John Rector - The Cold Kiss

There was nothing special to the place, a couple of gas pumps out front and a neon OPEN sign buzzing its welcome behind dirty glass. The inside was clean and warm and smelled like grease and onions, and by the time the waitress brought our coffee, Id managed to shake the road out of my head and was beginning to feel alive again. We sat for a while, not saying much, drinking our coffee. We were the only ones inside except for a man whispering into a pay phone on the other side of the lunch counter. I dont think we wouldve noticed him at all if it wasnt for his cough. The sound, wet and choking, was hard to ignore.

I did my best. Sara didnt. My grandfather had a cough like that, she said. Right before he died. It was terrible. It doesnt sound good.

When he got real bad, hed cough and spray blood and mucus all over everything, his clothes, the furniture, the walls, everything. She sipped her coffee. Do you know what its like having to pick scabs out of your hair at night because someone coughed blood on you? I told her I didnt. Its not fun, believe me. Probably worse for him. Sara looked at me then nodded.

Yeah, youre right. It was terrible for him. She reached for the sugar and opened three packets into her coffee then tossed the empties on the growing stack in the ashtray. People understood and I dont think anyone blamed him in the end, considering how much pain he was in and all. Blamed him? For killing himself. She took another sip of the coffee and frowned.

You know, they say decaf tastes the same, but it doesnt. I can tell the difference. You never told me about that. About what? Your grandfather killing himself. The cancer wouldve got him anyway, she said. He knew the longer he stuck around the more the insurance companies wouldve tried to screw him.

I mightve done the same thing if I was him. Not me. Youre not in that situation, so you dont know. I started to argue then felt a dull wave of pain build behind my eyes. I looked down and pressed my fingers against the sides of my head. You okay? Sara asked.

I told her I was. Your head? I nodded. Do you have your pills? Took them already, I said. Itll pass. I can drive some, if you want. Ill be fine.

Finish your story. Not much to finish, Sara said. It is what it is. I sat back, and neither of us spoke for a long time. The only other sound in the room was Hank Williams, far away and lonely, singing Lovesick Blues through hidden speakers in the ceiling. I wasnt a big fan of country music, but there was something about Hank Williams that always put me in a good mood.

Shame how he died. A few minutes later, the man at the pay phone slammed the receiver down then walked to the lunch counter and sat on one of the stools. He coughed, then lifted a glass of water and drank. It didnt help, and he coughed again. Each time he did, Sara winced. That poor man, she said.

He sounds awful. I didnt say anything. Behind me, the kitchen doors opened and our waitress came out carrying two plates stacked with food. Sara smiled. Its about time. The waitress crossed the dining room and set the plates in front of us.

She asked if we needed anything else. I told her we didnt, and she set a half-empty bottle of ketchup on the table then disappeared back into the kitchen. I stared at my burger for a moment then closed my eyes. The pain in my head was fading, but the pills were making my stomach spin. I wasnt sure if Id be able to eat, so I wanted to take my time. Sara didnt wait.

She pushed her dark hair behind her ears and reached for her burger. By the time I took my first bite, she was almost finished. Damn, I was starved, she said. I agreed, and neither of us said much as we ate. Eventually, my stomach settled, and when I started to slow down I set what was left of my burger on the plate and said, So, how did he do it? The man at the counter wheezed and coughed. Howd who do what? Your grandfather, I said.

Howd he kill himself? Sara frowned. Thats a little morbid. You dont have to tell me. I dont mind. Im just teasing you. Big mess. Big mess.

Youre kidding. She shook her head then picked up a bundle of fries and ran them through a pool of salted ketchup on her plate and took a bite. My daddy said he killed himself like a man, whatever that means. My grandma said it was because he wanted an open casket at his funeral. She said if he had a weakness, it was vanity. Do you miss him? Not really, she said.

I was young, and the only memory I have is being outside with him in his tomato garden. Those vines were so tall, they seemed to go up and up forever. She looked down at her plate then picked up a few more fries. Thats a good memory, I guess. I didnt say anything else. Instead, I sat and watched her eat and tried to imagine her as a young girl standing in her grandfathers tomato garden, safe and happy under a vaulted blue Minnesota sky.

Sara mustve seen something in my eyes because she smiled then leaned across the table and kissed me long and soft. Her lips tasted like fryer oil and salt. Its okay, baby, she said. We all bounce till we break.

Something shattered behind me and I turned. The man at the counter was fumbling with the napkin dispenser and fighting to breathe.

There was broken glass on the floor and water ran off the edge of the counter in thin streams. The waitress came over with a dish towel and started picking up the broken glass. The man tried to speak, but every few words were broken by another long hacking string of coughs. You think hes okay? Sara asked. I didnt answer. I watched him get up and reach for a green backpack on the stool next to him.

He slid the strap over his shoulder then weaved his way through the empty tables toward the bathrooms in the back of the diner. He held a crumpled stack of napkins over his mouth as he walked. He needs a doctor, Sara said. Looks that way. You should go see if hes okay. I ignored her and watched him until the mens room door closed, then I picked up my burger and finished the last few bites.

I could still hear the man coughing, but it was muffled and far away. A few minutes later, the waitress came by and refilled our coffee. Sara thanked her then said, Is that guy okay? Doesnt sound like it, the waitress said. Im just hoping he doesnt die back there. I need to make it home to my kids before this storm hits. I looked out the window at the parking lot and saw our car, already covered with a thin layer of snow.