SERVICE UP
Without looking at his watch, he knew it was time to get ready for the first customers in the diner. Donald walked out of his house, locked up and walked to the front of the restaurant.
To the east, the sky was promising a sunrise he would not see.
He paused and glanced at the building; it was tired. Although its heyday was long gone, Donald had spent every day of his life working there. He had no idea what he would do if he didn’t wake up early to open. He told himself he liked the routine, that he liked cooking for people. He didn't think about how few customers he had, nor that they were dwindling monthly. Some were just dying off, some were moving out of the community, and some just got bored with coming.
The menu was exactly as it had been since his dad had written it out on a scrap of paper so many years ago. Donald remembered the joy in his father’s face as he decided what his diner would serve. His parents, sitting at their tiny kitchen table, had laughed as they made increasingly ridiculous suggestions about what they could serve. Donald had thought some ideas were pretty good, and had said so. They had laughed even harder.
He had been hurt by their laughter. His mom hugged him, and his dad added the cheesy macaroni and hotdogs with a splash of ketchup to the menu just for him. Although still on the menu, Donald couldn’t recall the last time anyone had ordered it.
He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. It wasn’t a big diner, only four booths against the window, eight stools at the counter, and a single table in the corner.
Years ago, when his dad had gotten sick, Donald had taken over the diner and had put a reserved sign on that single table. He had never removed it. He had never allowed anyone to sit at the table. It was set for two.
He looked at the table in the far corner of the room. After a minute, his head fell, and he turned and went into the kitchen. As the flattop warmed up, he chopped onions, red and green peppers.
An hour later, the first customer walked in. It was Gordon, a trucker Donald had known for most of his life. Gordon walked past Donald, nodded absently, and sat down in the last booth. Donald watched Gordon for a second. Gordon had always sat at the counter and told jokes till his meal came. No jokes, no conversation, not even a smile. Something was up.
Donald glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 7:30. Where was Sheri Ann? He checked his wristwatch. She was late. He looked out the window. Across the parking lot he could see her hunched against the cold half-running, half-walking towards the diner. Seconds later, she burst through the door pink-faced, fogged-up glasses, and breathing hard.
“Morning. Sorry I’m late. My car wouldn’t start,” she said as she rushed past him, hung up her coat and put on her apron.
“It’s fucking freezing!” She called from the back room, “Isn’t it supposed to be warm at least for a month more?”
Donald smiled and went back to the kitchen. He glanced at Gordon. Gordon was staring at his hands.
Sheri Ann came out of the back, tying on her apron.
“Sorry,” she smiled at Donald, “was it busy?” She laughed at her joke.
Donald smiled. “Just Gordon.”
“K,” she said and grabbed a glass of water and a cutlery roll-up.
Donald heard her ask Gordon how he was but couldn’t hear his answer. Sheri Ann came back, started pouring coffee, “He’s not himself,” she frowned and went to deliver the mug. Donald looked through the pass-through at Gordon.
“The usual,” she said. Which meant bacon, eggs and toast.
Donald got going on the order, his mind on Gordon. He had been one of his father’s friends and was the very first customer served. He had been coming for over forty years, once or twice a month. He never changed, never got any older, just walked in with a big friendly smile. Donald had asked his dad about that.
“Gordon has made a deal,” his father had said, “He made a mistake, and now he’s paying for it.”
Donald hadn’t understood at the time, but he did now. Gordon had sold his soul to The Judge. He wasn’t sure for what but as Donald’s dad grew older, got sick and died, Gordon stayed the same. His face never sagged, his spine never curved, and his hair never lost its colour.
He flipped Gordon’s eggs just as the toast popped. He plated the breakfast and set it on the pass-through where Sheri Ann was waiting. She picked it up and walked to Gordon’s booth.
Gordon didn’t look up. He just stared into his coffee cup. Sheri Ann waited a minute, then left. She looked at Donald and shrugged.
Donald felt like he should do something, maybe ask Gordon if he was alright. They had never had a real conversation, Donald realized. Every word that had passed between them had been jokes and pleasantries, except one time when he was sixteen.
Gordon had come out the back of the diner to have a smoke and found Donald sitting on a milk crate crying. Gordon had apologized and turned to go back in, then he stopped and asked, “Why so glum chum?”
Donald looked up, surprised.
“Nothing,” he said, quickly wiping the tears away.
“Don’t look like nuthin’,” Gordon said. “Lemme guess. It’s about a girl.”
Donald looked up sharply.
“How’d I know? At your age, it always is.” Gordon said. “Look, kid, this is just how it goes. The first one cuts deep. It leaves a scar, but in a week or a month, you will be on to someone new.”
