CYCLED SENTENCE - PART 10

COFFEE, WOMEN, AND TROUBLE

A bell over the diner door rang, tripped with the top part of the door smacking into it upon my entering. Right away I could see, though the place looked different on the outside, the interior hadn’t aged a day.  Padded red flaked bar stools lined the bar like pawns of a chess set over the black and white checkered floor. An old record juke box flashed orange and green lights at the far end of the diner next to a cigarette dispenser. The light yellow walls were decorated with pictures of what I assumed to be previous owners and cooks from maybe the 1930’s, and the typical Coke-a-Cola logo was branded all throughout the place. By the looks of it, I was the first patron of the morning.  

Through an opening in the wall behind the bar, connecting the kitchen to the dining room, a female hollered out,

“Have yourself a seat and I’ll be right with ya.”

I sat at the bar where I found a couple menus sticking up, sandwiched in-between a large glass set of salt and pepper shakers. I laid one out flat, but before I could look it over, an empty coffee cup was slapped down in front of me.

           

            “You look like a man who could use a cup of hot coffee.”

My eyes followed a white coffee stained apron up to the ripe face of a pretty brunette. She had few enough wrinkles that one would have a hard time distinguishing if she were older, but looked young for her age, or if she were younger, but looked older. It was hard to tell, but my guess was the later. She gave me a crooked smile and before I could reply, she poured the hot black goodness into the cup.  

            “What else can I get’cha cowboy?”

Without looking at the menu I ordered what I knew they were sure to have. 

“Two scrambled eggs and a side of wheat toast.”

“Alrighty hun, I’ll get that out to ya in a jiffy.”

She turned to the opening in the wall that lead into the kitchen and sounded off like a drill sergeant,

“I need two mixed chicks and a side of grain!’

           

Aside from Black Beauty and the picture of Olivia, it had been a while since I had seen a woman.  The smell of her perfume was almost as strong as the coffee cooking in the pot, just as intoxicating, settling like sticky sweet pollen from a rose onto the hairs of my nostrils. With every whiff, my nose hunted down the sent like an English Pointer, forcing my eyes into a locked on ogle in her direction. I couldn’t help but look. Nothing gives life to a man’s field of view like that of a beautiful woman, especially when you’ve gone as long as I did without seeing one. She caught me a few times, but didn’t so much as blush at my admirations. Clearly, she was use to attention, or maybe she just didn’t want it from me.

In my younger years, I was no Rudolph Valentino, but my rough features were attractive enough to win a few dames over here and there. Olivia always reassured me that, GIRLS SEE DIFFERENT KINDS OF HANDSOME, AND YOU JUST HAPPEN TO BE MY KIND. She meant it as a compliment, but I heard it as, YOU DON’T HAVE A FACE FOR THE MOVIES, BUT HEY, AT LEAST YOU HAVE A FACE.  I hadn’t had a good long look at myself in ages, but I was sure all the new scares and gray hairs that I collected in prison, buried any fragments of handsome I might have once had.  Rusty at the game, and without a good hand to play, I decided to flirt with my coffee instead of the waitress. I took a sip. It was bitter, burnt, rainbow oil on black, and perfect.  

“Where ya coming from cowboy?”

“Oh, nowhere, I’m just passing through.”

“Don’t mean to pry, I saw you get off the bus is all.”

I didn’t bother to tell her that I wasn’t on the bus. I was afraid that would lead to me having to explain where I really just came from. I’d rather her assume I was a tramp over a released convict. My attention drifted from her when I heard what sounded like rolling thunder, but soon recognized it to be the distinct rumble of a few V-Twins pulling up out front. She didn’t seem to notice.

“You been traveling a long time?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Well if you’re looking to rest up, there’s a nice little motel just down the street from here that’s pretty cheap, but cozy.”

