Land's End Diner

“Jessica!” The man yelled as he ran through the doors of the diner. He fell to his knees, sobbing for Jessica, whoever she was. “Jessie. I’m sorry. Where are you?”

Poor guy didn’t know he was dead.

Melinda watched from the counter in front of the kitchen, sipping coffee as some of the other patrons looked at the traumatized customer, then moped back to their meals with a lifeless gaze.

“Jessica!” He was so shocked he couldn’t stop to think how he ended up in a diner that floated in the sky.

Poor souls like his occasionally made it to Land’s End Diner. The flash of death hot in their minds, unable to be properly addled and confused like most of the souls that made their way here.

“Mel. He’s all yours,” Skip grumbled, sitting at the counter, crouched over ledgers and spreadsheets like a proper manager.

“Nah. I got the last one. How about you, Chicka?” Melinda asked the young teenager currently spinning on the barstool to her left.

“No…can do…trying…to see if…this ghost…body can puke.”

Mel groaned. Chicka had apparently been some teenage genius in biochemistry before she died and got stuck serving over easy eggs for eternity.

“Jessie. Jessie, I’m so sorry. JESSICA!”

That made everyone wince. Some of the other customers looked at him again.

“Ouch. Big lungs for someone without a body. Mustard, you want to give it a try? I’ll flip pancakes for a bit while you talk him down.” Melinda turned toward their chef, a large Senegalese man with dark skin, broad shoulders, and the ability to only say one word that they all understood: mustard. He talked to himself in a mix of French and Wolof, probably cursing them out, but he whipped up food so fast they let Mustard do his thing.

Mustard put the spatula down and looked at Melinda over his boulder-like shoulder with a deadpan stare. Melinda sucked her teeth.

“Right. Worth a shot,” Melinda said. She gulped down the rest of her coffee.

“JESSICA WHERE ARE—”

“Melinda, will you please take care of him?” Skip scratched at his overgrown beard.

“I did the last—let me think—thousand souls like him! One of you could use the practice.” Melinda fluffed up her hair and tightened the apron around her waist.

Skip groaned and opened his mouth.

“You’re the heart and soul of this place. We’d all be lost without your love and warmth and tender care—”

“Ew. Stop it. I got it.” Melinda marched off, rolling her eyes.

Skip yelled a quick thanks as she walked away. Melinda was tempted to flip him off, but thought against it. She was spending eternity with the grump; she could always poke at him later. The screaming man crying on the floor was really starting to make her ears ring. What was the point of being dead if you still got headaches?

“JESS—”

“Enough of that.” Melinda hooked her arms under his armpits and pulled.

“Whoa. What are you—”

“Stand up. You’re heavy for a dead person.” Melinda grunted, and the man got his feet under himself to stand. He faced her, cheeks wet with tears, a little bit of snot coming out of the left nostril, red eyes and…this sucked. He was really cute. He had a distant look in his eyes; he was in shock, but not like the others. They hardly ever spoke more than a thank you or see you next time.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Melinda said, putting her hand on his arm and tugging him toward a booth. He let her guide him.

“I need to find Jessica. There was a shooter—then a bomb. I was right there. Where am—” He looked around at the very classically styled American diner and shook his head.

“I need to find Jessica. I have to…” He looked around again, eyes narrowing at the checkerboard floor, metallic walls, and ever-so-slightly sticky tabletop. Melinda pushed him into a bench seat. His head snapped to face her.

“You’re dead,” she said. “Can I take your order?”

She looked at the nametag on his breast pocket. Dr.David Paulson, LMFT, PhD.

He shook his head.

“Order? No. I’m looking for my sister. A diner? Must of blacked out. I gotta go and find her.” David slid to the end of the bench seat. “She works for the government, and there was an attack—”

“You’re dead. Look outside,” Melinda said, gesturing toward the windows with a nod.

David turned towards the glass front doors and saw that outside there was nothing, but a slightly cloudy sky, with a vibrant light shining from somewhere above. It wasn’t the sun, but just as bright. A flock of geese floated by the windows.

“Mmm. I see.”

David fell back onto the bench, dazed, eyes wide, and staring up at a water stain that looked suspiciously like Elvis Presley giving someone a lap dance. Melinda rolled her eyes and took a seat across from David.

After a while, he opened his mouth and spoke.

“I thought you went to the pearly gates first and Peter would tell you if you made the cut or not,” David said, half sitting, half reclining against the table. Gosh he was tall and really cute—nope. She had enough of that in her old life.

“That could be your next stop or the other place,” Melinda said.

