Her name was Cindy. She was sitting in a deserted diner in nowhere, asking herself what became of her glamourous dreams.
There was the memory of fresh lemon cake mixed up with coffee and grease lingering in the air—those were her only companions when she asked for fries in the middle of the night. Her eyes wandered to the sign saying the kitchen was open for 24 hours. The guy behind the counter looked at her with big eyes. “Now?” he asked, looking at the pale woman as if she had just told him that her spaceship was stuck in the parking lot. “Yes”, she said, her voice toned down to the dullness of lips not being used on a lonely drive for hours. Still, she looked immaculate, her hair on fleek and the net of her hat slightly covering one blue eye.
Since fries and coffee were the only things available to warm her cold body, she was craving both as a substitute for a hug, love and belonging. The clattering sounds from the kitchen reminded her of the home she never had, this rootless thing on her own. She thought of lovers she never wanted, the family she ran away from and comfort she never knew. Her body, soul and mind felt tired. Oh, so tired.
But the road went on and on and carried her from place to place without kissing her good night. Melancholy was sitting in the backseat of her car, always asking for candy, never turning into a sweet girl with blond braids and a teddy bear. Cindy shivered until the fries arrived.
She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the potato sticks enter her body. Ketchup, as red as blood, ran down her lips and onto her chin. Looking like a forsaken vampire, for an instant, she felt peace and forgot there were no flowers on the table put there by a loving husband waiting for her. No dinner parties to attend, no canapés to be made for the birthday parties of the neighbour’s kids. She could drink her Dr Pepper with a straw and inhale the sugar like nicotine; no need to be a good role model.
A girl called Sharon or Mandy might have left the road for a life far from glamorous, but at least. But she was Cindy. She was just alive.
Blouse: Duchessa Piacentina,
Skirt & Hat & Belt & Handbag: Vintage, Shoes: Manoush,
Photographer: Roland Urech
Location: Cindy’s Diner
