The Diner Dimension [story]
THE DINER DIMENSION
I’ve been walking on this cracked sidewalk for some time now.
The sun beams down on the fresh cut grass and warms my skin.
There’s a clean man with sharp features and a tailored jacket
walking his prize-winning dog.
There’s a child with hair so long and curly you’d have to peer in
to see her wide smile as she wins another round of hopscotch.
There’s a little convenience store where everyone you know goes to spend that weeks paycheck.
There is a faint gunshot at the edge of town, a quick sound,
like a question that receives no answer.
And a diner tucked away behind buildings and chipped bricks
which I’ve never seen.
I step within this unknown diner
To hear the snap of cracked tiles
Fanciful fake flowers line the parameter
A parallel to the world outside those kaleidoscope doors
Lit like a parlor, I have to squint to adjust to the dim lighting
And as I take steps forward dust jumps and swirls at my feet
I take my seat on a slick black barstool faded with age
Perhaps, a drink will open those doors and my eyes will awaken
I’m greeted by a fake smile, a smoke-drenched waitress adorned in 80’s attire
Her crimson red lips move up and down but their words are unknown to me
I simply reply “Scotch on the Rocks”
She looks at me haughtily and hands me my drink, then walks back to which she came, sipping on a cup of stale coffee
Her perfume trailing behind her, seeming only to accentuate the stuffiness of the place and penetrate the dust cloud created by her movement
I look around and notice the smell
I can almost taste the odor of lost generations
The handshakes
The newspapers-the basis for all small talk
The hugs of acquaintances
And the worth of a dollar
Lost in my daze, I nearly knock over the ashtray filled to the brim with deceased cigarettes located next to my right elbow
Then snap around to view any witnesses
Only to speculate a lowly old man reaching beneath a table…
A look closer reveals a small gray mouse nibbling on a pork rind which props up the broken table
It twitches it’s whiskers at his outstretched hand then scurries off, afraid of that which is unfamiliar.
He looks up disappointed, then surprised by my returning gaze,
afterwhich, he almost sneaks back to his seat where he buries himself in the novel he had brought along
I return to my drink, self-conscious, and almost feeling guilty for having disturbed the old man
I feel pensive, I notice the small cracks in the walls, a pimple forming on the edge of my hairline, and a nickel underneath my barstool…
“1956”
I wonder what a life it must have had…
How long had it been lying there?
And how many had noticed and disregarded?
Had it been ignored because of pride or sheer sloth?
Maybe it was time to leave…
It’s quite possible I’ve become intoxicated
I take the last swallow and revel in the warm feeling
I place the nickel in my pocket, and proceed to give a quick wave to those unspoken and soon unknown acquaintances as I step out the door
The sunlight burns my eyes
The smell of fresh cut grass tingles my senses
I feel awkward towards the world from which I came
Everything seems to zip by full of movement and life
I reach into my pocket for the nickel to reassure me that time stops
But the nickel is gone, and as I turn around I see a clear, unobstructed view to the horizon as the sun is swallowed by mountains.
May 2, 2006
Andi
11 words by Jessica Hansen
I’ve been walking on this cracked sidewalk for some time now.
The sun beams down on the fresh cut grass and warms my skin.
There’s a clean man with sharp features and a tailored jacket
walking his prize-winning dog.
There’s a child with hair so long and curly you’d have to peer in
to see her wide smile as she wins another round of hopscotch.
There’s a little convenience store where everyone you know goes to spend that weeks paycheck.
There is a faint gunshot at the edge of town, a quick sound,
like a question that receives no answer.
And a diner tucked away behind buildings and chipped bricks
which I’ve never seen.
I step within this unknown diner
To hear the snap of cracked tiles
Fanciful fake flowers line the parameter
A parallel to the world outside those kaleidoscope doors
Lit like a parlor, I have to squint to adjust to the dim lighting
And as I take steps forward dust jumps and swirls at my feet
I take my seat on a slick black barstool faded with age
Perhaps, a drink will open those doors and my eyes will awaken
I’m greeted by a fake smile, a smoke-drenched waitress adorned in 80’s attire
Her crimson red lips move up and down but their words are unknown to me
I simply reply “Scotch on the Rocks”
She looks at me haughtily and hands me my drink, then walks back to which she came, sipping on a cup of stale coffee
Her perfume trailing behind her, seeming only to accentuate the stuffiness of the place and penetrate the dust cloud created by her movement
I look around and notice the smell
I can almost taste the odor of lost generations
The handshakes
The newspapers-the basis for all small talk
The hugs of acquaintances
And the worth of a dollar
Lost in my daze, I nearly knock over the ashtray filled to the brim with deceased cigarettes located next to my right elbow
Then snap around to view any witnesses
Only to speculate a lowly old man reaching beneath a table…
A look closer reveals a small gray mouse nibbling on a pork rind which props up the broken table
It twitches it’s whiskers at his outstretched hand then scurries off, afraid of that which is unfamiliar.
He looks up disappointed, then surprised by my returning gaze,
afterwhich, he almost sneaks back to his seat where he buries himself in the novel he had brought along
I return to my drink, self-conscious, and almost feeling guilty for having disturbed the old man
I feel pensive, I notice the small cracks in the walls, a pimple forming on the edge of my hairline, and a nickel underneath my barstool…
“1956”
I wonder what a life it must have had…
How long had it been lying there?
And how many had noticed and disregarded?
Had it been ignored because of pride or sheer sloth?
Maybe it was time to leave…
It’s quite possible I’ve become intoxicated
I take the last swallow and revel in the warm feeling
I place the nickel in my pocket, and proceed to give a quick wave to those unspoken and soon unknown acquaintances as I step out the door
The sunlight burns my eyes
The smell of fresh cut grass tingles my senses
I feel awkward towards the world from which I came
Everything seems to zip by full of movement and life
I reach into my pocket for the nickel to reassure me that time stops
But the nickel is gone, and as I turn around I see a clear, unobstructed view to the horizon as the sun is swallowed by mountains.
May 2, 2006
Andi
11 words by Jessica Hansen