Diner--Ch. 1

The mid-morning sun beat down into the little window of the breakfast diner. It was decorated simply in cheery yellow and red. The red stools lined the counter like polka dots. A few patrons were enjoying their breakfast and the morning paper, as I sat down in the ray of sunlight at the window.

I gazed out and studied the variety of stores across the street. The store owners were pulling the iron security bars away from their store fronts as they prepared for the day. I could hear the bantering of the patrons and cook at the counter. The cook was listening quietly as she flipped the eggs with ease. It was evident from the fluidity of her movement she had a few years experience.

The door opened again. With hair perfectly coiffed in tight bright red curls around her face and sleek in the back disguising her naturally black hair, a woman entered the restaurant with energy. Her energy denoted youth, but as I listened to her voice I heard age from living. She briefly excused herself after ordering, as a deep cough overtook her body. She stepped outside as the cough wracked her entire body. With composure she re-entered apologetically and resumed chatting at the counter with the patrons.

As breakfast dishes slid back and forth, so did the people--leaving their greetings for the day behind. Eventually, the red-haired woman rose to leave but stood in quiet conversation with the cook. “…I just think about them…” I heard as I watched tears slide down her silky chocolate cheek. After a pause, she exited the restaurant proclaiming that tomorrow was her birthday. I watched as her glistening tear stain faded away in the morning sun as she sashayed quickly down the street.


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I noticed the man watching me from the window. His quiet demeanor calmed me despite his steady gaze.

Did he sense that last night the ex reappeared forcing me to confront my inner strength. I despise it when he arrives demanding to see “my” daughter. Recoiling from the excessive aftershave, I smile and call Sasha from her room, but I watch her face as she sees her dad and puts on her artificial smile that he doesn’t even seem to notice. Guilt wracks my heart. My dad was part of my life every day. He came home late after working in the hot steel mills, but he always shared a few words with me and I knew I was important. I desperately wish dad was still here for Sasha.

The bank comes into view and I pull myself back to focus on work today. I have a meeting this afternoon, but this morning I will work at the front teller window. A pleasant smile and kind words will keep the morning running smoothly I tell myself. I run my hand over my dress to smooth the wrinkles, but my heart aches at the threadbare spots. I probably need to shop for a new dress, but Sasha needs extra money for her field trip…and honestly I haven’t seen anything at Goodwill in months. Money, like life, is always short, but I try so hard not to think about it all the time.

“Good morning, Miss Rachel, you look very pretty this morning.” Cliff is a regular on this Friday, as it his payday. He worked hard his whole life just to collect his social security check that barely covers his rent. I smile, as I watch his quiet, proud movements that protect the pains of years of hard labor. His warm welcome fills my heart. He notices my new hairdo and is telling me in his way.

“Thanks Cliff, how are you this fine morning?” I ask knowing that he will find something authentically happy to comment on. He never focuses on the negative.

“This morning I saw the first cardinal outside my window,” he grins.
He loves birds and anxiously awaits the arrival of spring. His little apartment is down the street from mine, but I imagine he just puts his chair near the window and looks out across the trees as he watches the birds flit from one tree to another.

“Thanks, Miss Rachel.”

I know he means it. As I count his money back to him in the bills he prefers—though he didn’t even ask. I realize that my job isn’t really about money, it is about the heart of my customers. That is why I enjoy my job. It is a good job though, as there isn’t much in the neighborhood for professional employment opportunities. Plus mama is close even though she is a handful. Sasha can handle her, though. It is like they have a special language I can’t hear.

Slowly, the customers approach my window, and I count money…5, 10, 20, 40… Until I feel that pesky cough creeping into my chest. I quietly excuse myself for a quick break.

As I hold the cough until I reach the restroom, my chest hurts. Then as it explodes my lungs feel like fire. Slowly it subsides and I wipe the perspiration from my forehead with a cool towel. As I step out, my manager greets me. Embarrassed, I smile and return his greeting as I move forward, but he stops me and asks if I am feeling well. I stammer that the cough just keeps holding on, but I assure him I am fine. He expresses concern, but I can’t read the emotion behind his eyes. He dismisses me to return back to work, as the lines are growing longer again.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to visit the doctor, but it is so expensive. Like everything, it will run its course. I am a strong woman.