“I just might…”

DING-DING; the doorbell and a blast of crisp autumn wind announced more patrons to the diner. Most people’s natural reaction is to look at the commotion made by whatever is coming through a doorway, which the waitress did, but I saw no reason to take my eyes off of her. Not just because she was fun to look at, but because I adapted a different way of seeing when I was in the pen. There, to get caught starring directly at a guard or another inmate could be taken as a sign of hostility. Wandering peepers in the slammer usually meant only one of two things, you’re asking for trouble, or looking for it.  So I learned to see what was going on around me by watching others when they weren’t watching me. I’d pay attention to their reactions as they looked at whatever might be going on behind me. I could tune into their eyes and see what they see. Their eyes became the ones in the back of my head, without them ever knowing it. I also learned how to make my ears see. Sounds can show the brain its surrounding environment just as well as sight, sometimes even better.   

Before the waitress could even greet them, I knew by the sound of boots on the checkered floor, and the time it took for the bell to ring again on the back swing of the door, that at least three or four men had entered the diner, bikers no doubt. In the subtle dilation of the waitress’s eyes, and the slight perking of her lips in an almost undetectable frown, I could tell that she knew these men, and she wasn’t happen to see them. The strong smell of burning tobacco that masked the aroma of fresh coffee and killed the sweetness in the waitress’s perfume, told my nose that they were smoking. And in the honey pitch of their laughter I could see youth.

“Have a seat boys, and I’ll be right with ya.”

She brought her attention back to me.

“Quick topper off-er?”

I nodded. She made quick to fill my cup with one hand while fishing out a note pad with the other. With a swiftness that would impress a college running back, she hustled off to the men who were now sitting in a booth by the entrance. It didn’t take me long to hear why she wasn’t enthused to see her new customers. After asking to take their order, she was hit with a barrage of YOU CAN TAKE MY ORDER ANYTIME HONEY! and ARE YOU ON THE MENUE? type bullshit that guys sling when in groups. Just by that shit alone I could tell these punks were late teens, or mid twenty somethings. I knew because I had been guilty of jocking the same cocky trash when I was a kid.

They sounded like trouble, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She eventually got their orders out of them and returned to bark them off from her notepad to the cook in the kitchen. This time, he barked back,

“Order up!”

She grabbed the plate of steaming scrambled eggs, and like a hot potato, with a quick pivot, let it out of her hand before me.

“Careful, plate’s hot. Salt ‘n peppers to your right, and ketchups to your left. Need anything else?”

“No, this is fine, thank you.”

She walked back into the kitchen. I took a bite of the eggs. They tasted amazing, real, not like that powdered shit they fed us in the mess hall. I held that first bite in my mouth for as long as I could. The sensation almost took me away to an unearthly place, but I was soon pulled back to my seat in the diner with the clank and thud of boots to metal as one of the young punks kicked and cursed the juke box.

“God damn things busted! Took my fucking money!”

His friend’s laughter only added fuel to his frustration. The kid walked up to the bar and slammed his fist down on it.

“Where’s that fucking brawd?!”

I could now see him in my peripheral. A biker alright, leathered up and greased to the teeth.  I made no attempt to look directly at him, and tried to go on enjoying my eggs. The waitress came from around back in the kitchen. He started in on her.

“That fucking piece of shit took my money!”

“Well did ya read the sign?”

“What fucking sign?”

“The out of order sign next to the coin slot.”

He walked back over to the juke box and snatched the paper sign from the tape holding it down. He held it up for the waitress to see and then ripped it in half, dropping the two pieces to the floor.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said, what fucking sign?”

She tried to maintain her composure, but I could see that the kid put a fear into her.

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to get your pretty little ass over here and open it up.”

She reached up to a hook on the wall behind her and grabbed a key connected to a black treble clef keychain. She walked around the bar, passed the table of mischiefs, knelt down and unlocked a side door in the juke box that pulled out a drawer full of coins. She handed him a coin.

“There! Happy?”

“That’s not my coin!”

His buddies let out in high pitched hyena like laughter.

“What?”

