#sfumato

 I am excited to work. I love to work. 

  I work all day at an old diner a few blocks from my apartment. It is still popular, and the regulars are very… Well, regular. There are not many workers, so the pay is good enough. But the pay is not the point, of course. I serve, in the most literal sense. I spend my days on my feet, with damp hands and platters to decorate each hand. I speak to all manner of people and serve their needs because that’s what I’m supposed to do. I can’t be disgusted. But I can be ashamed, which is what I am when I wash my hands or apply hand sanitizer every ten minutes by instinct. No one else does it, but the whole world is so dirty. 

  I am a hypocrite playing saint. I know I am the sickest thing in the entire building at any point in time. The sinner who does it unknowingly does it with something almost like innocence, but if I mess up, I do it in front of God’s entire court. To be disgusted would be to wrangle a string around someone else’s neck while I have a noose readily tied around my own.

  I think of how I got here as I pull things out and wipe down tables moments before opening. When I moved away from my grandparents to find my own material livelihood, I took up this job. My grandmother was surprised, and maybe even a bit fretful. She, the holiest person I know, asked why I would take a job like this. I thought she was joking, so I answered truthfully- this is what she made me for. I was raised to be a martyr, in some way or another. You either die horribly or serve your entire life, and I knew it should make her sad if I died. I stopped talking after I saw the off look on her face. I never told her that I figured out she wasn't making a joke. 

  I shove those thoughts from my mind as I turn to my work, drowning myself in it. I will focus. I will be better today. I did not die last night, so it must be God telling me I can avoid these urges. 

  I hope I can. 

-

  They come in an hour past the lunch rush.

  I hear the door ping behind me, but I don’t turn to look until Wade and Logan are already seated under one of the long, bright windows along the wall. Which is my first mistake.

  My second mistake is turning around.

  My third mistake is running like a coward.

  Which I do, rounding the corner of the long sit-down counter and barrelling into the kitchen like a bat out of… you know. 

  The three line cooks and my fellow waitress, Lily, raise their heads to look at me, all of their brows raised in surprise. I know how I am to them- always quiet, always collected, sometimes odd. So bolting into the kitchen like the Devil himself just waltzed into the diner probably came as a bit of a surprise to them. 

  Lily hesitates for a second before inching closer to me, glancing at our coworkers before leaning in to speak. “...Ah. Uhm. What’s got you so worked up, (Name)? Seems something might’ve… spooked you.” 

  Lily. Liliah. That’s what the men who come in here towards the end of our shift call her, so I guess that must be her full name. I’ve never had the stomach to call her that, since that’s not the name she gave me. She gave me Lily, and so Lily she is. Our live-in song bird. Her questioning voice yanks me out of my thoughts, pulling me back to the present moment where I just stormed into the kitchen. 

  “Oh. Yes, uhm…. Yeah. It’s nothing. I’m sorry, I guess I just got worked up. It’s fine. There are people here, just a party of two, and I… need to go make a call… so….” My voice trails off, waning in confidence as I tear myself apart in my mind. I said I’d be better today, didn’t I? I promised myself I could overcome everything, I was practically promised that I could overcome my trial. But I’m running from my divine test, and forsaking my work, too. Pushing it onto someone else. Terror grips me. I have become consumed. First my flesh draws me out, now it draws me to be slothful. 

  I should go on my break right about now. 

  I watch Lily hesitate again before she goes to the swinging door, peeking out to look at our latest guests. I watch her face light up at the sight of them, and something ugly twists inside of me. I don’t have a name for it. Perhaps it is the warning signs of a late death. Perhaps God has finally seen that I am weak, and he has come to reap me as I requested the night before. 

  Lily looks back at me, her expression warmer. 

  “Yeah, I can totally take them if you want to go on break. I got it. But I’m gonna get the answer to why you barrelled in here out of you later, girlfriend.” She says the last part half-jokingly, but I know she’ll probably try to hound the answer out of me after our shift, before she walks off into the night with her real friends, or her latest… male companion. 

