The Love of Herman's Life (standard:other, 2773 words) [2/4] show all parts
Author: Jim Spence	Added: Aug 08 2003	Views/Reads: 2711/2044	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Part 2 in the Herman series ...

The Love of Herman's Life 

Herman was just finishing up a very ordinary work day at the end of a
very ordinary work week.  He put away his pens, his papers and his 
journals, and prepared for the bus ride home. 

As he sat on the bus heading home, Herman thought about his plans for
the weekend.  He was mildly surprised to realize that he had no plans 
for the weekend.  “Why should that surprise you?” Herman asked himself. 
 After all, Herman seldom had plans on the weekends ... in fact, Herman 
seldom had any kind of plans at all.  It was enough to just make it 
through each day, not causing trouble, not getting in anyone's way, and 
not making a complete idiot of himself. 

As Herman made his way from the bus stop to his third floor walk up on
the lower east side, he thought about his dinner plans.  Of course, 
you'd be hard pressed to call them plans, since he ate dinner every 
night at the same ordinary diner at which he'd been eating since ... 
well, since he could remember. 

He walked the three flights of stairs to his apartment, opened the door,
and stepped into Herman's world; a sparse, three room apartment, 
complete with all of the amenities that he required ... a chair, a bed, 
a television, an assortment of tables and lamps, and, of course, his 
books. 

Herman changed from his work clothes and put on the clothes he had
planned to wear that evening.  He often wondered why he did that, when 
the clothes he had just taken off were carbon copies of the ones he'd 
just put on.  It allowed Herman some small control of his ordinary 
life, or at least, that's what he thought. 

Back down the stairs Herman went, walking the single block to the diner.
 He tried to remember the first time that he'd walked into that diner, 
but it seemed like he'd been going in there each night for eternity and 
a day. 

Herman sat at the end of the counter, on the same stool on which he sat
each night, and ordered the same thing that he had every Friday evening 
... fish.  Herman never could figure out why he ate fish each Friday.  
Actually, he hated fish.  He'd never eaten it while he was growing up.  
It wasn't until he started coming to the diner and Millie recommended 
that he try it; and now he had fish every Friday. 

Millie was the evening waitress at the diner.  Herman had come into the
diner during the day occasionally, and always felt like he was 
someplace else ... because Millie wasn't there.  She started her shift 
at 3:00 each afternoon, and stayed until the place closed, well after 
midnight.  As long as Herman could remember Millie was there, behind 
the counter, calling everyone “Sweetie” and dispensing coffee to every 
half empty cup in the place. 

Herman often wondered what brought Millie to this place.  She had always
seemed like she belonged somewhere else.  Millie was younger than 
Herman by a few years, but at times appeared to be 18 years old, and in 
the prime of her youth.  She was a dark haired woman, with dark eyes 
that lit up when she smiled ... much too pretty to be a waitress in a 
diner on the lower east side. 

Millie had a kind word for everyone, men and women, black and white ...
she was simply kind.  Herman would sit and listen to the comments 
others made about her as she would hustle and bustle through her shift. 
 The men all seemed to want her, and the women all seemed to want to be 
her.  And yet, here she was, working in a dingy diner in the city, 
slinging hash to the working class and filling that endless supply of 
half empty coffee cups. 

“Millie could have been a Princess” Herman said to himself. 

“So, how's the fish?” Millie asked Herman, with that smile that would
light a thousand candles – startling him in the process – as she topped 
off his coffee cup. 

“It's great as usual” lied Herman.  He didn't have the heart to tell her
that he didn't like fish.  He didn't want to disappoint her ... not 


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