PART ONE
The Burnt Toast Diner, Alma, NY, 1980.
One foot in front of the other he walked with casual purpose pushing through the glass door lined in rusting metal. With every step a rattle cast from his boots, dispersing within the air, each finishing its travels almost directly before its subsequent cohort. His breath was un-phased by the stale, grease filled air that had taken the place of dirt and oxygen held on the other side of the disheveled door. Completely surrounded by sad chipping yellow walls the mans steady but unfocused eyes took in the small diner; dark brown lasers just cool enough to not split everything in their path. Not once did his attention aim singularly, while the other twenty or so people had all taken in his presence. One would think he were alone if not for the young boy in pursuit of the man. He was small in stature with thick somber chestnut hair and nearly identical dark brown eyes that were of obvious decent to the man. Occasionally he would reach his hand out, fingers spread, as if he wished to grab the tattered remains of his fathers flannel, falling just short as if he had rethought the idea, and settled on picking up his pace as to not fall too far behind.
Air is cast from the young boys lungs in a huff when they reach a small table for two, just beyond a divider in the wall. The green T-shirt he wore softened by his shoulders as they relaxed at the chance of rest.
Finally the man turned, acknowledging the boys existence. He furthered his natural hunch; towering over the boy, hand on his shoulder. A soft whisper, seven seconds at most passed by and the man strolled away. Expectations would assume the boy to now sit in the chair at the table that caused him such relief, but instead he stood. Inches from the chair he lingered, hence possessing the empty table. Quickly bored by solitude the boy reached his hand into the deep left pocket of his worn jeans, withdrawing a small red car. Unlike most boys his age he did not run through out the diner, arms propelling in the air, making car noises with his mouth. He stood peculiarly, car in hand, quietly vibrating his cracked lips while rolling the car back and forth along the back of the chair.
Not far from where the boy stood and played, the man sat and spoke with a couple. The woman held her trembling hands in lap, tangled her fingers quickly together to only then untangle and repeat the motion. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun at the crook of her neck, with small auburn strays drooping by the sides of her face. And her face spoke of almost every emotion; her hershey eyes lived wide with debating brows that crunch the face’s center into a deep ‘v’ that looked as though it may be permanent. The slight trembling of her slender upper lip marring an otherwise beautiful smile, somehow looking forced but genuine at the same time. Her spouse sat directly next to her, his hand on her bobbing knee as if he wished to force it down, while his own knee bobbed almost simultaneously with hers.
An abrupt halt in quick conversation and all adults turn their heads to face the boy, still standing in the exact place he was left. Moisture welling up in the woman’s eyes when she first places the boy. They look back to each other, words no longer exchanged only glances, but that seems to be enough. The spouse pulls a stack from his kaki pocket and places it in the outstretched palm of the miscreant man who now proceeds to leave with not even a glance toward the boy whom he entered with.
There will always be a moment where everything changes. The moment when the road bends or splits. When the nature of human shifts. We do what we can to understand these changes. To make sense of destiny’s invisible hand, and ready ourselves for the next change. But regardless of how much we prepare; resist or anticipate the inevitable, we are never truly equipped when it hits.
Air is cast from the young boys lungs in a huff when they reach a small table for two, just beyond a divider in the wall. The green T-shirt he wore softened by his shoulders as they relaxed at the chance of rest.
Finally the man turned, acknowledging the boys existence. He furthered his natural hunch; towering over the boy, hand on his shoulder. A soft whisper, seven seconds at most passed by and the man strolled away. Expectations would assume the boy to now sit in the chair at the table that caused him such relief, but instead he stood. Inches from the chair he lingered, hence possessing the empty table. Quickly bored by solitude the boy reached his hand into the deep left pocket of his worn jeans, withdrawing a small red car. Unlike most boys his age he did not run through out the diner, arms propelling in the air, making car noises with his mouth. He stood peculiarly, car in hand, quietly vibrating his cracked lips while rolling the car back and forth along the back of the chair.
Not far from where the boy stood and played, the man sat and spoke with a couple. The woman held her trembling hands in lap, tangled her fingers quickly together to only then untangle and repeat the motion. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun at the crook of her neck, with small auburn strays drooping by the sides of her face. And her face spoke of almost every emotion; her hershey eyes lived wide with debating brows that crunch the face’s center into a deep ‘v’ that looked as though it may be permanent. The slight trembling of her slender upper lip marring an otherwise beautiful smile, somehow looking forced but genuine at the same time. Her spouse sat directly next to her, his hand on her bobbing knee as if he wished to force it down, while his own knee bobbed almost simultaneously with hers.
An abrupt halt in quick conversation and all adults turn their heads to face the boy, still standing in the exact place he was left. Moisture welling up in the woman’s eyes when she first places the boy. They look back to each other, words no longer exchanged only glances, but that seems to be enough. The spouse pulls a stack from his kaki pocket and places it in the outstretched palm of the miscreant man who now proceeds to leave with not even a glance toward the boy whom he entered with.
There will always be a moment where everything changes. The moment when the road bends or splits. When the nature of human shifts. We do what we can to understand these changes. To make sense of destiny’s invisible hand, and ready ourselves for the next change. But regardless of how much we prepare; resist or anticipate the inevitable, we are never truly equipped when it hits.