David turned towards her, eyes squinting.

“Are you an angel? Do you know where I’m going to end up?” he asked.

“No and no. It depends David. Were you a good person?”

“I am…was a therapist. So…maybe?” He suddenly straightened up, realization on his face. “If I’m dead then my sister—”

“Look around. Do you see her?” Melinda asked.

She scribbled something on her notepad, balled it up, and threw it at the back of Skip’s head. He turned around, glared, grabbed the paper, opened the note, and groaned. Gonna be a minute. Make Chicka wait the tables. XOXO 4 ever. –Melinda, AKA The heart and soul of this place

“I don’t see her,” David said.

“That means she lived.”

David focused back on Melinda, eyes intense. He had to stop looking so handsome. Brown hair and blue eyes were always a weakness of hers.

“How do you know? You said you weren’t an angel.”

“I’m not. The diner shows up for the souls killed before their time. Big tragedies usually. Bombings, shootings, terrorist attacks. We see too many kids here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You guys wander in, have a meal, and then leave for your next destination. One last touch of kindness before moving on? Insurance policy against disgruntled souls coming back as ghosts? The Big Man is probably running out of priests to exorcise poltergeists pissed about how their wife is spending their money.”

David nodded. His countenance didn’t change as he looked around, taking in what he saw and what he was hearing from Melinda.

“So how did you end up here? Did you die?” David asked, leaning forward on his elbows. The intense look in his eyes had faded into…what was that look? Curiosity?

Melinda wanted to punch him. It was annoying how quickly he adjusted to being dead. She screamed for weeks.

“Dunno. I just died.” She sat back and folded her arms. David stared. He didn’t believe her.

“You do know how you ended up here, right?” David asked. He didn’t lean in physically, but the question made her heart flutter. Never before had a recently deceased soul asked her about herself.

Nah. Not this time. They always start out nice. Gotta shut it down now.

“Actually I just remembered. Murdered by my ex-boyfriend. Really knew how to pick them. Then I showed up here like you.”

David didn’t even react to her bluntness. Melinda frowned. He probably was a good therapist.

“Why didn’t you leave like everyone else?” David asked.

Melinda stood back up and pulled out a pen. “You really should order something.”

“I don’t see a menu.” David looked down at the empty table save for a coffee stain that’d never come out.

“There isn’t one. Mustard will make whatever you want. Last bite of good food before you hit the celestial road.”

David smiled. A freaking gorgeous smile. Still hadn’t learned her lesson. He’d be leaving in a little while.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“No. I’m doing my job which is taking your order and then bringing you your food. Do you see the rest of the restaurant? Shell-shocked souls who don’t even realize they’re dead. They’re not bothering me with questions.”

David’s smile deflated. He swallowed, nodded, and his lips formed a straight line.

“I’m sorry it’s what I spent my adult life doing. Listening to and learning people so I can help them. I can’t help it sometimes.”

Melinda groaned. It was really unfair that he was like this. Couldn’t the big H-E have made him ugly?

“If I tell you will you order something ?” Melinda asked.

David lit up. “Yes. Eggs benedict with floppy bacon and half an avocado on sourdough toast. No butter.”

“No butter?” She wrote down the order, not really knowing if it mattered.

“Allergic to dairy,” David said, and smiled. Stupid smile lines at the corner of his eyes. Cosmically and eternally unfair.

“I’m going to have Mustard use butter. You should learn to live a little now that—”

David’s jaw dropped. Melinda’s eyes widened and she slapped a hand to her chest. Learn to live a little! Melinda! She wasn’t the sunniest waitress, but that was too far.

“I’m so sorry—”

David erupted into laughter and after a moment you realized you were laughing too. Absurd. Absolutely absurd. That’s what this all was. Living and not. Dying and not.

Melinda laughed too. They both did for probably eternity before they were wheezing, chuckling, and wiping their eyes.

“I’ll go get that ordered for you.” Melinda turned away and took one step towards the kitchen before she stopped.

“I ordered blueberry pancakes, and barely touched them. When I tried to walk out like everyone else I couldn’t open the door. It was the same for the rest of us. It started with Skip. He was the first and ran the whole thing by himself. I’d kill to see him trying to cook, take orders, and keep the books straight all at the same time. Then Mustard came. Eventually I showed up. It was just the three of us for a long time. Chicka started not long ago. She’s still trying to learn how this all works, but we all showed up here and couldn’t leave.”

David smiled. “Thank you for telling me.”

