On Sunday morning, I went into Bob Evans for breakfast. Bob Evans is officially my favorite breakfast restaurant because they NEVER screw it up. The eggs are always hot and fluffy, the bacon is crisp - not gooey and limp - and you can get banana bread or a big bowl of fresh blueberries.
As usual these days, I was alone. In fact the reason I was there at all was because I had spent the night at the hotel across the street (priceline deal at $50) to be near to my husband who has once again been admitted to the hospital for a cord blood transplant procedure to cure his leukemia. Sunday morning is not a good time to go to Bob Evans as everyone wants a big country breakfast on Sunday and the place is packed. However, I spied open seats at the counter and, although I don't think I've ever sat alone at a restaurant counter before, that morning I was glad to be able to jump the wait.
There were three open seats in the center, flanked by occupied seats on either side. I chose a seat next to a thirty-something woman with her son and ordered coffee and breakfast. As I waited, I rather enjoyed the small theater of waitresses scurrying and cooks frying that my stool afforded me. If you're eating alone, this is actually a good place to be.
I noticed that the lady to my right and her chubby son were using bits of biscuits to dig into a shared bowl of hamburger gravy. Even as I write this, my stomach turns a bit at the memory. I know this must taste good, as many people at Bob Evans seem to be eating it, but this is just not something I could ever bring myself to eat. I felt frustrated at the sight of this woman encouraging such bad habits in her young son. But then, I comforted myself in the thought that, at least they were sharing this, and not each eating a serving of their own. So she was teaching him some restraint, I thought.
Five minutes later, the waitress appeared in front of mom and son with two huge platters of the works - pancakes, eggs, sausage, more biscuits. Apparently the biscuits and gravy had just been a breakfast appetizer. Okay - I was really frustrated! But, I told myself, don't be so tough. Maybe this woman is struggling and just doesn't know what to do with junior. His dad probably left them - she's a single mother and this is the only fun they have. My sympathy for them swallowed my loathing of their breakfast and I turned away from them.
While I had been ruminating over my neighbors' breakfast habits, a man had slipped into the chair on the other side of me. He was a pleasant man who obviously enjoyed a conversation. Although I am a rather guarded person, he was originally from the Bronx and I must confess, I am just a sucker for a New York accent. The New Yorkers that I've met seem to share a breezy, uninhibited way of asking you questions that you must answer or risk coming off as an uptight midwesterner, which is what I am.
I ended up telling him more about myself than I intended, including the fact that my brave husband was in the middle of a second battle for his life as he awaits his next transplant. I can actually remain very unemotional as I talk about this. I think that people listening to my explanations must wonder if I'm just a cold hearted woman who can talk about her husband's fight for his life with completely dry eyes. However, when you have been fighting a battle for over two years, eventually you learn to become very stingy with your emotions. Your sadness becomes concentrated into a few rare drops of precious wine that you can't waste on just anyone or any situation.
By the time I had finished my breakfast, the woman and her son were gone. I had not even noticed when they had left. The waitress handed a tab to the New Yorker and looking very uncomfortable, said to me, "The lady sitting next to you paid for your breakfast."
"She did?" I couldn't figure this one out, which forced the uncomfortable waitress to offer, "She heard you say your husband was in the hospital...."
"Oh," I said. "People are nice, aren't they?" But what I was really thinking, was how crappy this morning is turning out to be already.
