Names We Bury

“My name is Jazlyn, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. What drinks can I get started for you both?”

The question hangs in the air briefly, like a glinting piece of dust traveling briskly through a drop of sunlight before vanishing into darkness. My husband answers after a beat, claiming he wants a beer; any kind would do. The waitress then turns her practiced smile and blue eyes to me. I struggle to find the words to say that I only want water. Her name has taken me off guard. Jazlyn. I knew someone named Jazlyn once upon a time. But her eyes had been brown, and this is not, as I thought for a second, that same girl from elementary school. No, that wouldn’t make sense.

Now, the waitress and my husband stare at me with curious, expectant, and slightly annoyed expressions. “Just a water, please.” I smile, though I have been overcome with something like dread. For what, I am unsure.

“Are you okay?” In response, I smile reassuringly at Mike, a name I had only encountered in flitting moments and which meant virtually nothing to me until I met my husband. I respond the way he anticipates. “Of course.”

Jazlyn, the waitress, returns with our drinks and then takes our orders. The rest of the night goes the way I expect it to. After fifteen years of marriage, Mike and I have developed a routine for our Friday dinner dates. First, we order. Then we talk about our respective days and plans for the weekend. Mike is planning to visit his sister in Oregon. I plan to finish reading my mystery novel. The food will arrive shortly after we wrap up discussing our mundane schedules, and we will eat in near silence, broken only by a quip or question from either of us. Mike will pay the check, and we’ll leave. Back at our downtown Seattle apartment, I’ll pull the shades closed to keep the city’s dazzling lights out and crawl into bed. Mike will do some work before following me. But by then, I’ll be lost in unsettling dreams of a small Midwest town, the brown eyes of my best friend no longer visible because her eyelids are closed as she lies on satin, presumably forever.