The Poor Victim

So who really is the victim, here?

The waitress noticed Tina’s distress and bruises and asked her where she was headed. A strange look of confusion washed over Tina’s face as if she wondered how the words got to her ears.

“I’m sorry to pry, love,” said the waitress, becoming a mother to the daughter she’d never had.

“No, no, it’s … it’s okay,” said Tina, uncertainly, wiping her face as if to clear her mind. “I’ve just got away.” A sad little smile puckered her lips.

“From where, love?”

“From him. Dan.”

“Dan?” asked the waitress.

“Dan Smothers. My husband.”

“Dan Smothers? The preacher?” Tina nodded, her face immobile. “Gosh, take a seat and I’ll get you a coffee. You look like you could do with that, sweetie.”

Tina sat in the corner booth, constantly scanning the diner, a converted railway carriage now fitted out in retro 50s – red vinyl chair and table tops, checked floor, chrome and black everywhere and the waitresses in red and white gingham skirts and bobby socks. Stepping back sixty years, backing out of her frightening today, seemed to give her comfort, the waitress thought. She smiled as she saw Tina slowly relax and her eyes fluttering closed as she lay her head on the table.

“Here you are, love,” said the waitress with a coffee. “It’s paid for. Want anything to eat?”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” said Tina, raising her weary head, her eyes catching up slowly. She fished in her large bag, retrieved a wallet and looked in. “What can I get for eight dollars? It’s all I have.”

“Till when?”

“Uh, don’t know. Till … hell, I don’t know,” Tina said as tears leaked from her eyes.

“He treat you bad, did he?” asked the waitress, a hand on Tina’s shoulder. “They look good and righteous on TV, don’t they. We never know what they’re like in private, huh.”

“Mmm, sucked me right in. So sweet and nice at the start.”

“Then his real self stepped in?”

“Yes, you could say that,” said Tina sniffing, wiping her eyes.

“Look, when did you last eat?”

“Aah, I left on Tuesday. Been hitching and hiding since then.”

“Today’s Friday.”

“Is it?”

“You must be starving, love. Look, meal’s on us. What do you want?”

“Aw, heck, anything would be good, actually,” Tina said, wiping her eyes again and looking directly at the waitress for the first time.

The chef’s special was consumed in record time. In fact, faster than the waitress could believe and she wondered if donuts, cookies and other food disappeared into that large bag.

“Thank you so much for that,” said Tina as she came to the counter. “I have to give you something.” She opened her wallet by the cash register.

“No, love, it’s our tithing to a victim in need.”

“Gosh, you’re so kind,” said Tina as the waitress was called away by another customer, momentarily. Feeling sorry for the poor victim, she followed Tina out the door surreptitiously. Tina disappeared round the back and the waitress heard a burst of laughter from Tina and a man. Then a red sports car zoomed out of the parking lot, its loud noise a middle finger up at the waitress. She went to the toilet to hide her anger and saw the toilet rolls were all gone. Then a hot flush coursed through her body and she rushed out to the till. Sure enough, it was empty.

“So who’s the victim now?” she asked herself.