You're Not the Boss of Me

“You’re not the boss of me, Sarah”

My baby takes the morning train…

“Party? What party?”

The restaurant held many conversations and words. They all floated into her.

“Cheese”

“Mom!”

“It just can’t handle that kind of job, Bill. That’s what your problem is”

“It just doesn’t pay enough”

It all swirled in her head. She had a lot on her mind as it was.

Her Father’s impending visit, her mid-term, how many calories the cheeseburger she was eating contained, why her Mother couldn’t just quit smoking.

“These fries are pretty good”

“Go sit with Grandma, honey”

“Number 46, your order is ready”

She felt like crying. The stress of living was catching up with her. She could feel herself gaining weight in that little restaurant. She could feel her skin getting worse, pores clogging. She was starting to lose it. She started daydreaming about ambulances. She imagined that on slow nights when there were no accidents that all the ambulances and their drivers gathered in large parking lots and listened to music and told each other stories and laughed and embraced not having to deal with death or injury.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you call him back?”

“Where’s El Paso?”

“The whole thing felt like a dream”