  I see her smooth out her apron and shake out her shining cherry hair, and watch how it tumbles over her shoulders. She walks so lightly every day. She looks like she could float, with her bright cheeks and airy steps. The world doesn’t weigh down on her shoulders. I don’t know if I want to strike her for her ignorance or embrace her for it. 

  As soon as the door swings closed behind her, I hurry through the kitchen and out back to the alley, carefully avoiding meeting the eyes of any of the curious line cooks. I don’t want to be questioned. I don’t want to spread my filth. 

  When I make it out into the hot alleyway, I fumble to pull my phone out of the pocket of my apron, nearly dropping it onto the gravel. The thirty seconds I wait for it to turn on feels more like thirty hours. 

  When I call my grandmother, I expect the line to ring itself to death. It is the middle of the day, after all. She might be at one of her many Bible studies, or grocery shopping, or anything. I don’t want to admit this, but part of me hopes she won’t pick up. Part of me hopes I won’t have to tell her anything. But a hidden truth is no better than a lie, and she’s promised me since I was a child that liars go to Hell the quickest.

  The line is on its final ring when she picks up, greeting me coolly. 

  “(Name). Oh, you called! I haven’t spoken to you in a few days, but I meant to call. I’ve just been a bit busy is all. Why are you calling me for, honey? Isn’t this the usual time you're at work?” She says it all so lightly. Words flow off of her tongue like honey, it’s always been like that. I don’t mention this, and I won’t think about it again, but she used to call me every day. She forgets, now, sometimes. I cried the first night she didn’t call. I thought she was sick. Then she forgot the next night. I feel half-dead without her. I can’t imagine living without my grandmother. 

  “I… am at work, technically. I just got to take my break, and I thought maybe I’d give you a quick call. For some advice.” I respond quietly, glancing up the alley. I’m scared, I’ll admit. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about me. I’ve only gone to her for advice about tiny things, not things like this. Because things like this are… juvenile, and she’s lived too long to have to deal with them. I should know better. I should be able to turn these emotions off. And I just don’t want her to be repulsed by me. I know she is, already, because I left her and my remaining family to come to the city, but I don’t want her to ignore me like she does. As soon as things level out- work is steady, the seasons come right, I am happy, and I begin to reach for things like library visits or making new friends, she starts to miss my calls, or not call me. She just… goes. And she has every right to, I’m told. It just makes me sad. It hurts, but that's not fair to her. And she always says it, too. That I’m clingy, and the way I act is a mess. But she heaped attention on me every day for my entire life until she just didn't. 

  I hear her hum on the either end of the line sagely, and move around. Probably going to sit down. That eases my nerves, in a way. When I got in trouble as a child, she always stood straight up, piercing the sky, or she rose from her chairs so abruptly that it made me jump. Hah. “Alright. Advice, hm? Well, your grandmother does know a thing or two. Ask about everything your heart desires. I’m here to help.” That doesn’t comfort me, because I already know she knows a thing or two. 

  “It’s emotional advice. And… spiritual. It’s about my flesh.” 

  “...So then it’s physical. There’s nothing spiritual about the flesh, (Name). The soul and body are very different.” Her voice isn’t any different. That’s not good. Her voice should always be tilting, but now her voice is… stale. Unchanging. I feel the space between my shoulder blades dampening just like the night before. 

  “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve said it better. I just- I’m having feelings. Certain feelings, about a… man. And- And I know, uhm, that sometimes eyes wander, but this is different. I can’t say it any other way- I want him. Or I think I do. It can’t be put any other way.” The other end of the line rings silent, and my palms grow damp, as well. The alleyway is as quiet as it is usually, remaining empty. So empty. All of the air around me is so empty. So silent. God is nowhere to be found. Then, finally, her voice breaks through, and I have to stifle a sigh of relief. Even over the phone, her good opinion hangs over me like an executioner’s axe. She makes me feel just the same as she did when I was a child. 

  “(Name), do you want to devour him?” Her dry tone shatters the silence like a brick, sending my thoughts splaying out on the ground around me. Did she…. Does she think I want to eat him?

  “...What? What? Grandmother, what? No, I don’t wish to eat him. I can’t imagine… doing anything like that!” I hurry to defend myself, to pull her away from a negative view of me. Eat him? Eat him? That’s horrible! Why would she propose something like that? 

