The Roadside Diner

"What can I getcha, Hon?"

The waitress's question almost pulled me from the barrage of images that were pummeling my mind. Almost. They kept coming like a flood that would whisk me away to a place I didn't want to go back to. The flat tire. The dark forest. The barn. Stephanie. The silhouette running towards us. The gunshot. The -

"Hon, you alright?"

The overweight waitress holding her steaming hot coffee pot was trying to read my nervous eyes from her position behind the bar. "No, not at all," I said with a forced smile, "but a donut and a cup of regular might help."

"Donuts and coffee ain't gonna touch what's eatin' at you, Hon. I can see it in your eyes," she said as she tossed a donut on the plate in front of me and poured some coffee into a cup she produced from under the bar. "Now why don't you just tell good ol' Aunt Bertha what's diggin' at you."

"Ha! Do you have all day?"

"That right there is the pleasure of workin' a nine-to-five at a roadside cafe- All the time in the world."

"Well, I'm not sure where I should start. Last night still isn't very clear."

"Oh Hon! You haven't taken to the drink, have you?”

I couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "No ma'am. I don't drink."

"Good man. My ex-husband used to come home drunk every night. One day I looked myself in the mirror, and you know what I told myself? I said 'Bertha Sue, you don't have to put up with this.' So you know what I did? I gathered up my kids and I left him. No man's gonna come up and push me around. No sir! Don't you forget it, either. Oh, I'm sorry Hon, you want me to fill your coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"No problem Hon, now what about your story. You got me some kind of curious, and I ain't the curious kind."

So I began, telling the tale of what happened to me last night. And of what was taken from me...

 

-Aaron