Hayden stood with his hands in his pockets, unsure of whether he was wasting his breath yammering on like he was some motivational speaker. From personal experience, he knew people didn’t have to listen to everything thrown their way. He, himself, had cleverly taught himself to block out information he was unwilling to hear. Mostly, in therapy where his therapist asked him how he was ‘dealing’ with his circumstances. To be honest, any time that question was asked, he wanted oh-so badly to quip back with, “What do you think?” or, “Would I be here, if I was dealing positively with the shitstorm life’s thrown at me?” He never said the words out loud, though. Instead, he’d merely look at the wall behind his therapist and bring up the positive things that had happened that week.
Expressing himself to a shrink always felt wrong, so he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he was in this woman’s situation - with a random stranger talking to him like they knew everything. In truth, Hayden was a hypocrite giving this ‘everything gets better’ advice. He knew it, too, as the waitress glanced in their general direction: Sometimes things didn’t get better. Sometimes they got worse or things stayed the same, and you had to learn to live with your own personal bullshit.
The waitress, who had oddly managed to keep a smile while walking to whatshername’s table, asked him if he wanted a refill of his dark coffee. He gestured to the table he had been sitting, stating it was still pretty full, and he watched as she strolled over to the woman lying her head on the table. Hayden hadn’t expected the waitress to ask the woman for a refill on her milk. So, when she did, his mouth was a little gaped like a fish. Not positive on how the other woman was going to respond, Hayden let his eyes rest on the waitress.
Shifting his feet, Hayden attempted to put his hands deeper into his pockets. When she attempted to speak, he could tell she wasn’t just lying there because she tired. Something told him that he was going to have a run for his money for giving his advise, but he was prepared to take it anyway. He was used to the expression the brunette was giving him. There was a little part of him who hoped — no prayed —he hadn’t irritated her to the point where she was destined to throw her milk or cup at him, as his cousin sometimes did on a really bad day. “How?" He repeated, before letting out a huff of breath. "It’s… different for everyone. For some people it takes a lot of courage. For others, it takes the courage to admit you’re feeling shitty — whether you say it to a friend or family member." He scratched behind his ear, trying to think fast on his feet. "My method’s usually writing my thoughts down or going for a walk outside for a breather." His mind wondered as he watched the waitress walk away. When he found more words, he spoke, again, "While I know someone who waits for it to pass, aggressively…by throwing plates."
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