  “(Name), that’s where those thoughts will lead you. You see him, now, and you only think you want to touch him. That will change. Do you know what happens to women who try to possess men, (Name)? Do you know what happens? Those women eat what they perceive to be their men. They devour their souls. Your… lust, it will lead you to destroying him. God gives women an extra task- to control the monster that hides in them. (Name), control your monster.”

  I don’t dare interrupt as she continues, I just stand dully in the alley, silent and staring at the ground blankly. I must look like such an idiot. But I know much, much better than to interrupt her when she is telling me something. She taught me to listen diligently when I was young. The Hell-fire in her voice is searing my ears and promising me only this life, not the next. I love her. 

  “(Name), this is much more serious than simply lust. (Name), this is hubris. When you think of devouring him, you’re putting yourself on the same level as God. Only God can taste human meat, (Name). Only He can drink their blood. He sent the angel to save Isaac from His hunger, but no angel will come to save your victim, because you are not God. (Name), you should come home. Honey, you need to come home. You know I love how you long to serve the masses as I taught you, but you’re clearly becoming hysterical. You’re ending up like a caged animal!” 

  I listen to her words minute, after minute, after minute, her words eventually passing through my ears without filtering into my brain. After several minutes, I feel my body far away, and I’m staring up at the sky. It’s bright today, with little apparent smog. I think I could float up into it, and I almost do-

  “I’m going, now, (Name). We’ll need to talk again soon. Watch yourself.” I hardly have the time to process her words before she leaves. The call ends. The world remains silent.

  …She left without saying that she loves me. She just left. 

  She’s angry with me. 

-

  I spend a few minutes over the sink in the kitchen, trying to ignore the stares of the line cooks and Lily as I wash my face off in the sink, trying to cool my flushed cheeks and red eyes. 

  The kitchen remains silent while I do, and I’m thankful for it. 

  I’m going to become a monster. I have tainted my flesh and I will ruin his. And my grandmother is angry with me. She left without anything sweet. My grandmother is angry, and she hates me. 

  I spend a few extra, drawn out minutes scrubbing my hands, washing them until I feel the skin is raw. I probably got something from the alleyway. I probably got filthy just from standing out there. I’m going to contract some sort of disease from the sewage I know must be out there.

  I find myself drowning in my thoughts again before the sound of Lily stepping closer and clearing her throat grabs me out of my stupor. I guess she could only allot me so much time to look inwards. 

  “So… you good?” What an awful question.

  I clear my throat before glancing at her, before looking back to the damp rag I’m drying my scalded hands off with. “Yes. It’s fine. I just got a bit caught up in my emotions, that's all; I’m fine.”

  And that answer must be good enough for her, because she seems to accept it and move back onto the one topic I want her to avoid. 

  “Yeah, girl. That’s good. You just feel your emotions, or whatever. But, like, the guys out there asked about you. (Name), guys never do that. I mean, not to be shady or anything, but this is new. One of them said they’re your neighbors. They asked for you. So why’re you avoiding them? You know who they are, right?”

  I might’ve been too harsh on her previous inquiry. Now she’s asking awful questions. 

  I look long and hard at the damp rag into my hands, carefully rubbing the spaces between my fingers. My throat still feels raw from crying, but my words don’t split and crack as I speak. “Yes. I do. I’ve spoken to them a little before. And I’m not avoiding them, I’m just…” Liar. “...I’m just distracted with something. It’s a bad coincidence.” 

  I can feel Lily’s eyes drilling into the side of my face, filtering my words and my expression. She knows. She must know. I’m not good at lying. I never learned to lie, because I knew as a child that getting lectured would be the best case scenario if I got caught lying. It’s safer to just never do wrong. 

  Like a magnet, I can feel her sifting through my words and pulling out the truth. She knows. She will tell everyone. Oh, God, everyone will want me dead. I will never be able to look anyone in the eye again. She smacks her lips once and trades glances with one of the line cooks before leaning in and lowering her voice. 

