Whispering Tempest

Chapter Four - The Male Teenager

Chapter Four – The Male Teenager

My pace comes to a stop as I reach Maybelle’s Diner. I’m heavily breathing and sweating now but I’m away from the cemetery and Ryan. The sun shines off the silver roof painfully into my eyes. I squint and move to the door. A rush of air conditioning blasts in my face. Passing the few vending machines in the vestibule, my hand grabs the second door and pulls.

The bell of the diner rings loudly as I step through the glass door. Maybelle’s usual crowd greets me with glances in my direction. It’s not that I know any of them but they certainly don’t know me. A hush falls over the tables, letting only the soft rock radio station break the silence. Their eyes glare up, some in disgust and some with curiosity. I take a seat at the counter away from most of the elders and play with the menu held on a pinching silver stand. Everyone goes back to their conversations. Exhaling slowly, I try to think of everything calming.

It’s no use. I’m still freaking out.

My nails tap on the counter tensely as I look around the metallic and marble restaurant. Coffee posters line the wall along with some inspirational words about happiness smelling like food. It does smell really good in here. There may be some truth to the quotes.

A grumpy morning waitress walks up to me thinking I’m trying to signal her impatiently with my fingers. She smiles unenthusiastically with her tickle-me-pink lips. Her eyes scorn my appearance and her complete disapproval is too obvious. I’m used to it. She asks for my order and I quickly scan the menu.

“Uh, just a hot chocolate,” I say with uncertainty. Her pen works fast at writing it down as she hurries off. Looking at a delicious plate passing by, I stop her before she goes too far. “Actually I want scrambled eggs too. With a side of homefries.”

“Anything else,” she asks with one eyebrow raised. I shake my head no, intimidated by the cynicism in her eye.

Inwardly, I thank her. Miss Samantha, as the name on her pin says, just reminded me of the exact reason I hardly eat here. First, there’s the lovely attitude of the waitresses. The décor screaming that the 50s were better than today helps in my lack of interest. Other than the rare occasions with Michelle after I pick her up from school, Maybelle’s Diner is avoided as much as possible.

The bell I passed under moments ago rings making me jump half out of my skin. I turn anxiously to find an elderly couple hobbling in, the husband with a cane and the wife holding his free arm. Their wrinkled hands come together as a much livelier waiter named Becker seats them at a booth close to the door.

“There’s nothing frightening about them,” I reprimand myself. It’s ridiculous of me to be so jumpy. My legs swing me to face front while I wait for my breakfast. “Calm down. You’re freaking over nothing.”

I take a big breath and wait for my food. After 30 more seconds of boredom, I’m agitated again. I grab my phone from my pocket, flipping it open and shut. It’s not really helping. There’s something I can’t quite figure out and it’s bothering me to no end.

What happened back there?

I stare at the wall in front of me as dozens of ideas cross my mind, each as unlikely as the next. I don’t know what’s been going on for the past couple of days but I’d really like it to stop. I mean, it could all be an overreaction to a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep. Not likely but still better than thinking I’ve gone insane.

A mug of sweet cocoa clunks onto the counter. I shake my head from my thoughts and glance up at my waitress.

“Thanks,” I mumble. She nods and moves on again. I change my view to watch the steaming liquid swirl in the mug. No whipped cream, my favorite part. Samantha didn’t even ask if I wanted it. I pout while scooping a spoonful of hot chocolate to drop back in the ceramic cup. It spatters a little but I don’t care right now. Getting back to solving the question of my sanity, I take another deep breath and let it out slowly.