on, I'll sit by the old guy with the chair. You don't have to."

"I really don't want to."

So we wait by the door. People come in by the twos or the fives. We crowd into the little waiting area.

A couple months ago Jake and I had gone to Denny's and the couple sitting next us was old. The woman was incapable of moving by herself. I think her husband might have chewed her food for her. The man, well he was filthy. It looked liked he hadn't changed his clothes in a decade. He probably rarely took them off to urinate. We had sat next to them and grimaced at each other, drinking our coffee in silence.

The old man in the motorized chair is trying to get through all the people, to the door I assume, but he takes a left towards the tables. It smells like vomit, that nostril burning smell. The old man is double over in his chair, a puddle of vomit on the floor. A confused Denny's worker is standing over him, a girl calls an ambulance. I plug my nose. Jake looks at the man.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Let's just go." Jake agrees.

We step out onto the street and leave behind the confusion. We are running from it.

"That man was turning purple."

"Why didn't anyone do the heimlich?" I ask.

"I won't let you die at Denny's."

"I beg you. The grandslam isn't worth it."

In the car on the way home the cooking show is still on and you can hear things sizzling in a pan over the air waves.