"Hey there, welcome to Mr. Wong, I'll be with ya in a hot second," Charlie Slicks said as he heard the bell on the door cling as a customer entered the little restaraunt.
"Charlie what are you doing back there? You're always so sketchy!" Mandi giggled.
"Well hey Mac. How's it goin? Long time no see," Charlie said coming out of the back, putting back on his plastic chef hat that had Mr. Wong written in red letters accross the top.
"Fine. You know. Just trying to get by. Before we know it I'll have enough money and be able to get outta this place. I'm getting close you know, if I just--"
"Mac what happened to your cheek?" He asked, still staring at it.
"Oh nothin, just triped the other day..." she made up.
"Looks to me like its in the perfect spot to believe that somebody hit you, is that what happened?" he questioned.
"No, trust me," she looked down at ther watch, "Anyways I gotta hurry back to work before it starts snowin again..."
"Ya it sure has been a chilly day," Charlie smiled back. "What do ya have? The usual?"
"That'll do it."
"Alright well take care," Charlie said opening the door for Mandi. He watched her wrap her arms around herself for warmth and head out into the snow flurries. "Hey Mac?" She stoped and turned around. "If that bruise really is there from someone else, lemme know if you ever need anything, kay?" Mandi nodded and continued to scurry off down the street, back to the diner for the all night shift.
"Well darlin, would a hamburger not do for tonight?" Mable said in the back kitchen of the diner, as Mandi sat there spinning her noodles onto a fork.
"Ha, nah. Tonight was my lucky night to treat myself, plus I don't think I'd make it all night without all this food, I am totally out of energy."
"Whelp, only 10 more hours," Mable giggled looking up at the clock. 9:39. "You'll get through it dear," Mable said confidently; she was used to the long night shifts at the diner, they were actually her favorite because they were less quite than the day shift.
"Gee, thanks for the encouragement," Mandi joked back as she took a bite of sesame chicken.
Mandi and Mable were sitting across the counter from one another sipping on coffee when the door squeeked open.
"Whoo!! Sure is chilly out there," the man said shaking his head to get the snow off.
"Well come on in and lets get ya warmed up," Mable welcomed. "How bout a hot cup of coffee?"
"That'd be perfect m'am."
"Anything else goin on out there other than it being freezing?" Mandi asked from her seat at the counter.
"Well not really. It's pretty quite out there."
"Ya, I guess so," Mandi said glancing up at the clock. 2:19.
"I mean other than the normal few wandering hobos, you know how it is... huh!" He chuckled. "But you know, now that I think about it, I have seen this out of place black car driving around all night, I mean it's a nice car and all but it just seems funny to me. Unmarked and everything, drivin slow. Uggh!" He said shaking himself a little as if he had the chills. "Maybe I'm just being crazy, it has been a long day."
"Hm... well that's strange. You don't seem like you're from around here anyways, what are you doin here?" Mable questioned.
The three continued talking for another 40 minutes or so. At about three the man checked his watch and headed out, Mabel walked him to the door and as she opened it a huge gust of cold air came in, as she peered out the blinds, watching him walk down the street, an unmarked black car slowly drove by, not even stopping for the red light the car continued at an easy pace through the intersection.
"After all these years this place still gives me the creeps," Mabel said removing her fingers from holding open the blinds.
A policed siren softly wailed in the distance.
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Fil had finished his newspaper gig for the day. A miserable day. Sleet stung his face, making it numb with cold. No one had bothered to buy a paper, or really stick their heads out of any crevace. He wondered why he bothered trying to sell news any way. How much money could he possibly make.
The night seemed a little better, though still deadly cold. He was walking back to the park as he saw the woman with the abusive father heading toward the appartments. Candy, Mandy-something like that. As she went in however, that no-good grandson jogged out and hopped into a black van lurking in the shadows. Fil new that nothing good could come of this...well...he could go borrow some food. Fil threw the rest of the papers into a trashcan and ran to catch the door before it closed. "Thanks Alex," he thought.