Melinda’s conversation with David took so long Chicka got the rest of the orders when Melinda gave David’s order to Mustard it was time to run all the food. Chicka had devised an extremely efficient method that meant they were running to deliver the orders, but every table was eating within minutes.

“You’re a genius…Chicka. That was quick.” Melinda was panting.

Chicka beamed, her dark hair tied into two braids behind her shoulders. Her large glasses made her small face look even younger.

“Thanks. I know.”

They sat at the bar while Skip whipped out a calculator and typed away furiously.

“C'est prêt,” Mustard said as he hit the bell. It was David’s order.

“Chicka do you know what he just said?” Melinda asked as she grabbed the plates off the counter.

“He said ‘it’s ready’. I took German, but picked up some French when my parents took me to Paris,” Chicka said.

Mustard grunted. So that must have meant she was right.

“Of course you did.” Melinda smiled and walked the order over to David.

He looked up at her and smiled as she approached.

“That was really fast. Are you guys trying to get rid of me?” David smiled.

Melinda wanted to stop herself from smiling, but she didn’t and placed the food in front of him.

“Yes. I’m sure there’s a civil war somewhere that needs us.”

David didn’t look at the food, eyes twinkling. “I’m sure there is.”

This is unfair.

Melinda returned his smile with her own. “Enjoy.” She turned away, not really wanting to leave, but he needed to eat and move on.

“Why don’t you stay for a moment,” David said. Melinda stopped and slowly turned. He looked…contemplative.

“It’d be…it’d be nice to talk someone for a little bit before the next thing—whatever it is—happens.”

Melinda glanced around the diner. Everyone was eating. Chicka had gone back to her experiments and was currently attempting to stab herself with knives to see what happened. Mustard was yelling at her in French-Wolof, but not stopping her. Skip was glaring at them, redoing his calculations for probably the twelfth time.

“I guess I could talk.”

They chatted until the other patrons left, the sky outside darkened into an orange that burned into a deep purple while the last of the sun-not-sun sang through the clouds. Chicka graciously collected the plates and brought them to the kitchen where she attempted to unsuccessfully drown herself head-first in the sink. Mustard went to a backroom to smoke and Skip still hadn’t finished balancing the books.

“You didn’t finish school until you were thirty?” Melinda asked.

“No. I put myself through, so it took a while. I always thought I was behind. I wish I had been able to help more people, but now that I’m dead, I know I was always where I needed to be.” David sat back and smiled.

Melinda was glad he looked satisfied. When she died, she felt unfinished too. Maybe that’s why she’d been stuck at Land’s End. Helping others in a way she wasn’t able to when she was alive.

“Let me ask you something. If there’s no money why does Skip still work on the spreadsheets?” David asked, smiling.

“I don’t know. He had me look at them once. I’m not great at math. Plus it wasn’t normal numbers or Roman numerals. I don’t know what he really does all day, but it stresses him out.”

“And the food? Where does it come from?”

“It just does. Mustard or one of us goes into the fridge or freezer and what we’re looking for is always there.” Melinda sat back, looking around at an empty diner, the last throes of daylight bleeding across the room.

David noticed too and exhaled. “I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome, even if I could talk with you for eternity.”

They shared a small laugh. It was nice. It was bitter.

Melinda smiled. This sucked. This sucked even more than dying. They were cursed to watch people come and go; their crew destined to give souls one last warmth, never capable of leaving themselves. Torment. Yet it also felt amazing to lift one person up as they walked into something new, that man had theorized, poeticized, and tackled through theology, but fell short of understanding. Melinda hoped that Dr.David Paulson only had good things coming for him in the next life. A life she would never get to see.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Melinda said and slid out of the bench.

David followed behind her.

“What did you want to be before you know what happened?” David asked.

Was this really going to be the last thing they talked about? Just be glad you get to talk a little more.

“A pediatric nurse. Maybe a cookbook author. Or a vet tech. I could never make up my mind. I was only nineteen.” She turned around and looked up at him as they paused at the doors.

David nodded and smiled at her. Then he looked out the doors at the approaching night, his grin left and he took a deep breath. This was it. He looked back at her, and Melinda could tell he was forcing a smile. She grabbed his hand. He froze then melted into the touch.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. I have a pretty good feeling about where you’ll end up. You went looking for your sister. When you died, all you could think about was her.”

And all I can think about is how you’re about to leave.

David swallowed and nodded at her. He took in a shaky breath.

“You would have made a great nurse or author or tech. Thank you, Mel.”

Melinda released his hand and took a step back. She couldn’t say anything else.

David smiled and pulled the door handle.

It didn’t budge.