Joe's Diner

I had heard of the place multiple times. I didn’t actually think I’d ever go there. It was a small diner, or so I heard. My old man had talked about it since he’d moved here. I was glad he found something to do with his time. For awhile it was all he ever talked about.
The morning sun warmed me a little as a stepped out of the car. I opened the door. I stepped up to the counter and rang the bell. I heard a voice call out from the back room, “just a minute, please sit wherever you want.” I looked around. There were only three booths, I sat down on a stool and waited at the counter. I sank a little in my seat. I waited for what seemed like a long time. I coughed uncomfortably. The owner of the voice came out from the back. He had to be in his mid twenties, average height with black hair. He wore a long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wore a tie and a lightly stained apron. It made him look a little comical, I chuckled to myself. “So what’ll it be,” he asked. “Not sure yet,” I replied. “Well you can’t go wrong with bacon and eggs,” he said. “Fine, I’ll have that,” I said. “I’ll be right back,” then he disappeared into the kitchen. The second hand ticked away on the clock near the door. I could hear the bacon sizzle and the smell wafted in from the kitchen. My stomach growled. Minutes later he came back. The steam rose from the eggs, my mouth water. Each bite was better than the last.
He walked out from behind the counter. His outfit really was a bit funny. He wore black slacks with red Converse All-stars. “It’s a bit dim in here,” he said. I nodded my head in agreement without looking up. The early morning sun pierced through the newly opened blinds. It warmed my back. “So how long are you going to be in the town,” he asked. “It was just for the weekend, I’m leaving after breakfast.” I ate slowly. Everything about the diner felt familiar. “My dad used to cook bacon and eggs for me,” I said after biting a piece of bacon. “Well how are mine,” he asked. “They’re good but his were better,” I replied, hoping that didn’t sound as insulting as I thought. “Well then I’ll have to try harder next time,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about it,” I said, “I’m not coming back.” “Oh, that’s a shame.”
I pushed my plate away and wiped my mouth with the napkin. “Do want anything else,” he asked. “No just the bill,” I said. He pulled out his little booklet and ripped the bill out. It was four-fifty. “Are you sure it’s this much,” I asked. “First customer of the day gets a discount.” He said while cleaning a coffee mug. I pulled out the four-fifty, plus the tip. He walked over to the cash register. It made a ding sound as the drawer popped open. My money disappeared into the machine. “How about a cup of coffee before you go, on the house,” he said. I thought about it, I wasn’t pressed for time. I sat back down. He put the mug down in front of me and poured the thick black coffee. Then to my surprise he poured two cups of cream. The spoon caught the sun and gave a glint as I stirred. It surprised me that he knew how I took my coffee. I sipped it slowly and swiveled the stool to face the window. Sunlight poured in through the tree outside. I stared in amazement. I wouldn’t have found this place if dad hadn’t told me about it years ago. I could tell dad really loved it here. I wanted to stay just a little longer. “Could I have one more cup,” I asked, “I’ll pay for it,” “No its fine,” he said as he tipped the pot towards my glass for a second time. “You’re the first customer of the day,” he said again flashing a quick smile. “How many people do you get on average,” I asked, after realizing no one else had come in yet. “I have slow days and I have busy days,” was all he said. There was silence for awhile. I could hear the squeak the rag made as he cleaned a glass. The wind blew gently outside. I brought the cup to my mouth and blew on it. The steam moved in the direction I breathed. I took a sip. It was warm. It felt like something inside me was melting away. I took another sip, a longer one. Another layer melted away. I couldn’t describe the feeling. That whole terrible weekend was melting away. That was when I felt the tear roll down my cheek. I was glad I was facing the window so he wouldn’t see. It didn’t take long but it was embarrassing. It felt good to cry. I was glad to finally get it out of me.
I wanted to go back home. I wanted to lie down on my bed and sleep. But that bed was about six hours away. The coffee made up for that though. It felt like home. The minutes on the clock ticked away. The hour hand had reached the twelve, it was time I left. There was a small pool of coffee at the bottom of the cup. “Well, I should get going,” I said as I pushed myself off of the stool. “Are you sure I can’t pay for the coffee, I feel like I cheated.” I continued. “No its fine, it would help if you told your friends about this place,” he said. “I was going to anyway,” I said. I picked up my things and walked towards the door. The floor creaked at each step. “The first cup of coffee I ever had was made by my dad,” I said. “How was mine,” he asked. “It was good,” I said, “but his was better.” He walked me out to my car and waved as I drove away. I pulled out of what I think was the parking lot. I saw him change the sign on the door. It went from CLOSED to OPEN.
When I got back home I told all my friends about Joe’s diner. I’ll go back there again someday I’m just not sure when.