Matt

Matt
Matt was a cook that worked for me at the Sidewinder Café. He was a good friend of the nephew of my girlfriend, who had gotten him the job. He worked part time at the Sidewinder because he had another job at an area restaurant, so I only got to work with him once a week, on Sundays. He was only nineteen and it showed, as he was a little undisciplined, and came in a few minutes late from time to time. He was a good natured guy though, and any frustration I felt with him being late disappeared when he got there because of his affable attitude.
He was enthusiastic about cooking. He had made decent strides in the two years he had been at it and impressed the owners of the other establishment, as well as myself, with his dedication. He was on the track that many guys take when the partying wears thin and one must figure out a way to support oneself. The restaurant business is a good choice for a lot of these kids, because it facilitates the partying and the night life, and it is an exciting job, with a significant amount of colorful characters.
Matt and I would work the Sunday night shift which was usually slow. We would listen to music and he would give me gossip about the other restaurants where he had worked. He and his friends were into Insane Clown Posse and Stained, which I happened to think, sucked. Once he let me listen to a new release from one of these bands and said, “This is one of their more mellow albums.” It sounded like bags of cats being run over by monster trucks.
I was playing the Grateful Dead one night and he asked “What’s this song? I recognize it. I like this song.” It was Uncle John’s Band. He said “Oh yea, Jason used to play this for us all the time. Yea I like this song!” He made a full hearted attempt to sing along. Matt couldn’t sing. I tried to help him out and the waitresses peered around the corner to hear our off-key chorus.
Matt would surprise you with something out of the blue. He was kind of typical in his dress and appearance for these days, wearing a lot of black clothes and big chrome studs in his ears and lip. He looked kind of intimidating at first, but his nature sometimes didn’t fit his outward image. Once he was telling me about living out in Mocksville or somewhere, and how he didn’t have much to do except read. He told me had read the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, the Iliad, and the Odyssey. I was duly impressed as I hadn’t read any of these.
One Sunday Matt didn’t show up for work. I called his cell phone and only got a cryptic message, recorded by him, about how if you couldn’t reach him, he was probably dead. This was Matt’s sense of humor at work. I called up someone to come in and cover for him’ and finished out the shift. I really didn’t think too much about it. The kid was nineteen, after all, and this was the kind of thing that nineteen year olds did all the time. Still, a no call, no show was pretty serious, and I would have to take some action.
After about four days no one had heard from Matt. This was worrying to his friends because Matt was always someone who kept in contact with his friends. The Police were notified, and a missing persons report was filed. Family and friends started to get frantic.
They found Matt in Richmond, Virginia, stuffed into the trunk of his car. He had been dead for some time. The news came over the small TV in the kitchen of the Sidewinder, and flooded my emotions, and I walked quickly outside, away from people, with all my emotions brimming to the surface. I was in a leadership position and had to keep my composure, but this was the most difficult time I had ever had in controlling my emotions. He was only nineteen, and starting out in this business.
Every one in the restaurant was in a state of shock, and the owner, who should have closed that night, decided to remain open, and made a speech that the customers were not to hear any thing about this. The asshole was still thinking about his business.
I worked out the shift in a daze and kept my composure, for the most part, through out the days to come. Matt was a victim of a drug deal gone wrong, according to the police. Some one had probably killed him in Winston and taken his body up to Richmond to dispose of the body. There were rumors and speculation flying around the restaurants involved, but they mostly went unnoticed by me. I still just couldn’t believe it.
Once, during that first week, I was driving on the highway alone, and I just started bawling like a baby. I couldn’t stop the waterworks no matter how I tried. It felt like a release in some ways, but it made me uncomfortable, and snot began to run down my lip. I had no way to wipe it off. I felt embarrassed that the truckers might see this grown man, hauling ass down the highway, bawling like a baby, trying to find something to wipe his nose with.