The Sauce of Life

The lights from the old, rusted diner sign flickered obnoxiously in the dark sky, like a beckoning call to those sleepily traveling the lonely highway roads. Had the worn sign not been so annoyingly distracting, I may not have noticed it and pulled off the highway and out of my frustrated state of mind.

It felt refreshing to stand after being hunched in my car for hours. I stretched my arms up and leaned my head back toward the night sky. Maybe all I needed was a short rest in the parking lot or a cup of coffee. It didn’t matter what it was, I just needed the distraction. I wasn’t sure what was bothering me more: the thoughts that weighed heavily on me or that I felt irked and alone while on the road. The highway had so often been an experience of joy, freedom, and hope for me. Not this time, when I needed it most.

“You’ll never get where ya going if ya’r always lookin’ back!” a man’s voice declared behind me. I jumped as I pulled myself back to reality. He was pumping gas at the station attached to the diner.

“What?” I asked, attempting to fill the void with meaning.

“Tenn’say,” he replied, nodding toward my license plates. I nodded. I’d been driving for so many hours I’d lost count. I was somewhere in Louisiana. That much I knew. Far enough to keep going. Close enough to turn back.

“I’m moving across the country,” I explained, as the comfort of the rendezvous with this stranger settled into me. The parking lot lights were bright, accentuating the whiteness of the hair on his head and beard. He reminded me of my grandfather, who had passed years ago. Familiarity.

“Looks like it,” he nodded with a quick laugh. It was no secret that my car was packed, something my untinted back windows proudly displayed. “Where ya headed?”

“California.”

“Ya sure?”

“What do you mean?” I watched as he hung up the gas pump back into its slot, and twisted his car’s gasoline cover back on.

“I recognize that look. Thas’ a tricky combo on yer face. Regret. Maybe some guilt. Whole lotta fear.”

“My family’s in Tennessee. Well, my whole life really. What I know of it. I have dreams to chase. I just hope catching them’s worth it,” I admitted. The man was watching me.

“I’ll tell ya what, why don’tchu come into that diner with me. Those tired eyes need a good cup'a joe. Maybe a side ‘a bacon, too. I’ll share with ya my biggest mistake. It may help.” He shrugged. I nodded in agreement. He headed toward the diner’s entrance and waved sloppily for me to follow.

“Two cups’a black, Suzie. Couple of them biscuits you guys don’ so well. My friend here needs some bacon. And that uh- that sauce you guys serve.”

“The garlic gravy, Frank?” Suzie asked. She was chewing bubble gum. Her hair was tossed into a ponytail that was sagging off her head, a mark that it had been a long work shift.

“Thas’ the one! An’ how about a nice slice of that blueberry pie. Two spoons!” Frank ordered.

“You got it,” she said, taking the menus and heading toward the kitchen.

“I been comin’ here for years. Suzie’s new. She does a good job. I tip her well. She’s got babies,” Frank explained. The diner was dimly lit to accommodate for the bright yellow wallpaper that covered the walls. I shifted onto the booth as the humidity from the summer night dwindled into the restaurant and began to attach my skin to the leather seat. I shouldn’t have worn shorts.

“You like pie?” Frank asked me.

“It’s okay,” I nodded. I didn’t have any strong feelings toward pie. I typically preferred cakes when it came to baked goods. Or cookies. Especially my mom’s cookies…my heart tightened.

“On my 18th birthday, my Gramma and Grampsie opened their bakeshop, and Gramma served her first pie to the public. She always said I was good luck. That day was no differen’. I reckon the whole town got a taste of Heaven. Dang near had a fever for that pie. Shops couldn’t keep pie supplies on their shelves! Gramma was crankin’ 'em out! High demand. Grams and Gramps made town news. She accredited that successful first day to me. She knew how to make me feel special, even though I wasn’t no different than my brothers. But to her, I was. I reckon my brothers felt the same way. She had that way.”

I pulled a brown napkin from the canister on our table and caught the tears piled into my eyes before they dripped down my face. I couldn’t get the image of my grandmother’s face off my mind as I had said goodbye. She was old and sick. “An inconvenient time for you to chase dreams, dont’cha think?” my aunt’s voice played through my mind. I didn’t know if I’d see Nana again.

“Here go! Two biscuits. Bacon. Gravy. Extra butter. Slice ‘a pie. And hot joe! You need anything else, Muffin?” she asked lovingly.

“I know where to find ya if we do!” Frank replied with a smile. I busied myself with preparing my coffee. Too many tablespoons of sugar to count. Lots of milk. I preferred it creamy. Plus, although I was hungry, I had no appetite. My nerves filled the pit of my stomach.

“I’m tellin’ ya, them biscuits — they’re good on their own, and they’ll do. But if you dip em into this sauce, like this, mmm! Now that right there is the meaning of life,” Frank explained, taking a bite of the biscuit as gravy dripped off it onto his plate. I didn’t want to be rude. Maybe if I ate a biscuit, it would keep the tears from streaming down my face again. I picked it up and felt its warmth in my hand.

“Take a bite as is, it makes the experience that much better,” Frank advised. I bit into it and noticed the crunchy layer on the outside meeting with the soft, fluffy inside. It was buttery, delicious, and reactivating to my tastebuds. I was suddenly hungry.

“That’s really good,” I replied with an approving nod. Frank had a generous grin on his face. I noticed some gravy caught in his beard. “Go on,” he replied, pushing the bowl of gravy toward me. I dipped the edge of the biscuit into it. “Don’t be shy now,” he encouraged. I went in for a more fulfilling dip. I couldn’t deny the delicious smell that wafted from the bowl. I loved garlic. I lifted the biscuit to my mouth and took a bite. Fireworks shot up my spine and out the top of my head as the flavors danced with celebratory delight in my mouth.

“Wow!” I exclaimed, perking up as if I’d had multiple shots of espresso. I took another bite, convinced I’d never had anything tastier than that. “That’s incredible,” I acknowledged. Frank seemed satisfied after that moment, and we sat in mostly silence finishing the few pieces of bacon and sipping the remainder of our coffees.

“Cherry. Black cherry pie. That’s what Gramma got famous for,” Frank replied, as we scooped forkfuls of the blueberry pie into our mouths. “Gramps encouraged other flavors. Gramma could make dang near anythin’ taste great after all. But Grams knew the power of that black cherry pie. That was some people’s sauce.”

Frank slapped a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, waved to Suzie, and led me out of the diner. He refused to take any of my money. I felt uplifted with more hope for making my decision to head west, yet I still had an itch to scratch with Frank. I opened my car door and watched as he walked toward his truck, which was still parked at the gas pump.

“You didn’t tell me your biggest mistake,” I declared, unable to ignore the curiosity. Frank turned around and chuckled.

“I’ve been comin’ to this diner for God knows how long, denying myself of trying that sauce, even though my nostrils followed it whenever it came out the kitchen to somebody else’s table. I caved in just last month when a bowl of it accidentally made its way to me. I near believed my Grams hand-delivered it to me from Heaven. Denyin’ myself of desire.” He shook his head unapprovingly. “Them biscuits are good. They’re reliable. They’ll be there. Family.” He shrugged. “But if you find a good sauce, an exceptional sauce, you better make that trip to taste that sauce as many times as your heart calls you. 'Cuz that right there - thas livin’.” I nodded quietly as tears began to fill my eyes again. This time, with relief. "And if yer lucky, which I reckon you are, that diner'll be open every hour on every day. Jus' waitin' for ya. So…where ya headed?” he asked me one last time.

“To California. I have sauce to taste!”

--End--