As I approach the entrance a man appears out of nowhere and startles me. I automatically allow my russet brown hair to fall in front of my face on the right side. This is born out of habit from trying to hide the hideous scar that runs from the corner of my right eye to my ear. People tend to stare, which makes encounters uncomfortable. So, to avoid any tense moments I learned real quick to hide behind a wall of hair anytime I am in the vicinity of people.
I peek at him from under my eyelashes. He looks to be in his early 30's. He wears a black hat that he turned backwards. His hair is dark and I can tell that he keeps his hair short by the stubble that peaks out from just below the hat by his ears. I can’t really see from the lack of light, but it appears he has dark eyes. Although he sports a five o'clock shadow you can see that he keeps his face clean-shaven. He has on a dark gray t-shirt with a black thermal shirt underneath that covers bulging muscles. He also has on a pair of worn form-fitting blue jeans and a pair of tan work boots. Overall, he is a very good looking man. At another time and place I would really appreciate his looks. But not now, I never want anything to do with a man again.
When I glance at him, he smiles and says, “Hey, sorry if I startled you.” His voice is rough, but still holds a smooth edge to it.
I duck my head a little and reply. “That's okay, I'm just a little jumpy.”
He grabs the handle to the door, opens it, and gestures for me to enter. “Ladies first.”
I notice the hand that holds the handle has a black and blue web tattoo. It starts at the center of the back of his hand and extends all the way to his fingers. I can’t see his palm, but I’m pretty sure that the tattoo continues to wrap around to the front of his hand. The webbing also wraps around each of his fingers. I briefly wonder what the significance is but then shake my head. It’s none of my business.
When I walk inside the diner I notice that it looks like a traditional diner that you see in movies and TV shows. It has a long white counter that has attached red vinyl stools right in front of it. Behind the counter is all the kitchen equipment a business needs to serve food and drinks; industrial stove and oven, microwave, racks of dishes, silverware, and all the food prep. There are two waitresses wearing red aprons standing behind the counter. One has to be in her mid 20's while the other in her late 50's to early 60's. She has a very grandmotherly look to her. A middle aged man and woman are sitting at the counter.
Along the front and side walls there are white tables with red vinyl booths. Salt and pepper shakers, a napkin holder, and two menus sit on each table. Several of the booths are occupied by a variety of people. One holds a young teenage couple, another a couple of older men, and the third a lone female drinking a cup of coffee.
The walls are littered with various pictures of people in their everyday life. One is of a couple of kids on a swing set. Another is a black and white photo of a man and a woman swinging on a hammock wrapped in each other’s arms. There is also an old picture of a man and a woman standing in front of a building that looks like Maggie's Diner a 100 years ago.
The man that startled me walks in and the bell on the door rings when it shuts. He starts walking towards the end of the counter where a portion of it lifts up, allowing people to move back and forth from behind the counter. The younger waitress runs from behind the counter and literally jumps on the guy once she reaches him. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and plasters an enormous smile on her face. Holding her up with one hand on her ass, he grabs a hand full of hair and slams his mouth down on hers.
I hear some chuckles from some of the patrons. The grandmotherly waitress behind the counter has a twinkle in her eye when she says, “Alright you two, break it up. Anna, you get back to work and you,” she says, pointing to the man, “go have a seat and I'll bring you a nice steaming cup of coffee.”
After another minute of tongue action the couple reluctantly break apart. They stand there staring into each other’s eyes when the man smiles hugely. “Hey, Anna Banana.”
“Hi, Nick,” the waitress replies in a breathy voice, her smile just as big as before. I think the nickname he gave her is corny and sweet at the same time. You can tell these two people are irrevocably in love. For a few seconds it makes me wish that I could find that kind of love, but I know that kind of love is rare and not meant for me.
I move away from the couple and make my way over to one of the booths in the corner. I drop my purse on the seat, sit down, and grab the plastic menu. I’m not real picky on what I eat, as long as it doesn’t taste like sawdust or have a beating heart. I’m pretty desperate for any food at this point.
Most of the foods are the same as any diner you come across. They have a large variety of breakfast dishes, the usual hamburger and fries, several different kinds of melts, and a select few dinner dishes, which included a roll, two veggies, and a salad. Nothing special or out of the ordinary. They offer coffee, sweet tea, coke, diet coke, fresh lemonade, milk, and water.
I close the first menu and pick up the second one. This menu is different than the first. It isn’t plastic and looks like it is just a thick sheet of paper that has pictures of desserts printed on it. To not be laminated and around food and liquids all day the menu is in perfect shape. There are pictures showing Kristen's Supreme Banana Pudding, Jay's Chocolate Crinkles, Barb's Coconut Cream Swirl, Brenda's Chocolate Cake Surprise, and Grandma Rosy's Pecan Pie.
“We have an ever-changing dessert menu,” comes a soft and flowing voice.
I glance up, making sure my hair covers my scar, and see the waitress that was swapping spit with the man a few minutes ago standing by my table. “Excuse me?”
She quirks her lips up into a smile and says, “I noticed you looking at the menu strangely and didn't want you to think we were so cheap we couldn't afford to laminate our dessert menu. The menu changes every month, so there's no sense in spending the money on laminating the menu's when they'll be tossed in the trash soon anyway.”
I glance back down at the menu in my hand and ask, “Why does the menu change every month?”
“We have an ongoing contest to see who makes the best desserts. Anyone in town who wants to enter brings in a dessert sample and we pick five to sell here at the diner for the whole month. They can either choose to give the recipe to us and we can make the desserts ourselves or they can make it themselves and just bring it in when we need it. At the end of the month the whole town votes to see whose dessert was the best. The winner gets one free meal a day for the next month.”
She is a beautiful woman. Her sandy blond hair is swept up on top of her head and has a pen sticking out of the back. It looks like she just grabbed a hair tie on the go and quickly pulled it back. Her face is free of makeup except for maybe a dash of blush and a quick swipe of mascara. She has beautiful blue eyes. They are a deep blue with a hint of a lighter blue around the outside. They kind of remind me of what a blue moon would look like if the moon actually turned blue during its second rare full moon of the month. The shirt she has on is a white button up with pleats running down the sides. On the top left side, right above her breast, is a white name tag that reads 'Anna'. She has on a pair of violet colored skinny jeans. Her shoes are standard white Keds.
She reaches out her hand and says, “Hi, I'm Anna.”
Not wanting to appear rude, I settle my hand in hers. “Bailey.”
“Well, hi Bailey, nice to meet you. What can I get for you tonight?” I can tell that she is an extremely happy and energetic person. She smiled the entire time she talked and bounced on her heels. I can never understand how some people are always happy and on the go. I can never remember a time in my life when I was truly and utterly happy. My childhood was filled with verbal and physical abuse. My one saving grace that kept me sane while I was a child was that I could one day escape it all. Little did I know that I would be jumping from the frying pan and into an inferno. Actually, it was worse than an inferno, I jumped straight into hell. A hell that scarred me, literally and figuratively, for the rest of my life. A hell that I had no means to escape from. A hell that I was still being forced to live in.