“I said, that’s not my coin. I want my coin.”

“But they all look the same.”

“You hear that boys? She says they all look the same. They all look the same? Well then I guess you’re going to have to give me all of them.”

“I can’t do that!”

“I’m not asking mama, I’m telling you!”

I heard a loud thump and a cry from the girl. He had kicked her to the floor. She curled up and whimpered as he and another goon tried to lift the drawer of coins. I had had enough. Without looking at them, I made my presence known.

“Boys, leave the money and get the fuck out. NOW!”

            “Holy shit! Where the hell did he come from?” one of them said.

They must not have noticed me when they came in. What guy would with a waitress that looked that good?

            “Listen old man, you just keep eating your fucking breakfast, ya dig!”

            “I can’t let you boys walk out of here with that money.”

            “I don’t think you have a choice! What the fuck are you going to do? There’s four of us, and one of you.”

            “Yeah daddy-o, the odds are not in your favor.”

I stood up from the bar stool, still not looking their way.

            “The odds have never been in my favor.”

            I picked up my hot cup of coffee from the bar and turned towards them.

            “Boys, your most important action when faced with an attack by a predator, your best chance at survival, is your first reaction.”

            “What the fuck are you talking abo…”

Before the kid could shut his mouth, I made a direct full on assault on all four of them.  My hot coffee found the face of one. The mug it was in found the face of another. Before the other two goons could drop the drawer of coins, I had already found a fork on a nearby table and put it into the thigh of the kid that started the whole mess. He fell to the floor grabbing at his leg as the last punk standing took a swing at me. He connected, and down I went. I got back to my feet just as quick as I fell from them. The kid that struck me put his fist down. He knew it was a lucky cheap shot, and that I would kick the snot out of him if he kept it up. I looked over to the mouth on the floor that I put a fork in. He was bleeding pretty good.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes sir.”

I took the bandana from my neck and tossed it to the kid on the floor.

“You’re going to want to tie that off. Stop the bleeding.”

I walked back to the bar and pulled the ten from my leather jacket.

“Here waitress, thank you for your service.”

I looked over to the floor where I thought she was still laying, but found her hanging up the phone behind the bar.”

“Cops are on their way!”

She looked at me with mascara filled tears and tried to courage a smile. Then her eyes drifted below my chin and her thankful expression turned to one of shock and disgust. I had forgotten about the mark. The bandana had been covering it. Right then I wanted to run to the bathroom mirror to see what she was seeing, but I couldn’t. I had to go, cops were coming and I sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around for them to cuff and cart me back to the big house.

When I stepped outside, I could hear sirens and thought it best to head the other direction, but not before burning off my last bit of adrenaline with a good kick to the biker punk’s line of scrap metal on wheels. One into the other, the heaps of shit toppled like tin soldiers. A heavy fog had rolled in behind the morning storm and I soon found sanctuary in its cover. I wasn’t sure where I was headed, and didn’t care; I just kept making tracks away from the diner, deeper into the fog.

I walked for what must have been at least three hours until I was in a forested area, clear of any people, and any police sirens. The fog had died down a little, but was still thick enough for me to only see a couple trees into the woods of ghostly white, ghost woods cut in two by the black tar road that I was walking. It was starting to get cold again, my worries shifted from the police, to fears of potentially more rain. I knew it wouldn’t be long before night would bring its death cold back around, and I hoped to god that I would come across another town or at least the barn of some middle of nowhere farm before dark.

I couldn’t get the way the waitress had looked at me out of my head. She saw the mark. Whatever it was, it was bad, bad enough to turn me from her hero into scum with just one glance. I was mad at myself for forgetting about it, and now that I left the damn bandana behind, I had nothing to cover it with. The German was right. Whatever he put on my neck, what I put on my neck, now showed me for what I really was…A MONSTER.

            It was the beginning of dusk by the time it all hit me. The diner, the bandana, the mark and the bikers; the horror of my past, it was all playing over. But this time…