Hold onto Life

The gleaming stainless steel exterior of the 24/7 Extremist Diner in Wilmington, Delaware didn’t attract the usual crowd. This morning in August 1990, the tiny diner became the setting for a most unusual event. Most of the time, cops came there on their late night shifts with both beaming smiles and gruff mugs, but they did not appear this morning. The dancehall crowd sometimes came through with their beads of sweat and marijuana on their breath. They would distance themselves from the police. Neither appeared now. And of course at this late hour of three am, (or early to some) a most distressing occurrence befell the diner. Where everything usually worked like the female wait staff wore who extra small shirts and the males donned huge 3X tees all seemed well. It was extremist, right?

The bell pealed with an urgency as the customers turned their head to see a shirt stained with what looked like Bordeaux wine.

“He’s shot! He’s shot! Help him!” One of the young ones, a cocoa butter yellow skinned woman shouted.

The man had a single gunshot wound to the chest but was still breathing. What a time for the cops to not enjoy a coffee and cherry pie with whipped cream.

The man, colored charcoal black with sinewy arms helped the cocoa butter woman lift the gunshot victim onto the service counter.

The owner of the shop, a deep brown skinned man of fifty-two came running from the back. Gray hair sprouted from his head. He was Gentry “Gent” Dwyer.

“Hold, hold, hold, hold! This is no hospital. I’m trying to run a business here.” He looked for the cops and kissed his teeth. “Hell, if they pick now not to be here.” He dialed 9-1-1 on the phone in the back. Gent then ran out to where the man was.

“I’m no doctor, now. Get this man off of my counter, he’s getting blood everywhere. The ambulance is on its way.”

The young waitress gathered up towels to soak up the blood.

The shot man spoke. “I’m hit but I feel alright.”

“You’ll be feeling better when you’re out of my diner, too,” Gent said. “What’s your name, fellow?”

“Garrett Kempson.” He struggled with each syllable.

“Alright, alright save your breath. I’m sorry for asking. Tessa! bring me some water.”

“Yes, Gent.” La’Tessa “Tessa” Coleman was a petite, medium brown skinned waitress with grayish green eyes whose shirt clung to her petite figure.

“Varner! keep a firm hand above his chest where the wound is and wrap the wound with these towels,” Gent said.

Varner Howery stood at about 6”1’. He had a huge shirt where the sleeves ran past his elbows.

Gent commanded his staff like a general even though he was just a chief petty officer in the United States Navy in a former life.

“Where the hell is that ambulance? I called fifteen minutes ago! Garrett, just hold onto life.”

Tessa and Howery looked at the cocoa butter-colored woman. Her name was Annabelle Draymond. Tears streaked her eyes like rain against a stained glass window. She looked at Tessa and the blue-black man whose name was Yardborough “Yard” Dempsey. “He’s going to make it, right?”

“I can hear you,” Garret said.

“Hush up now, boy. Reserve your energy and strength.” Gent then peered out of the window. “That damn bus should’ve been here by now. This makes no sense.”

Tessa attempted to assuage Annabelle’s grief. She prepared some hot tea.

“Sip it slowly. Do you want anything to eat? It’s on the house.”

“Like hell it’s on the house!” Gent shouted. He then looked at all of the faces around him. “You can get a discount under these circumstances.”

Annabelle didn’t touch the tea. She clung to Garrett. Tessa massaged his back. “It’s going to be more than okay,” she said.

Howery and Yard just held their positions like two sentries guarding their posts. The diner had become a makeshift hospital in moments. Garrett remained stable despite his injury.

Annabelle cleaved even closer.

“I think that if we would’ve given them an address in Alapocas, then they would’ve arrived last night,” Tessa said.

“C’mon, Tess’ be strong for the man,” Howery said.

At last, red and white lights shone on the glass paneling surrounding the diner. Two paramedics hopped out of the vehicle and retrieved a stretcher from the back. They rushed the gurney into the diner.

Annabelle sobbed. Howery shouted. Yard exhaled. Gent sighed. Garrett still with two fingers forming the victory or peace sign, rolled out of the Extremist Diner.

Annabelle and Yard both exited the diner and tipped everyone there at least twenty dollars each.

Gent just shook his head. “I just hope that the boy’s alright.”

He was. The doctors looked at each other and made a decision to not perform surgery. To operate would do more harm and they chose to leave the fragments in his heart. After he received clearance from the doctors, he traveled back to the Extremist Diner with Annabelle and Yard. He noticed the diner’s tagline: “We go to the extreme to ensure you the best dining experience!”

He smiled at that.

The place had streamers and banners proclaiming Garrett’s happy return.

Gent came from the rear and said, “Hey!”

Other patrons knew about the young man brought to the Extremist Diner with a slug to the chest in the Daily Delaware. They applauded Garrett coming through the door.

“I don’t have a job for you but everything for you is on our dime,” Gent said.

“Thank you...Gent, right?” Garrett hesitated.

Yes, son, Gentry. I go by “Gent” because I’m such a gentleman to the ladies.”

“I see.” Garrett beamed as he looked at Annabelle and kissed her mouth.

“Why don’t you two take that to the deck outside,” Gent said with a glint in his eye. Tessa and Howery looked up and laughed.

“What are y’all laughing about? There’s fries to be taken out of the freezer, burgers need to be unpackaged, and lemonade to make. Now what about all of that is funny?”

Tessa and Howery exchanged glances as if through telepathy. But it was just prior knowledge of the ways of their boss.