Small Town Diners.

There is that obsession again putting one word after the next it
becomes like walking, covering ground, gaining ground. It's meant to be
this way I keep telling myself as I shift gears which aren't there.
Straight ahead I go with the time I bought in my pocket I am out to
discover somewhere, I will know where when I reach, till then I keep
following my whim. The name of a place makes me turn left or right. The
sight of somewhere makes me stop or go. There is no destination, there
is just space and a dream in my head. The thing with dreams is that you
often forget them, like I forgot mine all I remember is a notion.
That's my guide maybe not the best of guides, but I trust it. Just
before the sun gets ready to settle I reach a small town. It doesn't
consist of much more than a few houses a petrol station and a motel.
There is a diner somewhere I am being told, it doubles as a bar. I get
my bag out of the car and into the room and there I am with everything
that is me right now. All compacted, all small enough to fit, but
probably the essence of who I am. A little later I head for the diner,
it looks much like the last one and probably much like the next one.
There is always someone I remember wherever I am, someone I recognize,
be that person a real memory or an imagined one, one from the movies or
one that you expect to find in a place like this. Mostly they are old
with a grey stubble, covering half their face wearing a greasy hat near
enough as old as they are. They sit quietly at bars or in corners,
sipping on cold beers. Sometimes they start mumbling and the barkeeper
shouts something across, something like "You ok Willie?" something like
that and then the old man stumbles across the room, sometimes to reach
the bar other times to reach the toilet, but I rarely see them aim for
the exit. They live in trailers behind petrol stations, sometimes
trailer parks and sometimes an old house out of town which they reach
with their beaten up pick up truck, the one they got when they first
set out to conquer the world. The house is withered from the sun, the
paintwork gone flaky, on entry a living room is situated to the left
where a faded print of a faded woman who looks like a faded film star
hangs to the side of a sofa. Some empty cans are stood on the coffee
table in front. There is a comfortable arm chair which, over the years,
has grown into the shape of the old man, a thin woollen blanket is
draped over the back of it. An old colour television is opposite the
chair right under the windows which are partially covered by a pair of
nicotine stained net curtains. A worn down rug of indefinable colour
covers most of the wooden floor. There is an upstairs bit with a couple
of bedrooms one to the front another to the back of the building, the
frontal one containing a bed and some fitted cupboards the one to the
back contains mementos of time. Some women's clothes, seemingly dating
from the late fifties early sixties are piled over a chair and hung in
one of the fitted closets. If you were to touch them they would easily
come apart that's how brittle they have become. The old man Willie
doesn't remember the dresses or who they belonged to, he barely
remembers the room or the time he's last been in there. One of the
panes in the window has been replaced by a piece of wood so long ago
that you could have grown a tree to the size of the missing glass by
now. When Willie enters his home he aims for the kitchen to the right
there is a table with three chairs the table top is coated with some
sort of plastic which was fashionable at one point, an empty milk
bottle, a couple of dirty cups, an overflowing ashtray and a day old
newspaper cover most of it. He aims for the fridge of which there are
two, the larger one is not working, the other hums away in a corner. He
would take a can of beer from it then retire to the living room,
switching the TV on before sitting himself into his chair, pushing it
back till the footrest pops up. He lights a smoke, coughs a rattling
cough, inhales deeply and takes a remote and an old pair of spectacles
from a small pocket in the inner arm rest. It's the end of another
typical day. He will probably fall asleep later more listening to the
TV then seeing it and one day not to far in the future he will not wake
up. It will take a week or longer till he is found, the house swarming
with flies leaving nothing but a stale smell of smoke. There is a man
like Willie in every diner I have been to. Another table is occupied by
three girls in their early twenties who nosily check me out, they are
probably sat here every night without much happening. I smile at them
as I stride to a table to the left of the bar. A once pretty now a
little overweight waitress comes to take my order and hand me a menu.
She disappears again then returns with a bottle of beer and nods when I
place my order, takes the menu and relays the order to Bruce behind the
bar who in return lowers his head to a small window passing it on to
the cook. I look back at the girls who still seem to check me out and I
give them another smile, I look at Willie in the far corner and take a
sip from my beer. Perhaps Willie had once arrived here just like I have
and never left again. Perhaps this was a place you get to and never
shake off. Perhaps I was Willie in the future, idle, treading ground
which does not move. My meal arrives. I dig in, order another beer.
