Ghost Time

Justin boots, and, of course, baggy-assed Levis, which they still call dungarees . I’d never been close to any of the four of them, but I just knew they smelled like the old man cocktail of whiskey, Old Spice, and Marlboro Reds, with the faintest whiff of engine oil, even though they scrubbed their nails spotless with Lava soap.
    Anyhow, this is where they come, it’s their home away from their homes, and they come every day, talking, not talking, like men who’ve known each other fifty years do, I guess. But sometimes, the way they look out the window, you’d think it was the silver screen. And when you walk in—doesn’t matter if you grew up here, doesn’t matter if you were here yesterday and the day before and every day for the past month—you’ll hear growling in their stares. They’re like the watchdogs of a time past, and they know it’s passed—the Elders know better than anyone that it’s gone, that their time has come and gone, and that’s what makes it all the more valuable, their padded booth at the back, their clear view out the window. It’s one thing that will never change, so they hold on to it for dear life.
    Anyhow, I couldn’t bring myself to sit in the same booth where we always sat. I just couldn’t do it, so I sat a few booths away, looking at our booth longingly, with this pang in my chest, like, Ugh, there’s our booth, where we like to make fun of people who have things like Our Songs …. Seriously, I caught myself getting all sentimental, but we spent so much together, right there, with nothing in the world between us but that Formica tabletop. Honestly, I was so out of it, I didn’t even think about the fact I’d opened my old notebook to some sketches of Cam’s hands that I’d drawn months ago, and I spread the spiral notebook open. I thought I was in the clear, too, but then my ears started burning, because I knew the Elders must have been talking about Cam, when I walked in, not sure whether or not to keep talking. Then one of them said, You hear the news? Then another one of them said, Hear what? FBI’s involved now, one said, and another Elder said, I’ll be damned, and another one of them said, In that case, you better get in line, and he took a lazy sip of coffee, slurping out loud.
    I know because I saw the whole thing in the window’s reflection. My ears were beet red, and then, sure enough, the bell rings above the diner door, and I know who it is, without even looking: it’s Agent Foley. It happened so quickly, I didn’t think to grab Hubble when I heard the bell, and a second later, he was standing over me. I could feel him, so I didn’t look up, and he waited, and I ignored him, until, finally, Foley goes, Hello, Theadora. Would you mind if I joined you? I didn’t look up, because I was too afraid to look him in the eye, and the whole place went quiet. I knewthe Elders were listening, but I told him, I go, Yes. I would mind very much, reaching for my sketchbook. Of course: you’re working, he said, in that annoying pleasant tone that makes me want to stab his hand with a pencil, ugh . So what’s he do? He walked straight over to our table in the corner, directly in front of me, then he goes, Wonderful drawing, by the way. Those hands are so lifelike , Theadora, he said, sitting down, removing a discarded newspaper from the seat beside him, putting it on the table.
    I tried ignoring him, and at the same time, I tried not listening to the old men, but the blood started in again, and I could feel it moving straight for my cheeks. Still, at that moment, trapped there, between two worlds, I couldn’t care less who drove through the net on the highway or who defaced the school flag, and then, looking down at what I’d drawn, realizing my hand hadn’t stopped moving the entire time Foley approached me and walked away, at that very moment, I began outlining and shading the words I’d written, But what did they do with all those stars?
    From the moment she laid eyes on Foley, Sharon, the owner of Silver Top, didn’t trust him. It was so obvious, too, when she walked over, just how stiff she was and how she stood back, saying a dry, curt hello, before she asked what she could get him, holding the plastic menu like a shield over her chest, not even setting it down for him to look at. Sharon wasn’t having anything to do with him.
    Coffee, please, he said, and she goes, Anything else? her voice as flat as a board. Just coffee for now, thank you, Foley