The Diner

The first pink glimpses of the sun peeking over the horizon illuminate the diner, tinting the tile floor with bubblegum hues. It’s 5:46 in the morning, when most of the world is still huddled beneath the comforter, hanging on to the last minutes of blissful rest. I’m the only worker on the morning shift that day-- well, me and my manager, Trisha. Our only cook won’t arrive for his shift until 6:00. Nobody with an ounce of sanity works the 5am shift; perhaps that’s why I always end up here, serving mediocre eggs to America’s loneliest passersby. 

The bell clangs overtop of the door. I throw a glance over my shoulder on my way to the kitchen as a pair of heavy working boots step over the threshold. 

“Seat yourself, I’ll be over with a menu in a sec.”

There is no reply, and by the time I’ve grabbed the coffee pot and a menu, the man has found a seat at the very corner of the diner, with a direct view of the little TV mounted on the wall. I fill up a few mugs at the counter, then make my way to him. 

“Take your time looking at the menu, sir. Can I start you off with some coffee?” I ask, fumbling through my apron pocket in search of my notepad. 

“Hmm, just coffee and some eggs, over easy. And some toast. No butter.” 

His voice is gravelly, grating on my ears. I recognize it immediately. My head shoots up, and I’m staring directly into those eyes. The eyes of my first friend, my first kiss, my first… well. I’m too shocked to blush. So many emotions flood through my brain that I’m not quite sure what I’m feeling. 

He shifts, and I realize I’ve been staring for far too long. It occurs to me that I have no way of knowing whether he recognizes, or even remembers me. Resisting the urge to say his name, or scream, or run, or cry, I quickly scribble down his order on my page. 

“Coming right up,” I say, emotionless. I think I see a glimmer of recognition, a sort of smirk in his eyes, but quicker than the thought can hit me, I’m in the kitchen. 

“Uh, order. Here,” I shove the paper into Trisha’s puzzled hands and throw myself into the staff bathroom door. Shakily, I grip the sink, almost heaving with overwhelming emotion. Henry. Henry! Here, after all these years! Staring down into the sink, I remember. I remember Henry. 

Growing up, we were best friends. We went from unlikely neighbors in that run-down suburban neighborhood to playmates to confidants and trusted advisors. We created our own stories in my dusty backyard, and Henry would make up reasons to hate all the other neighborhood kids. We didn’t need them, we were too good for them; besides, they certainly didn’t seem to need us. Henry made me promise him that I was his friend and his friend only. And I was. So I promised.

Eventually, we grew up past the age of exploring imaginary lands in our backyards. We used to hang out by the railroad tracks, smoking stale cigarettes and pretending to enjoy Henry’s father’s vodka. Sometimes Henry would skip school, and he would always invite me. I always said no, and he was always angry. He threatened to move on, to find a better friend who would sneak out and burn homework with him, but he always came back to me. We were still alone, but we were alone together. 

I remember the first time Henry kissed me. We were fourteen, newly curious and hormonal, and he had just gone for it. He’d tasted like salt. After that, it was sort of an unspoken agreement that we were now “official”, so we did all the things official couples did. We went to the movies, shared our food, and since Henry had grown up watching his father beat his mother, well, Henry believed this to be a part of all good relationships. Bruises and all, I was in love, caught in the Stockholm Syndrome of a childhood friendship. We thought this was what happiness must feel like, and so we pretended to love each other. 

“Eggs, Nora,” Trisha raps on the bathroom door. I jump a bit, then splash some water on my face and throw the door open, nearly knocking Trisha flat onto the ground. She yelps.

“You’re lucky I didn’t drop these eggs, Nora!” she thrusts the plate into my hands. I say nothing, grabbing a piece of toast from the counter on my way to the table in the corner. For a moment, I can only stand motionless behind Henry, staring at the back of his head in awe. Then, taking a deep breath and swallowing my emotions, I speak. 

“Here ya go, sir. Enjoy.” I turn away quickly, but something latches on to my wrist. My ears are all heartbeat as I slowly force my eyes to look back at his face.

“Nora.”

It’s just one word, just one name, but the way he says it makes my entire body shiver. Breathless, I can do nothing but stare at him as that familiar fear beats on my chest.

“Nora,” he growls again, tightening his grip on my wrist. I can feel my pulse behind my eye sockets. 

“Henry,” I manage to choke out. He smiles, a sinister distortion of his features, before reaching up to pull at one of my curls.

“Your hair’s darker now.”

I shake my head. 

“My hair was always this dark, Henry. Just shorter.” My voice is steady, but my hands are shaking and he can feel it. I can tell my fear is amusing him.

“Hey, why don’t you be a good little girl and get me some coffee. Then, let’s you and I have a little chat,” he sneers. 

“Nora!” Trisha’s calling me from the kitchen, and I’m suddenly hit with the smell of burning vegetables. My trance having been broken, I rip my arm away from Henry’s grip and run into the kitchen. I can hear his laughter echoing behind me. 

I try to swallow the stone in my throat as I sweep into the kitchen. Trisha is standing over a burnt omelet and yelling at the buzzing smoke alarms as I take the skillet to the sink and douse it in water. 

“Phew, thanks for that one, kiddo.” Trisha wipes her hands on a spare towel.

“Mhm.” My eyes are searching frantically for the coffee pot. I spot it on the back counter just as Trisha speaks again.

“Woah, what’s up with you today, kid?”

“Just, uh, tired,” I mumble, making my way towards the pot.

Trisha steps between me and my destination, and I try to dodge past her.

“Ah, you got some of that insomnia nonsense, dontcha Nora. Well if you ever need somethin’ for that I know a pharmacist-“

“Thanks, Trisha.“

“He’ll getcha a great deal on Valium-“

“I’m sure.”

