Phish "Down With Disease"

The harsh light of day was not forgiving to The Omelet Shoppe.

I was used to coming to the only all-night place in Abingdon after a night out on the town, drinking and listening to music and such. After midnight, before sunrise. At night, the dark hid the dirt. And more importantly, I'm sure the dark (and the drunk) hid how ragged I looked at 3:30am snarfing on an egg sandwich.

But this day, I was here at a time that a big plate of eggs and waffles makes much more sense---brunch.

It was a goodbye breakfast. Goodbye to a girl with whom I'd had a brief, unusual relationship.

Two weeks prior to the breakfast, we'd met and hit it off.

"Figures," she said, "I'm moving in two weeks."

But for young, twenty-something single (and not-uncreative) me, I saw it as an open opportunity.

"Then let's enjoy each other, and skip any of the usual dating B.S."

I realized that we didn't have time, or need, to move cautiously. Or to say "I'll call you" and wait the appropriate number of days so as not to seem too eager. There was no need to present this false-ish "best behavior" version of yourself. Or to not say what was on your mind. It was an opportunity to really let go of the railing and run down the stairs.

There was no need to negotiate, calibrate, or obfuscate. It would be over in two weeks, good, bad or indifferent.

It was good. Skipping the B.S. allowed us to really get to know each other, and be open to each other in a way that other early relationships had never been. She shared much about herself, including her bitterness about her time in Abingdon. The idealism that had brought her to a public service job in the area, had been squashed by insecure bosses and small-minded thinking. And with no sentimental attachment to her time, she had been ready to leave and never look back.

But over breakfast, her car loaded up with all her belongings, ready for the highway, she did have a reason to smile and look in the rearview mirror when she headed up Route 81.

"It's like that Phish song, 'Down With Disease.'"

Uh-oh. I had had a long standing policy against anyone who explained themselves via questionable song lyrics.

What's the line?

"Waiting for the time when I can finally say / That this has all been wonderful but now I'm on my way."

She explained that she had hoped to stick around long enough that some element of her time in town was positive. And now she had.

I liked her philosophy and it made it easier to say goodbye, which we did not long after paying the check.

That was the day I let go of my prejudice against defining yourself through song, that she let go of her prejudice against Abingdon, and that daylight in The Omelet Shoppe was more forgiving that it at first seemed.