Dulcet

Diners. Coffee shops, I love the smell of them. I love that smell of coffee. I don't even drink coffee. Maybe it's the atmosphere. Something about those busy places, everything is swarming around you, but you are sitting still. Each booth is its very own plot. It's a place where you are alone and to yourself, nobody bugs you unless it's to take your order or refill your cup. The refills, I love getting refills, I drink a lot. It's not alcohol that I am talking about, but a regular beverage, a soft drink, preferably diet.

I love holding the laminated menu in my hands, I try not to think about how it's never cleaned and how many people have touched it, if I did, I would go and wash my hands repeatedly. I look at everything on the menu, twice, maybe three times. It doesn't matter though, I always order the same thing. Maybe I just like looking at the pictures. I order an Omelet, it's usually loaded with ham and sausage and bell pepper, onions, tomatoes and cheese. I get a side of Hash browns with toast, usually. Some places offer Biscuits and even better places offer a bowl of country gravy with the biscuits. I can't eat all of this but I order it anyway.

While I sit and eat, I sometimes listen to the old folks talk around me. It's always old folks, almost never anyone my age. They talk about weather and sports. Thanks goodness I can't hear them too well. I would hate to hear their opinions on what is becoming of the world or politics. Bring up politics and I tune out. If you want to get through to me, you could mention a film or a tv show. Maybe, even a book. If I don't care to read it, I would love for you to tell me the story. The story is the thing. It's the only thing that matters. What is the hook?

"I was reading a book about this guy, he's totally obsessed with peoples voices."

I set my drink down. I wipe the frost on the glass with my thumb and I look up at you. "Obsessed how?"

You look pleased that I am hooked. "Certain people, not everybody, certain ones, they have this tone to their voice--"

"--Like a dulcet tone?"

You nod in acknowledgment. "Exactly--Pleasing to the ear. This guy sits in public places and he listens."

You trail off as the waitress refills your cup of coffee. I don't drink coffee. I told you that already.

"When the guy finds a voice, when he hears that voice, he closes his eyes. He sees music."

I look down at the table. I contemplate this. "He sees music."

"Yes. He rides on the voices, it's hard to explain. I feel stupid trying to paraphrase but, he is at peace when he hears these voices. He sits and listens to conversations--Oh my god, there is this funny part."

"Wait, wait, don't get ahead of yourself. Tell me about how he rides on the voices."

You sit up straight, you look a little self conscious. I smile, you relax a little. "He sits in a public place, like this. A diner. People come and go. He sits and drinks coffee for hours--"

"I don't drink coffee."

"Yes, I know. But he does. Is that okay?" I nod yes. "Good, you are so silly." I smile. "This guy sometimes sits for hours, for days. Sometimes there is no one there with the right tone, that right tone for him to close his eyes and ride the waves of their voice. To see the notes. He will get frustrated and go to another place, and then another and then start getting really worried that he should have stayed where he was in the first place. He should have waited and he should have been patient because he missed the voice. He missed seeing the notes."

I take a sip of my soda. I break off a piece of toast and chew on it for a moment as I chew on what you have said. "Well I certainly hope that he finally hears a voice, that meets his satisfaction."

You laugh. "Boy does he. It's when he least expects it. Here he has been sitting and waiting, he's had moments where he's heard voices, conversations. He has found a Man that runs a newsstand that has a lovely voice. He loves to sit off to the side and listen as this guy speaks to his customers, to people walking by. He has a waitress that he has found at this expensive eatery, she has a lovely voice. He was there on a business lunch when he heard her. He could barely pay attention to the boring rep that he was with. He's a salesman by the way."

You sip your coffee. You make eye contact to make sure that I am still paying attention. I am still hooked.

"What does he sell?"

"Oh shit, I knew you were going to ask me that." You wrack your brain for a moment. "I'll come back to that. I'm not sure it's even important. OH MY GOD--HEARING AIDS!"

We both laugh and look around, no one seems to have noticed your outburst. "Hearing aids, I would say that's important, or poignant or whatever." I say.

"Yeah, I guess it is. It's like you know that as you are reading it, but then you find something else that you focus on, that you attach yourself too. As you read it..."

"As you ride the wave."

"Exactly. You got it, ride the wave." You smile and lock eyes with me again. "He closes his eyes while this boring rep is talking to him and the woman, the waitress is telling this other table of people what the specials are. He is seized by her voice, it's like it grips him. He closes his eyes and he everything else in the restaurant dims, he can only hear her voice, as she says the word "Parmesan" he shivers."

I laugh. "I like that way you just did that, say it again."

"Parm-ee-shawn." You giggle.

"Boo, you're too self conscious now."

"Oh shut up. Anyway, he's in this like pure ecstasy." You laugh and turn bright red. "Stop looking at me like that.

I get self conscious. "Like what? I'm just listening over hear."

"Your eyebrows shot up when I said, ecstasy."

I close my eyes. "Oh yeah, say that again, the way you said Parm-ee-zaaaan." Something hits me in the face. I open my eyes and see that you have thrown your balled up napkin at me. It now sits in my bowl of gravy.

You laugh even louder. "I did not mean for that to happen." Your laughter has become infectious and I can't help but laugh with you.

I am laughing so hard that tears are forming in the corners of my eyes the way that they do. "Okay, keep telling me the story. Then what happens?" I lean forward dramatically and rest my elbow on the table and plant my chin firmly on the palm of my hand with dramatic purpose. You look around you, fumbling around for an object.

"I need to find something else to throw at you." I laugh again.

"Okay truce. Come on, what happens to this guy?"

"What happens to him? Oh gosh, let's see." You take a big gulp of coffee and swish it around in your mouth and then swallow it in a nice gulp sound. You smile at me.

"You okay, everything okay over there?"

