BIRTHDAY PIE

Three decades had passed since David last entered the Empress Diner. During those years, when David returned to Brooklyn, it was to see his parents and they always preferred to eat at home.

David preferred diners and the Empress had been a favorite growing up. Restaurants were for occasions. Weddings, anniversaries, divorces, birthdays, deaths, engagements, breakups, graduations, promotions. Diners were the everyday. Everyone from everywhere eating together. They were for people with places to go and those with nowhere to be. Diners were a respite from the harsh world. Even if you sat alone.

Which was what David was doing in a booth, by himself, with two plates of pie, one apple, one blueberry, and a cup of coffee. He removed a tiny candle from his jacket pocket and pushed it into the slice of blueberry pie.

“That’s just sad,” a woman said, taking of her sunglasses.

David looked up as his memory searched for a name to match a vaguely familiar face.

“Hi, David,” she said.

“Michelle?”

“You got there.” Michelle said.

“It’s been a long time,” David said. “And I don’t get back here often.”

“Back from where?” Michelle asked. In high school, David sat next to Michelle in trig and calculus.

“Santa Monica.”

“And you made the trip to celebrate your birthday alone at the Empress with not one but two slices of pie?” Michelle said. “Pie? Not cake?”

“I don’t like cake.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s not my birthday,” David said.

“So you always light a candle when you eat pie?”

“I haven’t lit it yet.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Michelle said as she sat down across from David.

David lit the candle. 

“Do we blow it out?” she asked.

“We leave it alone,” David said. “We don’t eat the pie.”

The waitress came over and Michele ordered a grilled cheese and fries. “We sat next to each other for two years and you barely talked to me.” 

“High school was not fun for everyone,” David said.

“You and your friends seemed to have a lot of fun. You were always laughing and joking about something. What was your thing back then? You were always carrying around a book.”

“I was into Jack Kerouac,” David said. “On the Road was my Bible.”

“I was a Deadhead,” Michelle said.

“Let’s not do that whole reminiscing, glory days thing,” David said. “It’s like looking for ghosts.”

“Ghosts are real,” Michelle said. “What brings you back home?”

“My mom died.”

“I’m so sorry.”

David took a bite of apple pie.

“How’s your dad?” Michelle asked.

“He died three years ago.”

“Are you having a service for your mom?” The waitress brought Michelle’s food and refilled their coffee. 

“Two days ago,” David said. “I’m in the sorting and tossing phase so I can sell the house.”

“Is that hard? Both my parents are still living.”

“It’s quite weird. There’s a lot of stuff,” David said.

“And a lot of memories?”

“Memories are always there. I don’t get attached to things. Things don’t care. I just have to find places that will take the stuff.”

“So, you’ll be around for a while?”

“There’s a LOT of stuff.”

“Is the candle for your mom?” The candle had burned its way down to the crust where the flame went out.

“You ask a lot of questions,” David said. 

“It’s really not your birthday?”

“My sister’s.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” David said.

“Didn’t your sister die when we were in high school?”

“If you remember that, then you remember Emma killed herself,” David said.

“I do. I remember trying to get you to talk to me about it and you became even more distant. Which I had not thought possible.”

“I was told I did not take her death well.”

“Why would you?” Michelle said. “Why should you?”

“There were those who insisted I should.”

“Who?”

“School psychologist for one,” David said. “She talked my parents into sending me to shrink. I didn’t want to add to my parents’ grief, so I agreed. But I insisted on seeing someone in Manhattan. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t run into them here in Brooklyn.”

“Did it help? Did the therapy help?”

“It did not,” David said.

“Do you do this thing with the candle every year?”

“Is this an interview?”

“It’s how people get to know each other,” Michelle said.

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Why didn’t it go well?” Michelle asked.

“Because he just sat there listening to me lie and never said a word.”

“Did you stop lying?”

“I stopped going,” David said.

“Were your parents upset?”

“I didn’t tell them,” David said. “They had enough to deal with. I took the cash they gave me every week and put it in the bank,” David said. “Your turn. What’s your story?” David said as he speared a piece of the apple pie.

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one,” David said.

“I went to school in the city. Hunter College. Then NYU law. I’m a partner at a firm that does criminal law. I still live in Brooklyn. I’ve been divorced for six years. And I’ve been sober for five years and eleven months,” Michelle said.

“That last part. With the dates. There’s a story there.”

“Not an original one. More of a cliché,” she said.

“The pre sober part. I guess it didn’t stop you from making partner.”

“I hid it well,” Michelle said. “What did you do with the money?

“I used it to move to LA after high school,” David said.

“What did you do when you got there?”

“I was always using video cameras and making movies with my friends.  Not a lot of people knew about video back then, so it was easy to get a job operating cameras.”

“Did you work in movies?” Michelle asked.

“At first. Then television and later sports. I worked for ABC Sports and traveled all over the world. I loved it. I worked nonstop for a long time and saved a lot of money and quit.”

“So, you’re happy,” Michelle said.

“That’s not something I worry about or think about.”

“You don’t?” Michelle said.

“I’d rather focus on things that interest me,” David said. “We’ve become so obsessed with happiness that we turned unhappiness into a fatal flaw, a character deficiency.”

“That’s crap,” Michelle said. “But you’ll tell me more tonight. And I’ll tell you why ghosts are real. And you’ll tell me about those things that interest you.”

“Tonight?” David said.

“Tonight.” Michelle stood. “I need to run but you should come out with me tonight. I have to go to a party for a colleague who just made partner at my firm. We’ll pass by and if you hate it and I’m sure you will hate it, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I don’t see that happening.”

“You’ll have fun.” Michelle put ten dollars on the table. “I’ll meet you by the subway on Continental at 7:30. I think that after I leave, you’ll realize that I’m something that might interest you.” Michelle turned and left the diner.

Elan Barnehama is the author of two novels, Escape Route, and Finding Bluefield. Barnehama’s short fiction, personal narratives, and essays have appeared in ParisLitUp,10x10FlashFiction, BoogCity, JewishFiction, DrunkMonkeys, Entropy, RoughCutPress, BostonAccent, JewishWritingProject, RedFez,  HuffPost, public radio, and elsewhere. A recent flash fiction was nominated for BEST OF THE NET 2024. At different times, Barnehama has worked with at-risk youth, was the flash fiction editor for Forth Magazine LA, had a gig as a radio news guy, and did a mediocre job as a short-order cook. More @ https://elanbarnehama.com