On the Other Side of Nowhere

The sky was colourless when I woke up. There were no curtains or blinds on the windows in my apartment, so I could see it from where I lay on my foam mattress which passed for a bed. The day was going to be cold as the night before it. Underneath the sleeping bag, my bones shivered. An old metal radiator hung on the wall but it had stopped working shortly after I moved in. I tried to turn it on anyway, hoping to catch a whiff of the gas which meant the radiator had miraculously risen from the dead, but only smelling the faint stagnancy of the mould which crept up from under the skirting boards.

A bell jingled beneath the floor, a door opened and shut. Mr. Walsh shuffled around downstairs, getting the drug store ready for business. He rented the space above to me for as much it was worth: a pittance. None of the light fixtures worked and the water in the closet-sized bathroom was never more than tepid. There was no kitchen so I lived off the canned goods stacked in the corner. Dressed in my salmon pinafore, I breakfasted on tinned tuna.

Mr. Walsh and I greeted each other with no more than a nod. Our interaction was always minimal. I paid my rent on time, and aside from stealing the occasional bottle of aspirin, kept out of the store.

The colourless sky had turned a dark grey when I got outside. I forwent my usual walk to Al’s and took the car instead on the off chance of rain. The doors were a different shade of yellow to the rest, and it rattled and choked the whole mile and a half to the diner.

Some days, the odour of hot grease and cigarettes inside the diner made my gut roil, but on days like today, I found the familiarity comforting. Shauna threw me a smile from where she was talking to one of the other waitresses, Natalie. Same as everyday since we’d met she wore her auburn hair pulled back into a loose, practical ponytail. It symbolised the kind of person Shauna was, sensible, level-headed, and because of this she was the unofficial manager in a manager-less establishment. If you wanted a pay rise or a shift changed, you went to Shauna. She’d sort it out.

As for the owner, since I’d been in Nowhere, I’d only seen the diner’s namesake enough times to barely elevate him above myth-status. It was common knowledge that Al slept in the tiny room out back he called an office with a teddy bear named Jack Daniel's.

“I don’t think so,” Shauna told Natalie as I moved to the coffee machine to make a fresh batch. I remembered my first week at the diner and the many times I’d scalded myself and Shauna as she tried to teach me the ropes. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out I’d lied about having experience. Now, months later, I barely had to concentrate as I placed the grounds into the filter.

“But with my superior people skills,” Natalie persisted, “it’d be perfect!”

Of the four waitresses at Al’s, Natalie was third-oldest. Collette, a sagging cougar somewhere in her fifties who always took the afternoon shift, came first. Next was Shauna, whom despite having the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes was only in her late twenties. At eighteen, I was the baby. Natalie was a few years older than me and was by far the prettiest of all of us, making her popular with the male customers, though she was dating Clancy, the only busboy at Al’s. She was also the only member of staff born and raised in Nowhere, and her baby blue eyes shone with the certainty that her life was going somewhere better. I envied her that.

“This is a diner, Nat. We don’t need a greeter.”

Natalie bristled. She hated when anyone shortened her name; thought it made her sound ‘common’, whatever that meant. “It’s not a greeter, it’s a maître d’!”

“We need one of those even less.” Shauna began wiping down one of the tables, a sign that the conversation was over. Natalie hovered at her shoulder, pouting, a sign that the conversation wasn’t over. Eventually, Shauna sighed, defeated. “If you really want you can stand at the door and welcome people.”

“And show them to their seats?”

“Whatever.”

Natalie flounced away with a grin on her heart-shaped lips to stand by the door. She fluffed her strawberry-blonde sausage curls and smoothed her pinafore which matched the rest of ours. The door opened while she was midway through pinching her cheeks – a cheap substitute for rouge. At first she jumped, mouth slightly agape with surprise, but she quickly recovered. “Welcome to Al’s Diner,” she said, sounding contrived. “Wait just a moment to be seated.”

