Distant Diner

The thing about a diner is that it’s very different than a bar. It isn’t Cheers, where “everybody knows your name.” See, movies get it all wrong with the southern belle servin’ sweet apple pies behind the counter where the whip cream dollop is almost the perfect imagery of her supple breasts. Most diners, people are quiet and somehow the cup of coffee you order is always the last in the pot. You’ll be lucky to not get a mouth full of signature roast that will be washed down with unfiltered tap water.

The irony though, we still love the diner. Perhaps we like the secrecy or maybe even the mild abuse turns us on a little. But this story, is one about me that I’ve never told anyone about. This is my secret and it isn’t about no summer love, beers in the back of the truck after a shift, lose your virginity to the man of your dreams and it didn’t even hurt type of story. Because this story is real and it hurts to tell and I won’t even force you to listen to it. I come here because no one knows my name, no-one asks me about my day, I’m no one’s ex- thing and come to think of it, the coffee is growing on me.

September 18, 2006

The day I received my first polaroid camera. Must’ve turned sixteen or so. It wasn’t some fancy DSLR with any of the extra froufrou and it certainly didn’t need any of it. I didn’t have a computer that was going to make it all look prettier than what it really was and I’m not sure what the appeal is of a fake photograph anyhow. This was actually the first and only gift ever given to me and it was in secret by my dad. “ I hope one day you’ll be able to find somethin’ pretty and take it’s picture,” he said close to my face in between a large bite of artichoke and mayonnaise. “But, you better find a hiding spot real good because if she finds it I’ll be as good as dead to you.” Truth be told, up until that moment he already was.

On the days after this I went all over lookin’ for somethin to take a picture of. I’d seen photos of rainbows sky to sky, people laughin’ and huggin’ in their pj’s near their Christmas tree, animals sprawled out all kinds of majestic on the cover of a National Geographic. Something about me you should probably know is I never let into the “female’s do this, male’s do this” type of mumbo jumbo. Basically, what I am sayin’ is I don’t really have a crowd I fit in or out of and I don’t much appreciate a life where I am told to act like a lady. I approach the railroad tracks where I see a dead cat oozing out so much guts, you’d wonder how it once lived in someone’s home. I pulled the camera from my backpack and snapped it. After I released my finger from the button, it was sweaty from anticipation of what the picture will look like once it spits out. I look at it. Yep, it’s a dead cat and that’s what it looks like. I lift the paw of that cat and slip its photo underneath it and walked away.

When I get home my dad tells me I’m grounded again for some riddled-up story my step-mom came up with during her mid-day sabotage of what was left of my little family. I go up to “my” room, which is about one-sixteenth my room and the remaining was left for my step-sister, her make-up, and a Book of Mormon. From the hallway I hear my step-mom yell, “START CLEANING IT YOUNG LADY!” Yeesh, again with the lady! I pick up the eye-brow pencils and the pocket change and look for ways to organize it all. I see a photo of my step-sister and step-mom wrapped tight around each other smiling and I couldn’t help myself when I tore it to shreds. How will I ever get out of here?

This time instead of trying to hang myself in my closet ultimately leading to a broken closet I would indeed pay for, I decide to make a run for it. I pack my backpack with minimal clothes and left wearing my favorite pair of brown corduroys. I make my way slowly down the hallway, but the creaks keep amplifying through the house. Why the hell can’t anyone hear me? I peak my head around the bend of the staircase to find my step-mom and dad asleep on the couch with the TV on. I tip toe down the rest of the stairs until I am standing over them at the end of the couch. I take a picture to commemorate the day of my escape. The ckt-ckter-vroooosh of the picture snappin’ wakes them both and I fly out the front door straight to the hole in the fence about a mile away that will vanish me to the train tracks.

I am panting so hard it feels like I could pass my heart right out of my intestines. I sit against a large tree and finally look at the photo I just took of the two people who had full time jobs teaching me that I don’t matter. When I look at the picture, my face becomes flush. Both of their faces are complete blurs, while the rest remain completely in focus. I pull out the camera and wiggle it from side to side in hopes to use this 90’s remedy of fixing an electronic. I look down at my shoes. A pair of red converse with the soles now hanging so low that we now have something in common. Did I mention there would be some self-deprecation involved? I swivel my feet to align them compositionally to the train tracks and snap the photo. I lay down using my backpack as a pillow. So still—that I fall asleep.