  “Look, if you banged one of those guys, it’s totally okay. I don’t care. If you want them out, me and Dan will go kick ‘em out. If they put up a fight, we can always call Monroe and get her to drag her ass down here. But, really, babe, it doesn’t matter. We all know how awkward post-fuck job visits are. I can keep serving them.”

  I feel like I’ve been electrocuted. She thinks I did what? She thinks I’d do that? Is that the type of person people see me as? I hardly know Wade, and I’ve only spoken to Logan once, for the sake of all that’s holy. Of course, she doesn’t know that, but- 

  “No! No! Uhm, no, that’s not… at all what’s happening, Lily. I’m sorry. I don’t have any of that business with them, really. It’s not that. It’s not anything, I promise, I just, uh…I’m not used to seeing people I know at work. I don’t get out much.”

  I watch both of her eyebrows raise as she listens to my explanation. I think I’ve surprised her. How could I have surprised her? Does she really think that I would do that? She seems to grasp for words before she responds. “...(Name), girl, if that’s how you act when your neighbor comes in, then we really need to get you out more. You were red; like, he-was-balls-deep-last-night red.”

  Without another word, I watch Lily turn and go back out, muttering something to herself. She's talking about me. She has to be. I’ve humiliated myself, again. Not only that, but I told a lie. I feel like wet gravel is being shoved down my throat as I watch the door swing six times before shutting. The line cooks move on like nothing just happened, but I’m just left standing by the sink and trash can with reddened eyes and the back of my neck damp. 

  I stand there stupidly until I come back to my senses, after she comes back in and leaves again with two club sandwiches. I don’t why that, specifically, snaps me out of my stupor, but it does. My eyes follow her quietly as she leaves before I pad carefully over to the door, ignoring the kitchen behind me as I sneak up to the still-swinging door. I crouch slightly, far too secretive for my usual tastes, and catch the door just before it can close. I feel pathetic. I feel like a little girl, mischievously peeking in on something she very much shouldn’t be. I don’t have a clue where my dignity went. 

  I peek through the crack I’ve created, gazing on her delivering their order and checking in. Oh, Lily. I’m so sorry. I feel voyeuristic. I just can’t imagine talking to Logan like that. Sure, I can make a little neighborly small talk with Wade from time to time, but that is viscerally different. I watch how she smiles with the sun behind her lips, and folds her hands together nicely in front of her. I always look stiff. I can’t read lips, nor can I hear them from this distance, but Lily seems to crack a joke. I watch Wade bark out a laugh without raising his eyes from his meal, and Logan only glances at her before he starts eating. How daunting. 

  I want to go over there. I want to say something. I want to make a joke, even though I’ve never made a good joke in my life. 

  I get yanked back into the depths of my mind and consciousness when I am reminded I will not. I will not go over there and talk to either of them, but especially not Logan. 

  I pull away from the crack in the door and clear my throat, trying to reorder my thoughts the way I know they should be ordered. I will be good. I need to be good. I am not my flesh. I am better. I have no choice other than to be better. I’ll just die when I can’t be better. 

  Against all of my better judgement, I move back to the door after Lily comes back. I inch back up to the door frame, peeking back out and onto the scene like some kind of pervert. 

  I watch the two eat in momentary silence before Wade makes some kind of off-handed, apparently offensive comment, and Logan’s head flies up, staring him down while the other man continues eating guiltlessly. After a few seconds, Logan huffs and looks down to his food. It’s so… interesting. I’ve never gotten this close before while being invisible. I’ve never been able to observe anything without being an active participant. My fascination tugs at my gut. 

  I get to watch unbothered for another minute, my mind slowly turning warm and liquid as I observe the two. 

  What on earth is wrong with me? 

  I almost disassociate watching the moment before Logan glances around the empty diner briefly, just enough to catch me glancing through the door. The moment I feel his gaze graze my face, I yank myself back into the kitchen, nearly falling to the ground in my haste.

  I’m reduced back to a juvenile mess. 

  It takes me a few seconds before I think to look around, my head snapping over my shoulder. I only find the brief mildly pitying looks of the line cooks, and Lily’s wholly unimpressed one.