Donald looked at Gordon with fire in his eyes. His lips were tight.
“Right. She’s the only one you will ever love. She’s the ONE. Mark my word, you be over her in a week,” Gordon smiled with understanding in his eyes, shook his head, and went back inside.
From the kitchen, Donald watched Gordon staring at his coffee, lost in whatever world he was focused on. Gordon had been wrong, was wrong. Donald hadn’t gotten over her. Not in a week, not in a month, not ever.
He glanced at the reserved table, his monument, his shrine to her. It was there Donald had had his one and only date with her. He hadn’t known how to date, how to act, where to take her, so he brought her here, the diner.
He had been sitting in the hallway at school when he had noticed her. She had walked by with several of her friends. They were all laughing and making jokes while she was quiet, smiling, playing with her hair. He had seen her later in the library reading. He couldn’t see what she was reading, but she sat straight through third class, just reading and playing with her hair. She wound it around her left finger tight then let the curl unwind. Sometimes she tied a knot in it, then let it unravel.
It took two weeks for him to find a moment when she was alone, and the courage to walk up to her, and even then, he nearly bailed, but she caught his eye, and he couldn’t think of anything to say except his rehearsed question. She rocked on one hip looking at him, her left finger twirling her hair, then she smiled and said, “Sure.”
He had borrowed his mom’s station wagon. It was a long boat of a car, off-white with fake wood grain panels, and it smelt of cabbage and dog. He was so nervous as he stood out in front of her house for several long minutes building up the courage to ring the bell. When he did, he stood still, and willed himself not to run.
Her mom answered the door, smiling. She watched patiently as he stammered and finally asked, “Is Mary Lou home?”
Her mom smiled and said, “Yes, she’ll be right out.”
And she was. She stepped out of the house in jeans and a t-shirt. Her long hair loose and a smile on her lips, “Hi, Don. Where are we going?”
Donald stuttered, opened the door for her, and managed to say, “We’re going to the diner for supper, then I thought we’d go to the drive-in.”
She looked at him and smiled, “The man with a plan. OK.”
As they drove to the diner, Donald was keenly aware of the distance between them. The broad bench seat had room for four people to sit comfortably on it. Mary Lou sat close to her door, miles away from him.
He stopped at the diner, jumped out and hustled around the massive car to open her door. She was already out and standing waiting for him.
“This is your dad’s diner, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Umm, ya,” he said.
As he opened the door to the diner, a thought crossed his mind. This might not have been such a great idea.
Inside, his dad sat them at the only table he had. It had a reserved sign on it.
“What can I get you two to drink?” Donald’s dad asked as he handed them the large menus. Donald looked to Mary Lou.
“I would love a vanilla milkshake,” she said as she took the menu.
“Same,” Donald said. He winced as his dad winked at him. Yup, bad idea.
Mary Lou saw the wink and grinned. Donald tried not to notice. They sat in silence for a bit.
“What’s showing at the drive-in?” Mary Lou asked.
“Um, I’m not sure,” he said, realizing he should have found out. “Just a sec,” and he stood and went to the front door of the diner where there was a community corkboard. It took him a minute to find the drive-in schedule. He found it buried under a handwritten paper selling a used grain truck.
It was a red sheet of paper with a calendar printed on it in black. He scanned the dates, and his heart sank. The big letters spelled out ‘Retro Saturday Creature Feature.’ Not great date movies. He would love them, but he suspected Mary Lou wouldn’t.
Girls didn’t like horror movies. At least that’s what his mom had said.
He went back to the table, feeling disappointed. He should have checked. Now, what are they going to do? His dad had told him to have a plan. He said women liked it when a man takes charge. So acting on his dad’s dating advice, he had thought about it and made a plan. He thought he had it figured out, but he was wrong.
“It’s a double creature feature. They’re having a retro night,” he said as he sat, braced for her disappointment.
“Really?” she said. “What are the movies?” She seemed excited.
He paused. “Um, Creature from the Black Lagoon and Revenge of the Creature.”
“Cool! In 3-D?” She leaned forward.
“I don’t think so,” he said, unsure.
“Too bad, but still cool!” she grinned at him.
“So, you like horror movies?” he asked.
“Hell yes. They’re fantastic! Especially the old Hammer movies.”
“Hammer movies?”
“Ya! Wait, you don’t know about Hammer?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“The Curse of Frankenstein, Dracula, The Mummy, Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man?”
Donald shrugged. He had heard the titles and maybe seen parts of them on TV late at night but didn’t know them. Mary Lou was really into this. Inside, he congratulated himself on a good plan.