When I wake up, I look at the photo of my shoes. No blur. I put the photos in my backpack and start following the track to town. I am standing in the center of Distant Park -completely still- while everyone else around me is movin’ like a time-lapse. What if they find me? My head is spinning so fast it might pop off like a well spun globe. Then I see this girl. She is beautiful and has dreads to her butt I imagine, but they’re all tied up in a bun. The time-lapse comes off a little less heavy and things normalize. I take a picture of her quite aware that this is a weird move. By the time I have lowered my camera she says, “Won’t ya even buy me breakfast for dinner first?” and lights up like the Christmas trees I’ve seen in all those pictures. I told her “what if I just ran away and had no money.” She responded to me with her chocolate covered almond eyes and settling voice, “Well, then I guess I’ll have to hold on to that picture, but dinners on me.” She was one cheesy motherfucker, but this was the first time I had ever eaten at the 24/7 Distant Diner. See, Distant is a small town, but I never really had the money—or was even allowed to explore a place like this. Now don’t get me wrong, those parents of mine had money, I just wasn’t worth it to spend it on.

“So, what’s your name?” she asks me. “Donnie.” She smiles and says “that’s kinda cute.” She slides over the picture I took of her earlier that day and says, “what’s your favorite thing about this picture?” I looked at her for what felt like a really, really long time. “That it wasn’t blurry.” She looks at me and says “Oh, I thought you were going to say something about my hair. I finally got the blonde parts right. Thought maybe you might have liked that?” We both laughed before I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah that was actually my second favorite thing.”

The server, Nas, came and grabbed our orders. I had no idea what the girl next to me was even named, but she ordered a cup of coffee with no cream, which I now recognize was a very bold move. She also ordered the eggs benedict. Being that I had never been to this joint, I ordered the same with a side of a job application. Nas returned with our coffee perfectly lukewarm. Some might complain, but I enjoyed being instantly able to sip it as the day had grown slightly tired on me. Nas looked at me and asked, “you ever had a job before?” I said, “not like an actual employment, but you could say I have worked my entire life.” She stared me down and I swear her spikey hair got harder with hair gel the longer she stared. She then asked, “Are you an asshole? We don’t need any asshole’s around here. We treat people with respect and we don’t do no game playin’. We clock in, clock out, you hear me?” I assured her I was listening. “Start Monday. Bring your ID. You better be 16.”

The beautiful girl with the dreads invited me back to her and her sister’s apartment. Her sister was out, meaning we had the place to ourselves. In the next 5 minutes I will be receiving my first kiss. She lays on top of me edging in and out to unbutton another button of her shirt. Each time her nipple dipping on to my lips. Chills went up and down my body. I flipped her over and figured I’d let my mouth do the talking that it had never done. I turned her back over to face me just before I reached for my camera. I set it down between her legs and I kissed her so hard I might have bruised our lips. I moved my hands up and down her caramel skin that blended with mine like a Creme Saver.

My hands met at her neck where I began to squeeze. Her hands and legs kicked squeamishly. She gasped for air and I laid my body on top of her and felt her rattle with the same intensity as her orgasm underneath me. When the fighting stopped, I snapped a photo. I stood there until the photo developed a beautiful, naturally tan body with boobs that were a little less tan from being tucked away. Her face was a blur. For some reason I wasn’t surprised that I had done this because I had always known that there wasn’t enough love to go around in this tiny town. At least not for me. At least that’s what they told me.

I still wish I knew the name of the girl who bought me eggs benedict. I used to get them on discount after I got that job there. I became a photographer, no less, but I still have a cup of coffee and eggs benedict every morning here at Distant Diner. My parents never came lookin’ for me. The beautiful girl who bought me my first cup of coffee, well her sister, Amelia, showed up a few times askin’ if her sister had been here because she turned up murdered, and I always just said I’d never seen her. Amelia said she “always knew her sister was so damn nice, it would land her in a ditch.”

The thing about this diner, it’ll hold your secrets wrapped tightly like an omelet. You might not know where the bacon and sausage come from, but at least no one here knows where any of us come from. But, the coffee is lukewarm and the benedict is the best I ever had. It’s the only one I ever had.