Fil new that Grandma Pearl would be heading to bed soon. That nuisance of a child never gave her a moments peace. She needed someone reliable and kind. He reached the landing of the penthouse and waited in the shadows for a while, making sure Pearl would be fast asleep. Then, silently, with the expertise only a homeless person after years of practice can master, he picked the lock, removed the chain with his tiny ten-year-old hands, and slid into the penthouse without a peep. Before setting off for the kitchen, he checked to make sure Pearl was sleeping soundly. Sleeping she was, but there was persperation on her brow, and she tossed and turned, muttering ominous words that sounded like 'kidnapped' and 'dead'.
Fil was moved with pity and compassion. Here was someone like him. She was a kind soul that everyone took for granted. She lived at the beck and call of others, only wanting someone to have a conversation with. They were ambiguous. She, no first name, He, no last. After a long while, he headed to the kitchen to scrounge up what he could, without drawing attention. But for some reason, this borrowing session was different. He felt terrible about taking advantage of her kindness like this. What could he do? He was starving, but though Pearl had plenty of food, she was starving too.
At last Fil reached a decision. He would leave a note. he found a sheet of paper by the computer, and searched for a pen. He had just given up hope, when he saw the felt-tipped marker stuck to the fridge for making grocery lists. Permanent. No going back. He began to write. This took him a long while, having to pause for long periods of time to remember how things were spelled. He wanted her to be able to read it.
ms Perl of the penthowse
i hope this finds yoo feeling happee. i want to apolgize for what iv done. for a long time iv been borowing sum food from yoo. i want to give it all bak one day but i dont no how as i dont have no monee or no place to live. i no i am a thefe but plese dont be skayrd becos i am very small and i dont want to hert yoo. i just hope that you will forgiv me and we mite can be frinds. i hope when i see yoo next yoo will have a smiul on yoor fase becos evree one needs a smiul sumtiyms.
Fil looked at it for a long time and decided it was the best he could do. He hoped he spelled everything right. Either way, there was nothing for it. He didn't sign his name in case Alexander found it, but Fil didn't think he would, because Fil folded it and put it behind the fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator. Fil had spent a long time in the penthouse and decided he should leave before Alexander came back. So, he quickly grabbed an apple, some canned peas, and a forzen loaf of bread. With his provisions, he stole out of Washington Heights and back into the night. Though chill and dark, Fil thought things might be beginning to look up.
The frozen dinners in my freezer were surrounded by ice and made me cold just looking at them. The cheese was sticky so I had thrown it out. The broccoli had a brown spot and was no good anymore. With no food in the fridge, I was forced to look elsewhere.
"I hope that the diner isn't sticky," I muttered as I hopped the sidewalk outside of the Washington Heights apartment building and moved quickly across the street. My shoes made an odd hollow sound as I stepped onto the manhole, so I stopped and looked down. The cover was black and shining in the dusk, the streetlights bounced off the melted sleet at strange angles. I shivered, thinking about all of the germs and animals and... gross things... that lived under the cover. It terrified me, and yet I couldn't step away. "Rats, sludge, germs, gross, sticky, bugs, roaches, old food, rats..."
A horn honking suddenly made me look up and jump out of the way of an oncoming van that didn't slow at all for me. I hopped out of the street just in time to watch it skid past, black against the streetlamps. I heard a siren in the distance. "Vans and sirens, great place to choose to live, Maria," I chastised myself, yet again. Sigh.
A man jostled past me, glass bottle in his hand. Although it glistened prettily in the dimming light, I thought he probably had had enough since the smell of alcohol drifted off of him already. I raised my eyebrows realizing it was my neighbor, the man who had given me the crisp ten. "Happy hour's over," I said quietly, glancing away. He paused to look at me for a moment; I wasn't sure if he had heard my words.
"I thought you didn't like sidewalks," he smirked, and walked away.
I looked down and nearly jumped out of my skin. "Ah!" I cried, louder than I had intended. I hopped off the sidewalk and back into the street. "I'd rather be here with the threat of vans then on the dirty sidewalk."
I stepped out of the night and into the fluorescent lighting of the diner, jumping the sidewalk on my way inside. I was pleased to see that it looked rather clean. The table nearest me even sparkled contentedly. A girl at the counter was wiping down the table with a white rag. "That looks clean, too," I commented to no one in particular. But the girl heard me and looked up from her work. "What can we do for you tonight?" she asked pleasantly enough, but something in her look made me think of caution and fear.