"Shut up. But I really need to silent burp, so give me a second." You look like you are concentrating really hard.

"By all means, take your time." I now place my left arm elbow on the table and rest the full weight of my head on both hands eagerly anticipating the belch.

You cock your head at me in that way that you do. That 'I'm going to kill you but I love you' way. You close your eyes and then exhale. You take a few labored breaths. "Okay, that's better." You stare at me, you look like you are looking for approval.

I can only stare at you and smile. I hope it doesn't look like I am smirking, because I am not. I just got one of those funny tingles. The kind that come on when you have witnessed someone do something totally human. Somehow they pulled off being beautiful while doing something as gross as a belch. You are endearing. "Go on, the story."

You nod in acknowledgment. "This guy, the main character, he--"

"What's his name?"

You think for a moment. "His name is 'T', just the letter T. It's kinda weird, I'm sure it stands for something."

"Like Tremolo or something?"

You have no idea what I'm talking about. "I wouldn't think about it too hard, it's not that important."

"It could be, but go on."

"Yes, it could be, but shut up so I can think. So I can remember."

My brow lowers in contemplation. "Wait a second, you are totally making this up, aren't you?"

"Oh, I am not, I am not."

"You are so busted, there is no book, this is all being made up on the top of your head." You make a playful angry face at me.

"This is a fucking book, I swear to god. Okay?" You look at me, waiting for agreement.

"Okay, jeez, I was just kidding anyway. You just looked like you were really straining with what comes next. If you say it's a book, it's a book."

"Yes, it's a book. I may have not written it yet, but it's a book."

My jaw drops open. Your face feigns surprise. "Busted!"

"Oh my god, are you serious, you were making all of that up? I was totally riveted."

"I have had the idea for years, I just need to write it. I just need to take the time to jot it down." You are blushing now. "You aren't mad at me are you?"

I shake my head no. "You had me, you really had me going. You should write that, I would read it."

Now you rest your hands on your palms. "Really, tell me more!"

"Oh you want more compliments? I was riveted, on the edge of my seat. I laughed, I cried. I..." I look around at the table, "I got a napkin in my gravy."

You laugh and stare at me in that way again. "Yeah, I'm going to write it. Someday."

"Where did you get the idea?"

You look to your left, out the window. Cars drive past, people walk by on the sidewalk. You have gone off somewhere else. "My Mother. She had the most beautiful voice. I miss hearing it. It had this calming effect." You sigh. "It doesn't matter how much things were screwed up, how much I messed anything up in my life. My Mom could speak to me for five minutes and everything would go from too intense, too insane, too wound up to calm. She had that way about her. She was a calming force."

I can only stare at you.

"What made me think of the story was the time that I found out I was going to lose my job and my apartment in the same week. You remember that, right?"

I nod. "Sure."

"Yeah, it was stressful. To say the least. My Mom is no longer with us as you also know. I was stuck at work knowing that I wouldn't be working there much longer and I had this friend I was going to be staying with very shortly. That one with all the cats. Oh man, I wasn't looking forward to any of it. I was freaking out, I was losing it. I would go to the bathroom and cry in the stall. I just needed to speak to my Mom. I just needed five minutes on the phone with her and everything would be okay, you know?"

I nod again. You shift around in your seat, you look a little uncomfortable. "You okay?"

You smile and then frown a little. "Yeah, but I warn you, I may tear up at this next part."

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me this, you know?"

You smile at me again. "No it's not that, it's a good cry. I told my Mom one time that she made me feel safe, she made me feel calm. I told her about how just speaking to her made me feel better. I was like Ten when I told her this. She rubbed the back of my head and she said that I did the same for her. I asked her what she meant and she said that when I came home from school and told her about my day, it was her favorite part of the day. She said that when I sat at the kitchen table with all of my crayons and coloring books, just hearing the scribbling sound made her feel happy. Calm. It made her feel like everything was going to be okay."

You are starting to tear up a little now.

"I thought, maybe I can go and find someone with a voice like my mom, I would write down what I would need for them to say, to say the exact words that I needed to hear and I could record it. I don't have any recordings of my Mother. I wish I did. If I could find this stranger, I would beg them to do it. I could play the tape whenever I am freaking out."

You look at me, I am indeed listening.

"That idea lasted for about five minutes." You laugh and motion for my napkin, yours is in my gravy. I hand it to you and you wipe your tears away. "But you know what I did? How I made it all better?"

"You found someone?"

You laugh, "No."

I feel defensive all of a sudden. "Okay, just asking."

"No, I mean. No. I didn't find anyone to record me a message. I went to the drugstore and bought a stack of coloring books. I bought one of those giant boxes of crayons too. I did it on my lunch break. I mean I was going to be laid off or fired anyway. Call it whatever you want, I was going to not have a job there anymore. So I went back to my desk and started coloring. I colored Scooby Doo, I colored Care Bears and Sesame Street Characters. People probably thought I was nuts. But I did it, I did it till I was calm. Till I could hear nothing but the scribbles. That scribbling sound you hear when you color. There's a rhythm that you get into. You breathe and you color and just like that, I was there at the kitchen table, with my Mom. All was right in the world. I was calm."

The waitress brings the check. You start to reach for it but I grab it. "Nope, I got this. Thank you for the story."

You hold both hands over your heart. "Oh, what a guy."

"Yes, yes, I'm quite a gentleman."

"Oh, please."

I stand and stretch my legs. "I think I'm supposed to pay at the counter." I look up ahead, sure enough there is a register, these Diners and Coffee shops are all different, some make you pay at the front, some of them you can pay your waitress. "Hey, what are you going to call it?"

"Call what?"

"Your story, your book?"

"Oh," You look around, you look up at the ceiling. "DULCET!"

I flinch at your shout and laugh. "Perfect."

a song.