Route 61 [unedited]

Route 61

By: Kerry Myers

I lost count. Somewhere between the thousandth cup of coffee and the four hundredth turkey and Swiss on rye, I forgot how many days I had spent here. It had been a long time. I knew the regulars by heart, I could make their orders in my sleep. I know that, rain or shine, Gus would come in at 4:30 every day and order a ham and cheese sandwich on wheat with mustard and a cup of hot tea. But one thing I didn’t know that I was dying to find out was when she would walk in to my diner.

This diner had slowly become my home over these countless days. I spent each and every day here, mostly because it was less depressing than my Leesport apartment. My apartment was dark and damp, and I hated it, but the rent was reasonable and the parking was free, so I stayed. It wasn’t like I had somewhere else to be. Besides, the Route 61 Diner attracted a colorful crowd. There were my regulars, God bless their hearts, but there were also the random folk driving through Reading on their way to wherever else they might be staying. The world shifted around me, yet I stood still. Movement wasn’t worth it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I couldn’t tell.

My life was never really like this. I always looked for adventure. I worked on a cruise line for a few years, but then I decided to change. I needed a change. After my last trip to Bermuda, that was evident. A girl changed my life. She showed me human nature at its worst and she showed me the true vulnerability of the human race. When her world crashed down on the very ship where I had spent so many months, I felt like I needed to leave. There was too much attached. Her pain was in every room. The endless tears, the screams, the sleepless nights. They were all there, and I couldn’t listen to the piercing laugh of happy travelers for one more minute. I handed in my resignation and moved away from the warm weather, into Pennsylvania where the four seasons are a bitter reality and there are far more clouds than sunshine. I came for a chance to see her again, to let her know, as I had so many times before, that I am always there. No matter what.

*

It had been one of those damn spring days in Pennsylvania. Optimistic and bright skies for the morning shift, and by the time the lunch stragglers were packing up, the clouds covered the baby blue of the sky. Great. More rain. I swear to God, if this state went underwater, I wouldn’t be surprised. It rained so much here. True, I was pretty much raised in a tropical climate, so I wasn’t particularly adjusted, but still, the amount of rain here was ridiculous. It was nearing the end of dinner time, a particularly busy Friday night. A car pulled up. Tourists, I assume. They drove a large SUV and I didn’t recognize the people getting out of the car. At least not immediately. Then, the back door swung open and a pair of legs climbed out, and then hands stuffing a green iPod into a black tote bag. And then the face, the face that I had dreamt about a million times in the past year. It was her.

*

I lost my composure, in that moment. My eyes immediately welled with tears when I saw those eyes again. I still saw the pain. The man she was with – I’m assuming her father – laughed and joked with her, and she laughed along, giving him a quick hug. However, the laughter in her voice seemed insincere, the pain in her eyes were the clouds hovering over the bright blue laughter. She wasn’t over it. She swore to me that she’d be okay, yet she never was. I felt betrayed, knowing how wrong it was. I wished I could talk to her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if she had even told her father anything. And for me, a waitress in a diner that she’s never eaten in, to go and start talking to her as if we were old friends may be weird. She would explain herself, and she would hurt all over again. I couldn’t let her walk away again.

*

Sharon took her table. She ordered our breakfast special, despite the fact that it was almost 7 P.M. She obviously didn’t care, however, as she demolished the huge plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns in about five minutes. I never remembered her as being such a voracious eater, and then again, when I knew her it had been three days after her world was ripped down. She was too busy rebuilding to eat.

*

I had to refill the iceberg lettuce on the salad bar. I decided then, I would let her know. I brushed her shoulder just barely with my fingertips, and she turned. I smiled at her, and, after a moment of realization, she smiled. I saw the happiness in her eyes, and it made this past year worth it. The sun outside began to break through the clouds. She was a magical girl.