“Good morning,” I say, as I greet the next customer.

The morning is blur of activity. I count my till carefully before finalizing my paperwork. It balances perfectly. I smile, proud of my work. Generally, my count is accurate and the boss always notices. I head off to our meeting wondering what is so important this afternoon. The memo didn’t specify the purpose. We are all curious though no one has said anything. I can feel the energy of uncertainty in the room. When the manager arrives and casually greets us, we shift uneasily in our seats. Then he announces that new counterfeit money is circulating, and an unspoken sigh emerges simultaneously as we relax in our chairs. It is serious business, but at least everyone will go back to work this afternoon. We listen intrigued at the last devices. Our bank hasn’t been hit yet, but we will need to be vigilant. We examine the money and look for the key signs. Tricky.

After our training is complete, there is only 15 minutes left on the clock. Our boss smiles and tells us to go home and enjoy the weekend.

As I step out into the sunshine, I absorb the warmth as my eyes adjust to the brightness. Suddenly, I realize that I am two blocks from home and I can’t recall my walk or thoughts. Strange. As I step inside, I feel the heat in our little apartment and the faint residual of aftershave. I turn the fan on and go to the refrigerator to surprise Sasha with an after school treat.

I love our after school chats as she animatedly shares the day’s events with me. Her eyes sparkle when she talks about biology class. She loves science. They grow dimmer when she struggles through English. Twinkling again, she updates me on her friends. I hear the door open, and suddenly those eyes peek around the refrigerator, and I see the surprise when I grin at her. She gives me a rare hug and demands to know how I beat her home. Then she launches into the day’s events and I watch her beautiful eyes. Eventually she turns more serious, and she asks if I knew about the Johnsons’ downstairs. I meet her eyes silently. Her voice cracks as she tells me that Mrs. Johnson’s cancer is back. She is worried about the kids. She grew up with James, and he was real quiet at the bus stop this morning, but he told her his mom was sick again before the other kids arrived. I felt the tears well up in eyes again. She asks if we can share our dinner with them. She will deliver it.

I smile with pride at her suggestion and together we work to stretch dinner. As I add the finishing touches, I hear Sasha bounding down the stairs before she returns with James laughing. They are joking about something from childhood. It is so good to hear their laughter. James asks me to join them downstairs. I start to decline when he pleads that his mama needs company now.

As I walk through the door, I see that the kids’ spirits have raised all spirits, as Rose looks really good with a smile, though I can see she is weak. Together we sit and enjoy our dinner. Rose asks if we would stay and play cards. We haven’t played cards in years. Through the years, the kids grew busy with their school activities and our conversations slowly transitioned to passing in the hallway. The kids are good at cards now. They plot and scheme to beat us. We have to sharpen our skill for the second round, but I can see the admiration in their eyes as Rose lays her cards down, as the creases around her eyes betray the pleasure in herself. Then she winks at me. I hear my laughter as the kids gaze in wonder at the winning hand.

As it grows late, we adjourn. The “big” kids beg to go outside for a bit before going to bed. We relent cautiously.

Smiling I climb the stairs and remember being a kid once too. The wonder of independence is like the fireworks on the Fourth of July…though after a few years it loses its sparkle. Slowly, I open the door and walk across the room to the only window and gaze out at the clear night. I can see the kids below under the street lamp. I move away from the window as Sasha looks up.

As I slowly dress for bed, I pause to think about time. I can hardly believe I am almost another year older. 39 has arrived so quickly. So many hellos and goodbyes rest in my heart.

“Dad,” I hear myself say, “please help me understand why.” In the silence I hear my father’s answer in his gentle eyes, “I do not know why, but live with hope.”

Later, I hear the door, as Sasha quietly enters. Slowly I relax and drift off to sleep.