Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

The Lost Diner

The sun burned through my sunglasses as I drove along the coast, trying desperately to leave behind my discontent for the endless meetings, emails, and perceived business fires of my office. But the discomfort of the setting sun was too much for my eyes, so I pulled off the road to a deserted diner.

The cheerful trill of the entry bell was the only optimism. A despondent waitress flicked mindlessly through her phone as her body bent hungrily to the counter for any possibility of support. She had little to do as the lone patron looked closer to sleep than ordering. He hunched over with both hands clutching a coffee mug, letting the warmth radiate into them.

"What can I get you?" Her nametag read Wendy, but her demeanor was far from the youthful Wendy of Peter Pan. A curtain of bottle-brown hair surrounded the deep lines of her face and dull green eyes. The splash of red across her lips called back to her youth and vibrancy.

I lost myself in her face, and she had grown impatient, tapping her toe to hurry me along. "Coffee?" She just sighed with a sharp turn away. Coffee was a buck; her two patrons ordering dollar coffee undoubtedly impacted her demeanor.

I'd worked in a restaurant for 3-weeks in my youth. I was terrible; mixing up orders, spilling drinks, dropping plates. It was a nightmare and the forgiving manager's relief was palpable when I gave my notice. Wendy deftly poured my cup of coffee to the brim without a single errant drop from the pot. She then whisked it to me in such a float of movement that the hot liquid didn't bother to sway in the mug. It was an admirable show, controlling one's actions and extending that control to the item within her possession.

My gaze drifted to the lone patron across the diner. On closer inspection, his tattered clothes made me suspect that he was not hugging the mug for warmth, as much as savoring with all senses for lack of other sustenance.

It was a quiet diner in the middle of nowhere, but it filled me with a mindful awakening that erased my office's silly tensions. I rose my hand subtly for Wendy, who arrived quickly with tired but expectant eyes.

"Is that gentleman a regular?"

"He is, and he isn't bothering you, so there's no sense in complaining." It was a defensive response.

"No, I'm not complaining; I'd like to pay for his meal if I may." She gave me an unforgiving nod but took my money. Without stopping at his table, she tucked an order in the kitchen window and returned to her phone. There was a grateful solace in her discretion that elevated my already strong impression of her. I slid a few more bills out of my wallet and placed them on the table before departing.