Chapter two: Small town charm

Chapter two:

The Dense trees loom overhead and the air carries a damp, earthy scent.

As I rush deeper and deeper into the woods, a sense of unease creeps up my spine. The towering trees cast long, eerie shadows that dance and sway with the gentle breeze. Each rustle of leaves or snap of a twig sends shivers down my spine, making me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

The path ahead is uneven, covered in fallen leaves and overgrown vegetation. I stumble occasionally, my shoes sinking into the muddy ground making it harder and harder to keep the pace I set when I started my track through these woods. The silence is unsettling, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant caw of a crow.

Every step forward feels like a test of my courage, my mind conjuring up all sorts of unknown dangers lurking in the shadows. I feel like I’m being watched, which is absolutely absurd, no one ever ventures out here. It’s part of the reason I nearly begged our local realtor to find out who owned the old cottage outside of town and plead with them to let me buy or rent it.

I snort… laughing at myself, there is no one here, I’m only scaring myself, nothing more. But still, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes burning holes in the back of my neck and shudder while I keep moving forward, maybe I should stop watching scary movies, this is getting absurd.

Finally I emerge, breathless and to be honest, slightly relieved.

As I rush onwards, my heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of frustration and anxiety. The morning sun casts long shadows over the empty streets, lingering mist adding a dreary touch to the already somber surroundings.

The diner comes into view, its faded sign swinging gently in the breeze, I take a moment to catch my breath and somewhat compose myself. I enter through the kitchen, my cheeks flushed and looking slightly disheveled from my hasty journey

Mister Mason looks up from his spot at the register with his usual disapproving look, but says nothing. Dodging behind the counter I apologize profusely to Linda, she’s mister Masons wife, a truly remarkable woman and more of a mother to me than my own has ever been. She’s busy stacking coffee cups next to  the espresso machine, and somehow still embodies the epitome of grace and elegance.

She exudes an air of  refined sophistication that instantly commands attention.

She stands tall and poised, her slender figure accentuated by the meticulously tailored ensemble she wears, a masterpiece of sartorial elegance, showcases a knee-length, pale pink dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. The fabric drapes effortlessly, swaying gently witch each step she takes.

Her perfectly coiffed silver hair, styled into an intricate updo, shines under the harsh glow of the fluorescent lighting in the diner, not a single strand is out of place, exhibiting the meticulous attention to detail that she clearly cultivated over the years. Her porcelain skin, seemingly untouched by the passage of time, glows with a natural radiance that only enhances her exquisite features. Her eyes lined with a subtle touch of eyeliner and adorned with an expertly applied hint of eyeshadow, sparkle with a timeless charm. every movement she makes exudes confidence and poise, a testament to a lifetime of refined manners and polished etiquette. She truly embodies the essence of a Southern Belle, effortlessly blending beauty, grace and charm into a captivating presence that leaves a lasting impression on all who have the privilege of crossing her path.

Mister Mason is a whole different story though.

His stature is larger than life, with a substantial belly that spills over onto his lap, straining against the buttons of his faded and stained shirt. The fabric clings uncomfortably to his glistening skin, evidence of days and nights spent in the heat and grime of hard work,.. although I have hardly ever seen him move from his spot behind the register. His face reflects years of wear and tear, adorned with a thick layer of greasy sweat that adds to his overall unkept appearance. His double chin hangs low, emphasizing the soft, sagging flesh that drapes his face. Deep wrinkles etch across his forehead and around his eyes, telling tales of a lifetime of experiences. The scowl and look of utter discontent  that seems to permanently adorn his meaty features make him look like absolutely unpleasant company in any setting.

His thinning hair, styled in a disheveled manner, is peppered with streaks of gray.

It seems as though a comb has never graced his scalp, as the strands tangle together in a messy, unkept manner. His breath wheezes when he moves, a heavy struggle emanating from deep within his chest.

Despite his appearance, there is a certain strength that radiates from within him.

Weather it lingers in the lines etched on his face or the determined glint in his eyes,… there is a story to be told beneath the layers of grumpiness, grime and  excessive weight.

How these two people ever ended up together, running a dingy old diner in the middle of buck-fck nowhere will forever remain a mystery to me.

While I stutter and stammer through my apology, Linda gently lays her hand on my shoulder, the corners of her lips curl into a gentle smile, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, another testament to her impeccable level of self-care. “Don’t worry so much child, it’s quite all right.”  Her warm voice filled with a gentle care, the slight drawl in her accent proving she does indeed come from these parts and is most-likely  a true Southern Belle, much like her appearance would suggest.

The wheezing sound and under breath muttering coming from the corner shows mister Mason does not agree with his wife’s approach of the matter, though he would never dare say that out loud in her presence.