She peered around at the almost empty diner while the young man shot confused, longing glances at his usual seat by the window on the far left. He was a regular, came in every morning wearing a brown cardigan and stovepipe jeans (always rolled at the cuff to reveal his skinny ankles), ordered the same thing (French toast and black coffee), and ate it slowly with a book or a crossword in his other hand.

“Over here.” Natalie gestured to the opposite side of the diner and with one last, wistful look at his old table, French Toast followed her to a booth. “One of our waitresses will be with you shortly.” She smiled at him but morphed it into a scowl as soon as her eyes fell on me, jerking her thumb towards him. Taking that as my cue, I got my notepad and pen ready and headed on over.

“The usual?”

“Yes, please.” He seemed lonely and insignificant seated by himself in a booth made to fit six. It didn’t help that he was a beanpole who took up less space than most people would anyway. As I scribbled his order down in my awful, illegible handwriting, he ran his hands along the back of the seat, trying to look like he took up more room. “Is that a new thing?” he asked, tilting his head in Natalie’s direction.

“She’s just trying to change things up a bit,” was my uncertain answer.

“Don’t worry,” Shauna cut in from nearby where she was pointlessly mopping the floor. No matter how often it was cleaned, the brown-and-white chequered linoleum remained inexplicably sticky. “Natalie’ll get bored of it soon enough.”

It didn’t take long for Shauna’s prediction to come true. Natalie only greeted two more people. One ignored her seating suggestion, the other ignored her entirely. Finally she declared that although she’d enjoyed her thirty-four minutes as maître d’, her waitressing expertise was needed more. Shauna hid a wry smile at the news.

It was around half an hour later that a group of boys walked in. They looked my age or older, which they must’ve been since it was only early April and summer vacation didn’t start for almost two months. The five of them piled into the booth behind French Toast, immediately making their presence known. Natalie took their orders, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. It was a good thing Clancy spent most of his time in the kitchen.

They were out-of-towners, that much was obvious. Most likely they’d seen the sign on Highway 51 and only took the turnoff out of curiosity to find out whether there really was a Nowhere, Wisconsin. I would know; not long ago I was just like them. We got their type at Al’s more often than not. They’d stop by for a feed and to use the restroom, and then continue on the road which eventually looped back to reconnect with the highway.

When they’d finished eating and could no longer amuse themselves with throwing toothpicks at each other, they tried to get Natalie’s attention so they could pay. Because she was busy taking an order over the other side and I was free, I walked over, smiled and asked, “Finished?”

Two of the boys erupted into quiet sniggers and while I wondered what was so funny the one closest to the edge shot them a glare. It didn’t silence them and he gave up, turning to me with a grin, baring his large, bright, white teeth. “Sorry about these douchebags. We’re good to go.”

He passed me their money, the check underneath. I pulled it out to examine that everything was in order only to notice that one of them had scrawled the words ‘You’re cute’ on it. I smiled and for a brief, naïve moment, was flattered. “Thanks. I think you’re cute too.”

The two boys who’d been sniggering quietly before now held back guffaws, their faces turning red with effort. The others all managed to look ashamed while I just felt confused. The sandy-haired one who’d apologised earlier spoke up. “It’s for your friend,” he said, looking past me to Natalie who was still preoccupied with the same order. “The tip is hers too. Can you make sure she gets it?”

“Oh.” I blushed so hard it hurt. Of course the compliment was for Natalie, she was their server, not me. She was cute, I wasn’t. I wanted to run away and hide from my humiliation but for some reason embarrassment had struck me dumb. All I could do was stand there gawkily until French Toast called for a refill. I blinked, managed to nod in his direction, and went to make another batch of coffee (my fourth this morning).

On my return from the coffee machine I tapped Natalie on the shoulder. “This is for you.” I poured the tip (which was much larger than customary) and check into her hands. She read the note, a smile working onto her face, and sent a coy wave to the boys just as they were walking out the door.

French Toast looked like he was still trying to get comfortable in the big, empty booth when I made it back there. I held the coffee pot poised over his cup only to notice, “It's still full.”

“It is?” he asked aloofly and glanced away from his novel to the full contents of his cup. “Oh, so it is. My mistake.”

He went back to reading.