"Just here to get some dinner," I muttered, looking up and down the counter for something to distract her attention from me. I hated it when people stared at me. Like I was some freak. Like there was something obviously wrong with me. But i had always thought that my oddities were only visible when actually talking to me... maybe I was wrong?
"Sit anywhere you like," the girl said, and went back to cleaning. I sighed quietly.
That was when I saw him. Seated in the last swivel chair at the counter, hunched over a half-empty plate of relatively edible-looking food. He was engrossed in his dinner, eyes down to his plate, feet propped up on the rail of the stool. The waitress seemed to be avoiding him, but he didn't even seem to notice.
I did, though. I noticed him, much more often than he realized, probably. When sitting in my living room at home I was always conscious of the sounds from across the hall, doors opening and closing, footsteps up and down the hall. I awaited his quiet smiles when we passed in the halls. Hearing him say "Good morning, Maria," whenever he hurried past me, off to school, was often the best part of my day. Even if I was in the middle of freaking out or calming down about something or another, his presence always made me pause.
I took a step across the linoleum and towards him. "What are you doing, Maria?" I asked, almost silently. "What are you doing? He doesn't even notice you. He just smiles to be polite. He doesn't notice you." I was still walking slowly towards him. I slid into the seat next to him, and it was only after a moment that he looked up from his plate. That small smile spread across his face in recognition, and my stomach dropped a few inches. "Hey, Maria," he said quietly, "I wouldn't have taken you for the diner type."
I actually grinned in reply before I realized what I had done. I blushed. His smile widened as he looked back down to his food and continued to eat.
Seemingly complacent, Elizabeth sat in a booth at the diner. Her novel was done. Dead? Her past was dead, that was for sure. Malcolm was probably somewhere in Las Vegas by now.
The faintest whift of decay brushed her nose. She turned to find Kevin brushing a hand through his hair as he and Maria sat down to a booth, both grinning. They were having lunch or dinner or something. An echo of a cheerfully eerie tune passed her ear. Elizabeth looked out the window to see the source being chased by a group of school children. An ice cream truck. It was four o'clock. They were probably having a late lunch.
The front door chimed. Mrs. Flogsbottom entered the diner, smiling. Elizabeth smiled, remenising over Mrs. Flogsbottom's advice. She had waited until the completion of the sixth chapter for her protagonist to be kissed by ... Malcolm. She'd actually waited until chapter 8, but that's a different story.
She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Dialogue had become nothing more than an echo of whispers. Her latest response had been, "Huh?"
"Would you like some more water, Liz?"
It was Mac.
"Please," Elizabeth replied, looking to the glass in embarrasment.
"What's wrong sweety?"
"Who knows,"
"Just let me know when you need a refill.
Elizabeth continued to stare at the water glass, now filled to the brim. "Thanks," she said, as Mac progressed to another table. Moving forward — the one thing Elizbeth needed to do, yet the only thing she couldn't. The afternoon turned to evening and evening into ...
"Liz," a voice echoed in the wind.
The building shook.
"Liz!"
The building shook again.
A sharp pain severed the dream.
"Liz, are you alright?"
It was Mac again. Everyone was gone. The sky was pitch black as raindrops spat against the window.
"What time is it?"
"It's midnight, sweety. We're about to close up shop."
"Right," Elizabeth said, rubbing her temples.
"Are you going to pass out again?"
"No Mac, I'm fine," she lied.
Without another word, she rose from the booth and walked out the door. Ten minutes later Elizabeth entered her apartment with a single letter in her hand. It was the only parcel she'd received that day. No junk mail. No letters from Mom. Just a letter from her editor Jerry Hacker. She'd made the deadline. She didn't know why he would complain. She sat upon her bed as she began to scan the letter.
Dear Elizabeth,
What a work of genius. ... We look forward to publishing your work very soon.
Sincerely,
Jerry Hacker
P.S. - I especially enjoyed the transformation of the protagonist after she confronts Mr. Gainnes with her realization of where her heart truly lies.
As Elizabeth laid the letter on the bed, she looked to the ceiling of her apartment. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. It was true. It was all true. Every word, paragraph and page of the novel was true and her biggest regret. She balled up the letter and threw it across the room, just like had thrown her heart across the country.
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