“Just sayin’, kiddo”

“I hear ya.”

But I’m not focused on Trisha’s drug habits today.

“Hey, I’ve gotta take table 13 some more coffee. Be right back”

Trisha calls to me as I push the door open. “Well don’t just hit 13! Make the rounds, girl!”  

I fill a few coffees at the bar, not bothering to check whether I’m spilling, before moving towards the corner. I know I need to hear what Henry has to say, but, oh, how much I don’t want to. I feel sick even looking at him. Still, I make myself step in front of his table.

“More coffee, sir?” The question leaves my lips reflexively, and he lets out an unfriendly laugh as I fill his mug. Once I’ve finished, I take a seat across from him. I remind myself that I’m stronger now, I know better, and I can’t let him treat me like trash anymore. Then, looking him directly in the eyes, I speak.

“Henry, I can’t talk for long, I have a job to do. Why the hell are you here? And how did you find me?”

He smiles at my tone, and his persistent amusement enrages me. 

“Darlin’, aren’t you gonna be nice to old Henry? Give me a little hello kiss?”

I stare at him. After a moment, he shrugs.

“You’ve changed, haven’t you. Well, no matter. I just need to ask a little favor, and I’ll be on my way. You see, Nora, I’ve made a bit of a-- what did you used to call them?-- oh, an ‘oopsie’.” 

I glare, knowing by his expression that he’s trying to embarrass me. He always used to use that tactic to make me give in. Not this time.

“Talk fast, Henry, or I’ll have to walk away.”

“Nora, acting tough. Who’d’a thought! Well dearie, let’s see if I can change your tone a bit. See, the police are out looking for me as we speak, and I’d say we’ve got about, say, 10 minutes until someone in this here diner recognizes my face on the TV and gives the old pigs a call.” He motions for me to glance behind, and I turn to see his face plastered all over the screen. He’s glaring into the Grassfield County Prison’s camera, his eyes full of chaotic amusement. The weary subtitles on the screen spell out the reporter’s monotone words.

Henry Fitzpatrick, 24. Wanted for armed robbery and first-degree murder. Thought to be armed and dangerous. If seen, call authorities immediately and do not approach.

I looked back at him, and the pride on his face makes me feel nauseated. A thousand questions run through my head, but all I can ask is:

“Who?”

Henry laughs. A genuine, vicious, guttural sound. 

“Some old lady, I don’t know. Does it matter? Suffice it to say, she’s dead and I did it.” He leans across the table, closer to me. I think I smell bourbon on his breath. “I’m gonna need a place to lay low for a bit, understand? And if anyone comes asking about me, I’m gonna need you to reassure them that I’m not here. Otherwise,” his hand shoots out and grabs my throat. It’s not too tight, but tight enough to get his point across. I nod frantically, and he lets go.

He pushes his mug towards me. I hadn’t seen him take a single sip, but somehow it’s already half empty. I’m careful to spill nothing as I refill his beverage.

“I hope we’ve come to an understanding, Nora. It would be a shame if anything were to happen, especially now that you know what I’m capable of.”

I stand quickly and enter the kitchen without saying another word. I have no idea what to think, what to feel, what to do. The sight of Trisha whispering into the phone receiver, though, sets me into action.

“Trisha!” I cry, lunging forward to knock the phone out of her hand. She stands, astounded, as I slam the phone into the wall. 

“Nora, I saw that man grab you by the throat, and I saw him on the TV. Murder? Armed and dangerous? Girl, what are you thinking! We need the police!”

“This far out in the middle of nowhere, it’ll be forever! It’s safer just to let him do what he wants, just for now. Trust me, Trisha, I know him. He will kill us, and everybody here. Please.” I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, but I don’t care. I can’t relive this again, and I can’t let any of these innocent people die. I had to do what he wanted, and he would leave.

Trisha opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.

“Trish, please. I have a life, you have a life, and so does every person sitting here today. We have to protect them. And I just… I want to be free of him, once and for all. We have to let him have what he wants. It’s the only way.”

“Honey, I don’t know what that man has done to you, but you can be free of him. You just have to let me-”

“Shit, Trisha, look!” My shaking hand points out of the window. Far along the dirt road, the tell-tale white car is stirring up dust as it makes its way towards our diner. I can feel my heartbeat in every part of my body as I come to a sudden realization.

“I’ve gotta distract him. He’ll shoot up the store and run if he sees them.” 

“Nora, absolutely not! You can’t just-”

“Trisha, no time! I’ve gotta go!” I look at her face as I push the door open. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got too much to do. I can’t die yet. I won’t let him kill me, or any of us.” With one last smile, I step into the diner, not nearly as sure of myself as I want Trisha to believe. I see her discreetly motioning for customers to join her in the kitchen as I approach Henry, whose back is turned to the rest of the store. 

“Fine,” I say evenly.

He doesn’t turn his attention from the television, but he replies.

“Fine what?”

“Fine, we’ll do what you want. You win, as always.” 

Henry smiles.

“Good, I’m glad you- wait, what’s that?”

He turns to the glass window beside him, where colors have begun dancing a distorted jig across the pane. We see the blue and red reflections before we hear the cars, and then the sound is everywhere. The siren is loud, much too loud, I think. It surrounds us as we both stare towards the street. With a final look of amusement, Henry locks eyes with me as he reaches for his back pocket. 

“Oh, silly Nora.”

It’s 5:46 in the morning, but Trisha is huddled in her recliner, staring blankly at the television screen. The flickering newscaster provides the only light in the dark room. From his notes, he reads a statement from the Grassfield County police department.

Henry Fitzpatrick, 24. Wanted for armed robbery and two counts of first-degree murder. Thought to be armed and dangerous. If seen, call authorities immediately and do not approach.