Annie Waits

If you listen to Ben Folds at all this might mean something to you. A few years ago I decided to try and write a "story" to go with every song on Rockin the Suburbs. Again, if you listen to Ben Folds you probably understand why. His songs all tell some sort of crazy, convoluted, aging hippies and bi polar girls, kind of story. So I wrote one for Annie Waits - and that was the only one. But I stumbled on it today and it's kind of funny. SO - just for you blogger world.
Annie Waits
8:15 on the dot. I’m sitting at the table by the window, my back turned casually toward the window as I keep one eye on the door and one on the paper spread too neatly in front of me. People around me are eating their breakfast in silence or speaking in low harsh voices to friends or to the air. They wander in and out of the dining room aimlessly, sometimes not even bothering to finish their breakfast or conversation. One woman is sitting across the room from me, staring out the window as streams of orangey light make their way through cloudy glass. She seems to be warming her face in the dim light as every once in awhile she tips her head back and closes her eyes, imagining, maybe, that she were somewhere else. A different time, a different place. Someone coughs; a wheezing sort of cough that grabs a hold of you and makes everyone else wince with the effort. An orderly is walking around asking if anyone wants more coffee, I duck my head to avoid eye contact. When I look up again she’s there, entering the dining room slowly, both hands placed firmly on her walker. I let out a breath slowly as my heart skips just a little bit faster. She’s surveying the room for a place to sit, “Sit here, sit here,” I silently will as my eyes stay trained on her every move. She sees me, smiles with relief of recognition. She’s coming over here. She will sit with me. I smile casually when she gets closer, as if I just now realized she was coming over to my table.
“Good morning,” she says as she slowly backs up into the chair I have moved out for her. She eases down, inch by inch, holding on to the walker until the final moment when she sits back and releases. Sinking into the wood chair as if it were a doughy recliner.
“Good morning,” I answer back, trying to hide my trembling hands. “How are you this morning, Annie?” I ask formally.
“Oh,” she says and flutters her hands, “I’m fine I suppose.” She pats her hair distractedly.
“Is anything the matter?”
“Oh no, nothing’s the matter, I’m waiting for a phone call and it hasn’t come yet is all.”
“Oh?” I try to sound vaguely uninterested. “What sort of phone call?”
She looks at me and then the table and smiles that timid smile of hers that means she feels childish. When she smiles this way the creases around her eyes deepen, making her sapphire eyes bright and secretive. Her skin is smooth like creamy butterscotch. She looks up at me and I quickly shift my gaze; feeling suddenly exposed.
“Well there’s this man I’ve been hoping to hear from – a friend of mine.” Her hands twitch unconsciously at the word “friend.” “I’ve been waiting for him for quite some time now.” She laughs awkwardly, “I know him in high school even, when I was a girl, a young thing maybe sixteen or so, I used to imagine him and me, growing old together. I would imagine us traipsing around the park together, feeding pigeons and talking about our grandchildren and how quickly they’ve grown. Friday night would be bingo night of course; we would go religiously even though neither of us ever won. We would laugh and say we must’ve used up all our good luck on our three kids.” She shook her head. “Well it seems I’ve accomplished the old part of that scenario and nothing much else.” We were both silent for a moment.
“But you’re expecting a phone call from him?” I finally asked, my voice breaking slightly. This question caused another flurry of activity as her hands smoother her skirt and then once again patted her hair. “Well, yes, I hope so. The funny thing is,” she smiled again that timid smile, “All those years ago we were supposed to go on a date together. We were going to meet at this hamburger place just down the hill from the high school and have a milkshake together or something silly like that.” She tried to dismiss the thought with a wave of her hand but I could see from the way her shoulders sort of drooped and the corners of her mouth turned down that it was not silly to her; not silly in the slightest. “Anyway,” she continued, “He never showed. I waited for five hours that night, my parents were terrible mad when I came home late, but he never showed up. The funny thing is, the next day in my locker I found a note, it said, “Annie, I could be the one forevermore if we’re still lonely when we’re old.”
I started to say something and then decided against it. “I realized then this was his way of telling me that it just wasn’t right for us to be together now. So here I am, waiting still, but I know it will be soon. Any day now he’ll call me up and invite me out for a cup of coffee and it will be like we’ve been together all these years.” Her smile was forced this time, causing the crinkles by her eyes to form harsh ridges – giving the expression of someone who life has somehow managed to pass completely by.
“What if….” I begin and then stop, unsure of how to ask her.
“What if he doesn’t call?” she finished. I nodded my head. “Well, funny you should ask, I decided just this morning that this was my last day of waiting. If he doesn’t call today, why, then I’d say I’ve had enough.” She leans in conspiringly and whispered, “To be honest, there’s a man up in 3B that I’ve had my eye on for a little while now. If he doesn’t call today, I may just have to move on.” She lifted her chin defiantly though it quivered slightly.
“Well,” I answered, “I wish you the best of luck. I stood up abruptly and she smiled the straight mouth smile that means she feels like she’s been talking too much. “Thank you,” She replied. “Have a lovely day.”
“You too.”
Back in my room, I shut the door and lean against it, feeling the safety of darkness and refreshing coolness against my skin. I sigh and walk slowly to my bed, as I sink into the mattress the scene flashes before my eyes as it has a million times before. Annie is sitting there, back straight, alert in her seat – a table for two. She’s wearing a red dress with purple flowers on it, the sleeves stick out just a little and her knees poke out from beneath. Her brown straight hair blows faintly in the sweet April air. Her hands flit mindlessly, dabbing at her lipstick and then smoothing her skirt over her knees. She is nervous. Waiting. I am sitting just a few tables behind her. Alone and watching every move. Headlights crest the hill and she stands up quickly. The car passes by and out of sight. She plops back into her seat, twirling her hair around her first finger and biting her lip. She checks her watch and then sits up again. A shadow of someone falls over the table, Annie looks up, eyes full and brimming, the shadow moves on. I wonder to myself if maybe something happened to him, whoever it is she is waiting for. Would it be worse, I muse silently, to be stood up, or to find out something happened to him. At least if something happened to him it would be possible to hold on to what could have been. Memories of what could have been are remembered warmly, while the sharp edged truth of a person in all their details and flaws can be disappointing and bittersweet. What never was may be a warm fantasy to hold on to, what really is can leave you feeling cold.
I watch as she shifts to her feet, looking at her watch one last time she turns, head bowed in defeat, and walks slowly away from the table. As she passes me without so much as a glance I smell the faintest hint of peppermint, feel the wake of the wind she stirred with her body as it blows by my face. The next day at school I leave an anonymous note in her locker, “Annie, I could be the one forevermore if we’re still lonely when we’re old.” I’ve treated that note like a sacred covenant, a promise I made and will always keep. I will wait for Annie just as she waits. But not for me.