Short Story : ' Don 't Tell ' Essay
"Don 't tell," the new guy whispers in a tone so low that I question whether he 's talking to me or himself. My eyes dart around. Somehow, no one close to us is paying attention. Maybe they 're just pretending.
I don 't answer him, but I look down at his closed hand. Is this guy crazy? He shoves his loose fist about a millimeter from my stomach. "Here." It 's a single chocolate covered cherry wrapped in shiny red paper with golden font. "Take it." He speaks fast. I don 't understand why he 's being so antsy, it 's not like he 's handing me an eight-ball of snow.
For some reason, I do take the candy from his hand and slip it into the front of my apron. I don 't even know the new guy 's name and he 's already doing me favors. Does he expect something in return? By the time I realize I should have probably said thank you, he 's gone off to do his job.
Again, I scan the kitchen, wondering if anyone else noticed our interaction. Nothing. It 's a Tuesday afternoon in March, and the Diner is dead. I know enough to know that the owners won 't cut me, especially if I ask. So I wait patiently in the kitchen, pretending to wipe the water spots off the silverware. I try to listen to what the cooks are saying but it 's an impossible task. I should have paid more attention in High School. Plus they 're whispering - they almost always whisper around me. I have yet to figure out why. I do catch a few words that I recognize. Blanca. Nuevo. Loco. Ella. Ay dios! Even if I…