Take my coat off when I get too hot, finish my meal, stretch, light a
smoke, order another beer. It's gotten dark outside and some more
people have come in. I suppose there isn't much else to do where we
are. Two other girls have joined those on the table, one is wearing
some sort of supermarket uniform. A couple of guys drop by to probe the
ground much as they would do on any given night. There is laughter
coming from the table. I start getting restless, knowing this night
will never go beyond this moment and order my fourth beer. I start
flicking through the book I brought along and make some notes, not
about the book more about the whereabouts I am and the howabouts I
feel. I start to feel the beer and light another cigarette, blowing
smoke in the air, leaning back, gazing through the smoke unsure whether
to stay or go. Why did I come here in the first place I wonder and
still wonder about this when one of the girls comes over and slides
into the seat opposite me. She's one of the late arrivals and I am not
sure whether the others have put her up to this or whether she's come
by on her own accord. I gaze at their table and can see the nosy looks
they give us. "Hi, she says in that particular drawl, "how are you?"
The question irritates me as usual, does she want to know my life
story, does she really give a shit? "Alright," I nod slightly
uncomfortable, "how about yourself?" "Same old me here," she laughs
nervously. I don't know what her same old her is, I don't know who she
is. "Tate", I tell her and offer my hand across the table. "Charlie,"
is her response, "it's short for Charlene. How come you are here, did
you get lost on the road or what." "Just followed my nose and some
street signs and this is where it took me." "Where are you going?" I
look at her, shrug my shoulders. "I don't know really, just drifting I
guess." "You a drifter then," she asks. "For the moment." "You staying
at the motel?" I nod again. "My dad runs that place you know, I help
out sometimes, but I'm gonna leave soon, may go to LA or maybe New York
or maybe just hang out for a while you know - travel or something."
"Why did you come over here," I ask. "Don't know, the girls aren't
gonna tell me nothing new other than a story about a stranger in town,
I thought I check out who he was." "Fair enough, I hope it's not been
disappointing." She shakes her head. "Can I pinch one of your
cigarettes." I push my pack across the table. "Thanks," she says and
gives me a pretty nice smile. Two of the other girls come by the table
ready to leave. Charlene seems set to stay, keeping me company or
obstructing my course of action, that is if I truly had one. Her
friends leave and the waitress comes over again checking on my
wellbeing and nodding a greeting at Charlene. "I order another beer and
get one for my uninvited companion too. "Cheers," she goes and throws
me another one of them smiles. I feel like we've run out of things to
say, but appear to be the only one to think so. "How long are you
staying?" "The night, I'll leave in the morning." "But you don't know
where to hm?" "Going south, somewhere a little livelier." "I have
friends, you know, they are a little out of the way but they are cool
and they got a real cool place, you could have some fun there." "Where
is it?" "About three hours drive if you stick to the signs, two if you
beat them." "What's it called?" "It hasn't got a name it's not that
kind of place, it's a few houses off the main road, but they are really
cool." I appreciate the gesture but know that I wont take her up on it,
so all I do is nod once again. "Thanks for the beer." "It's ok." "You
are a quiet one hm?" "Just a little tired." "Just a little." The
evening goes on another two beers go by and when I leave she comes
along, same place you can walk me home is her logic, which makes sense.
I manage to resist her invitation for a drink in my room for about a
minute before I change my mind and give her the room number as she
disappears to gather some drinks, most likely from her unsuspecting
dads liquor cabinet.. I sit on the bed waiting flicking through about a
hundred TV channels, getting tired of waiting and wondering whether my
decision to accept was the right one or whether it will mean that I get
to be woken by a man with a gun protecting his daughters innocence.
Welcome to America I think. I wake up the next morning still dressed,
TV running and its about 9, just the right time to take off. I manage a
sheepish smile at the man behind the counter when I hand my keys in
than take off, back onto a main road, back onto a road heading for a
world that is out there.