“You haven’t seen them?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“These are classics!” She sat back. “Hammer put out some of the best horror flicks ever. Hammer and, of course, Roger Corman.”
He looked at her blankly.
“House of Usher?” she asked.
Again, he shook his head.
“You’ve never seen House of Usher?” she crossed her arms and shook her head, “You poor boy, you have been deprived.”
She leaned forward, “Well…”
And she launched into a long discussion about horror films. It was a very one-sided conversation.
Donald listened, mesmerized.
She paused to order a burger and fries when Donald’s dad returned, then kept on going. Even when the food arrived, she continued. She paused again to take a bite, then talked with her mouth half full.
Donald ate and listened, amazed.
She only slowed when they were finishing their meal, and she paused to take a sip of her milkshake. She looked at him over her glass as she sucked on the last drops of her shake.
He looked at her, at her eyes as she regarded him. They were open and bright, full of intelligence and curiosity.
He wasn’t sure what he felt. It was a bit like when he fainted at the fair a couple of years ago. His heart sped up, he started to sweat, and the edges of his sight darkened. He looked at her through a tunnel. She filled his mind. Amid the loud sucking sounds of her finishing her shake, a thought entered his mind. This is what love feels like. A sort of panic raced over him.
She beamed at him, and he grinned back.
The next four hours blended into the most fantastic time. He came out of his shyness. He talked about things he loved, about comics, books and drawing. He told her things he had never told anyone. She laughed and talked about movies mostly, but halfway through ‘The Revenge,’ she started talking about music and singing.
She got quiet. He strained to hear. She said she wanted to be a singer. She said she wanted more than anything to sing on stage. Then even quieter, she said, “And I’ll go see the Judge if that’s what it takes.” She twirled her hair, and looked sideways at him.
At first, he wasn’t sure if he had heard her. He leaned forward, tipping his head slightly. Then he realized he understood what she had said, he just couldn’t believe it. He sat back, unsure of what to say. He was shocked. Everything he had heard about the Judge was bad.
She looked at him, reading his reaction. She looked away. They sat, not talking for the rest of the movie.
He started the car and slowly lined up to leave the drive-in. They sat still, their headlights on the vehicle ahead for several minutes.
“That was great!” She looked at him, “Thank you for taking me.”
He smiled, sensing something had changed.
“It was cool. You know a lot about these movies,” he said.
They finally got out of the drive-in and onto the highway. They talked about school a bit, and about teachers they liked. Halfway to Mary Lou’s home, the conversation died utterly. They sat in silence. They pulled up to the front of her home and stopped.
Mary Lou turned, “Thank you, Don. I had a wonderful time.” With a smile, she opened her door and slid out.
“See you at school,” she said, then she closed the door and walked to her house. She waved as she went inside.
Donald stared after her for a minute.
Was that a good date or a bad one?
He drove home, running over the date in his mind again and again. Parts of it were great; in fact, most of it was perfect. It was just the last bit.
Donald saw Mary Lou at school, but he never got a chance to talk with her. He started to obsess over the date. Every time he reassessed the date downward until he knew it had been a disaster.
He thought about her constantly. He waited in the hallways at school that he knew she walked down. It became apparent she was avoiding him. Then he saw her getting into a beat-down Chevy truck with a guy. He watched as she slid across the bench seat to sit right beside him. He watched them kiss and felt pain like he had never known before. It took his breath as if he had been punched in the gut.
He ran home, trying not to cry, and failing.
He stayed home for a couple of days. When he went back, he avoided anywhere she might be. He didn’t see her, not that day nor the next. It was Friday when he saw her. She was walking outside, holding hands with a tall boy. Donald thought his name was Jacob.
A week later, he heard the worst news he could have ever heard.
Mary Lou was killed, run over by her boyfriend. It was all over the news, on tv, in the newspaper, and everyone was talking about it at school. There was a tremendous amount of conversation about whether or not Jacob had run her over on purpose. Some thought Jacob was a no-good yahoo and probably was drunk. Others thought it had been just a terrible accident. Even his folks talked about it at the dinner table. Donald tried not to listen, but it was nearly impossible not to hear when it was all around him.
There was an investigation. It went on for weeks. Eventually, Jacob was found innocent, the cause declared to be a mechanical malfunction in the brand-new truck Jacob had been driving. Many people still thought Jacob was guilty, but it didn’t really matter to Donald. Every minute of every day, he thought about Mary Lou. She never faded from his heart. And in some 40 years, no one had come along to replace her.
