Rewind (Completed)

Chapter 1: A Million Miles Away

I carry on with my long explanation as I get comfy in my seat, just about lying down across it, "Skip to now, five years later, and here I still am...in New York." I come to a dark conclusion, "I never went back home." 

Shaking my head in despair, I glance back up at the woman in uniform to see her annoyed facial expression - I should probably get back on track. "Sorry," I apologize to her, then seeking clarification, "what did you ask me again?"

The women, silent, blinks down at me in frustration as if trying to work out what is wrong with me. I'd be offended if I wasn't already used to that look. I've received that look all my life. 

"What do you want to order?" the woman finally answers me, clearing her throat in wonder as she breaks from her stupor. She's puzzled by my mentality. 

I watch as a misplaced frown slides upon her lips, her eyes expressing her anger. It's enough to bring me out of the story that had been constantly replaying through my head for the past week.

"I distinctly asked you - about an hour ago - what you wanted to order to eat, Miss. That's all I asked," she clears up, her tone revealing her impatience.

Ignoring her brash personality, I rather take the liberty to conclude, "So that's my story, that's me." I huff in exhaustion, leaning further back in my seat as I cross my arms behind my head, "Lay the advice on thick for me," I request, eager to hear her opinion on the matter. 

They say that the older you are, the wiser you are.

The older lady rolls her eyes at me, puffing out a breath of pure irritation, "For the millionth time, girlie, I'm not a shrink, a therapist or any of that sort. I'm not qualified for that stuff. I'm just a waiter. I'm just trying to do my job here." 

She huffs in irritation before motioning to me to sit on my seat properly. I'd been slouching comfortably whilst revealing my entire life story to her from start to end (in detail). I waste time in doing as she says, slowly pulling myself into an upright position.

"This is a café, not a counseling room. It's inappropriate to lounge across two seats like that. It's not a beach either. And for goodness sake, get your damn feet off the table!" she scolds, shaking her head at me as if reprimanding a small child. "People eat there, you infant! Again, just so you get it this time 'round, I'm not your shrink," she reminds me in a harsh tone, emphasizing the 'not' part. 

It's not my fault that it's easy to forget. She would do well as a shrink. It's this kind of attitude from others that I need in order to stir up some common sense within me.

"But you're old," I mumble lazily, hoping she'd catch the hint. 

I quickly jolt up straight when she narrows her eyes at me. She's almost as terrifying as Grams, almost. 

From what I've seen in movies, old people are supposed to listen to young strangers and give them advice. It happens all the time. Old people should all be shrinks. I'm sure it's an unspoken rule of some sort. It has to be. They're all qualified through their own life experiences.

"I'm just a waiter," she corrects, glaring daggers at me as she folds her arms across her chest in a defiant manner. "I asked for your order and you gave me your life story. I asked you what you wanted to eat, and instead, you asked me for food for thought," she grumbles, unimpressed with me for wasting her time with my terribly long story. "If you want advice, go see a damn psychologist, not your local food court waiter!" she raises her tone as if to get it through my head once and for all.

Her blank notepad is starting to make some sense to me now...

I chew on my bottom lip in contemplation before quickly getting up and grabbing my bag, making a straight b-line for the exit.