Linda catches my glance in her husbands direction and whispers to me “oh I know he looks meaner than a two headed snake but he’s just throwing a hissy fit” I swear, sometimes it sounds like she’s from another planet trying to speak like “earthlings” it just makes no sense to me, two headed snakes? Hissy fit? With the way she said it I’m just assuming she means not to worry about what mister Mason thinks but I’m not a hundred percent sure. Besides, he’s the one who will be handing me my pay slip at the end of the week so I’m not about to anger him any further.

“I truly am sorry mister Mason, my car broke down and I ran all the way here, I even cut through the woods in the hopes of being on time, I should’ve tried to run faster, I’m sorry sir, it will never happen again, I promise” I say meekly with my eyes glued to the floor as if my life depended on the worn down vinyl tiles.

I really can’t afford to loose this job, there’s absolutely nowhere else I could work in this town and I desperately need the money.

The silence in the little diner is deafening all of a sudden, no clattering of cutlery, no crunch from old man Jack biting down on the sausage links, Mrs. Devereaux stopped stirring her half cup of sugar with a drop of coffee.. silence … complete and utter silence. My heart is pounding in my chest, did I say something wrong?

I know I’m not from around here, I was born a thousand miles away, I’m still not used to some of the local slang, even after almost 6 years… did I accidently say something that would be considered disrespectful in these parts?  Wracking my brain I can’t think of a single thing. “I’m sorry” I whisper, slowly peering up through my eye lashes without lifting my head, for some odd reason scared that if I move the whole diner would collapse around me.

Linda is staring at me, her mouth slightly ajar, mister Mason is looking absolutely flabbergasted and Mrs. Deveraux looks like she just saw a ghost.

What the hell is going on? I lift my head and catch old man Jack staring down on me, he looks stern, but with what almost appears like a knowing glint in his eye and if I didn’t know any better I’d say he had a slight smirk on his face. What baffles me more, is that he’s at least ten paces from his usual spot, his plate with eggs and bacon is still on the table though, along with a cup of still steaming hot coffee. I didn’t hear him move when the diner got quiet, he hasn’t finished his breakfast so he wasn’t on his way over to the counter to pay yet.

The all too familiar ding of the bell above the door seems to pull everyone out of their stupor.

“a large coffee to go and a muffin please, quickly, I’m already late”

Stunned I look at Joe who just burst through the door in a rush wearing his usual stained mechanics coveralls, his black hair disheveled but in a cute way, like he ran his hands through those thick strands a few too many times. He’s tall, around 6 foot 5, maybe even a little taller and If I had to guess I’d say he’s around my age. There’s an obvious strength to his upper body, but not in a gym-rat kind of way.

His muscular torso seems to hold more of a functional strength rather than being purely built for show.

Linda nudges me softly, “go on girl, get to workin’,  the boy is already running late.”

Still unable to speak, I blink a few times, I just can’t comprehend what happened, why only seconds ago it seemed like the entire world stood still, it’s almost as if someone hit the pause button on the movie called my life, took a quick restroom break and now pressed play again. Only when I hear mister Mason wheeze and rumble “go on, git!” does my body start moving, I go through the motions on auto-pilot, my mind still reeling from the weird change in the atmosphere just seconds ago and how the ding of the bell had seemed to reset time itself. My fingers grab one of the large take-away cups and fill up the portafilter, then press the ground coffee down firmly into it, place it in the designated slot, twist to lock it in place and press the button that will fill the cup up. I feel numb while I wrap up the large chocolate muffin and press the lid on the coffee cup, I hand both the coffee and the muffin to Joe who’s looking at me with a questioning look.

I force what I hope looks like a comforting and believable smile on my face.

“here you go, can I get you anything else?”  I ask, knowing full well he will tell me no.

So after our usual back and forth, I direct him towards mister Mason and wish him a great day today.

I turn back to the espresso machine to clean out the portafilter and wipe down the counters, just like I do every single day.

Everything seems normal, the weird pause apparently forgotten by everyone but me.

I glace over towards where old man Jack sits, he seemed to be the only one who was not in complete shock at the time, Just to find him gone, there’s not even a sign he was here at all. His plate and coffee cup are gone, the table is clean, not single crumb in sight. I look around, did he move seats? He didn’t leave while I was talking to Joe, of that I’m sure, I would’ve seen him and de bell didn’t ding when my back was turned. I haven’t heard the register or the grumble of mister Mason’s voice telling Jack how much he owes either,… Thinking back, I didn’t see him move back to his seat when time rebooted, it’s like he just vanished into thin air, taking all evidence of his presence here today with him.

I think I’m losing my damn mind!