Machine Dreams

him stood. There was a hush in the room and the waitresses looked at each other confusedly. One of the men sounded a note on a pitch pipe. Then, in the silence, they began to sing. Their voices were strong and perfect. Behind them the air conditioner whirred, its steady laboring their only accompaniment.
    The men stood in a semicircle behind their table, their bodies attentive, watching each other’s lips.
    Amazing grace
, they sang slowly,
how sweet the sound.
    The waitresses stood still, surprised. The song filled the hall and was somehow reminiscent of childhood; the same plaintivemelody was sung at countless day camps and night sings, at reunions and revivals, at funerals and YWCA and Rainbow Girls. But the ministers didn’t sound plaintive; their voices were stalwart and definite. They were breaking bad news and offering comfort, and the words seemed ancient, confessional, inarguable.
I once was lost. But now. I’m found.
Their powerful voices made Danner a little afraid. Were they really found, and what did it mean? Lost. She imagined her father sealed into his dream like a figure in a fluid-filled paperweight, the ones in which snow flew when the globe was shaken.
Snow was flying at the windshield so fast you couldn’t see where you was going.
Men sat listening. Row after row, the long, nearly empty tables were covered with white cloths. The old fabrics were worn to a pearly sheen. Suppose they were cold, inches deep. Every winter, the old picnic table her father had been given by the State Road Commission sat out back, covered with even snow that froze unbroken like a thick, cold cloth.
I was blind but now I see.
Danner had a sudden wintry vision of the house from above, the roof a snowy butterfly shape, the yard and fences and surrounding fields all white, deep, silent with snow. Her father had built that house. How could someone else ever live there?
    She heard applause. The other girls were smiling and clapping; belatedly, Danner joined in. The ministers held their places a moment as though spellbound by their last clear note, then took their seats. The men all began applauding their compatriots as the waitresses stooped to shoulder trays. Danner stood under the heavy weight, glad the day was half over. She turned toward the kitchen. As she steadied her tray, she saw the minister who had spoken to her. He was sitting, his hands folded, watching her. Quickly, she averted her eyes. He must have seen her face during the singing; always, her face betrayed her.
    They stood at the metal counter with trays of ketchup bottles, while the other girls filled salt and pepper shakers or wrapped silverware.
    “I thought for sure they’d sing again at supper,” Lee Ann said.
    “Not over hamburgers, not somber enough.” Danner wipedher forehead with a napkin. “Jesus, wasn’t it hot this afternoon? And from now on we have to keep the air conditioner on ‘low’ unless there are guests eating.”
    Ketchups were the worst cleanup; the emptiest bottles had to be poured into fuller ones and the empties replaced. The refilled bottles were greasy and their streaked labels had to be wiped clean with a hot rag.
    “Let’s do this fast,” Lee Ann whispered.
    “Throw the caps in here.” Danner pushed forward a bowl of hot water. “It’s easier than wiping the gunk off.”
    “Riley picking you up tonight?”
    “At eight. I guess we’re going to the drive-in.”
    “I saw Rhonda Thompson at the intramural basketball games last night. She’s dating some guy from the University, and he drives a Corvette.” Lee Ann smirked for emphasis.
    “You’re kidding.” Lee Ann had to report any fact about Rhonda. Rhonda and Riley had been a hot item their first two years of high school; everyone knew they’d slept together. Riley had practically lived with her; her parents had let him stay overnight several times in Rhonda’s bed. “I don’t want to hear about Rhonda.” Danner paused. “Was Riley around?”
    “You sure you want me to tell you?” Lee Ann looked up from the ketchups, smiling. “He was there with some senior boys. He spoke to her, but in a snide way. He’s probably still telling them stories about her.”
    Danner untwisted bottle caps, throwing them one by one into cloudy red water. “He shouldn’t tell those stories. I’ve told him that myself.”
    “Oh, come on. Rhonda is ahead of her time. Everyone tells stories about Rhonda.”
    “Well, Riley shouldn’t. Here, this is clean.” She wrung