The Roadside In
I awoke at 11 a.m. to the phone ringing. I was surprised that it was Pops on the line, instead of Brian.
"I need you to come out to the 'In'," he said. "It's a little tricky to get here this time of day. Coming from the motel, take the first left off of Route 9. Just keep going until you see my truck."
"OK," I said. Something about his tone had me concerned. "Is Brian OK?"
"Before you head out," he continued, "it's important that you get something to eat there in town."
"Couldn't I just get something at the diner?" the fact that he didn't answer the question about my brother had me fully awake.
"It's... not open now," he said. "Just get dressed and get some lunch. Meet me out here at noon. I'll explain everything."
My first thought was that something had to be wrong; forget lunch, I'd go straight out there. But when I stood up, I felt dizzy with hunger. That didn't make sense, as much as I had put away last night at the Roadside In. But that's how I felt, so I did as the old man said, hastily dressed and wolfed down some McBurgers and fries before driving out of town.
They satisfied the ache, but didn't taste nearly as good as the food the night before.
It had been dusk when I first saw the Roadside In. In conversations with Brian and the regulars, they told me it was supposed to be "Inn" with two "n"s, but when the sign first went up on the roof, the last letter fell down. Before anyone got around to fixing it, the name had stuck.
The place was retro heaven, with style and decor from the '50s and '60s, even the staff's clothing, and the old but still shiny jukebox with real 45 records, all hits predating the Beatles invasion. The menu was basic all-American comfort food -- burgers and fries or meatloaf and mashed potatoes, served with a Coke with a sweetness you don't taste in sodas these days.
It seemed appropriate to finally catch up with Brian there. He loved old-fashioned things, even majored in history in college. After all that happened last year, losing everything important in his life -- his job, the house, Diane -- he declared he needed to take some time for himself. Using an excursion down historic Route 66 as an excuse, he got in his car and vanished. For months, we had no idea where he was.
Then I got the call.
Brian said Pops had talked him into it, but he was glad to finally hear my voice. He said he had found the perfect place for his fresh start, and would I meet him at this diner off the freeway between Effingham and Fort Wayne.
The Roadside In was barely visible from the Interstate, and it didn't have one of those "food this exit" signs, yet the place was busy when I arrived that evening. No doubt word got around among the truckers, as there were a couple of rigs in a nearby dirt lot. Closer to the diner's doors, I saw family minivans, a State Trooper and a Toyota belonging to a traveling salesman.
Still, there was room inside. As I spotted an open booth, Brian intercepted me with a big hug.
"So glad you made it," he said, smiling like I hadn't seen in years.
"Did you lose weight?" I asked as we sat down.
"Maybe," he shrugged. "I've been keeping busy."
"So, you found work around here?"
"You could say that." His attention turned to the waitress walking up to us. "See, honey, I told you he'd come!"
The strawberry-blonde beauty turned her sweet smile to me. "I'm Margie; Brian has told me so much about you." Her polite handshake was as soft as a kiss.
Moments later, Pops appeared. His handshake was more firm. It was hard to guess his age, being fit and healthy but with lines at his serious eyes and gray in his hair. The way he interacted with Margie, I could tell he was her father, or grandfather. She had the firm face of someone in her mid 20s, so likely the former.
Brian and I talked through the night. Margie kept bringing food -- every bite delicious -- and sat with us when things slowed down. I only asked him a couple of times about coming home, as when I did, the pained look on his face hurt me to see. I could tell he was in love with this place, and even more with Margie. He said Pops had warmed up to the idea of them being together, but we didn't dwell on that topic when the old man was in earshot.
Eventually, after eggs and toast at dawn and some damn fine coffee, I made my way out to the car to go to the motel Pops recommended. Brian said he would talk to me later, after I got some rest.
I nearly didn't see Pops' pickup by the side of the road. But there I was, pulling into the lot at high noon before a building I barely recognized. The walls were weather-worn, the windows cracked, the sign on the roof missing. Except for some makeshift repairs, it looked like no one had occupied this diner for years. Pops came out the front door, wearing a sympathetic expression.
"Yes, this is the Roadside In," he said. "I'm glad you saw it last night, so that this will be easier to believe."
I went inside with him, and sat at our booth from the night before, now roughly reconstructed.
"The more real items I can get in here, the easier it is on living folks like us," he said. Then he told me the story of the diner.
The Roadside In was a popular eatery in the 1940s and '50s, being on a U.S. highway. The new Interstate system building an exit nearby was an additional blessing. But one night in the early '60s, something happened. A sudden fire or explosion had consumed the inside of the diner. No one made it out. Pops was called Peter then, a boy who helped out at the Roadside In after school. That night, his mother Margie told him to go on home, and she would join him after she finished her shift. That was the last time he saw her alive.
But in the years that followed, there were stories of people lost at night or in rain or fog finding the Roadside In intact, lit up and open. They told of incredible food and a friendly waitress, and even though they couldn't remember exactly where it was, they sure would like to go there again.
Once Peter was old enough that he didn't have to live with his grandparents, he made his way back to the diner, finding it easily. He became its caretaker, getting possession of the land, patching the roof and making other rudimentary repairs. From dusk to dawn, and on cloudy days, the ghostly interior and its spirit occupants were somehow solid. They didn't know how this had happened, or why. They sensed they were trapped there, but took comfort in the various customers who came by over the years.
Over time, the In's dated look became nostalgic, and as Peter aged, he could no longer pass as Margie's son, but as her "father." The travelers who visited were real, as was their money, which helped Pops with upkeep. He supplied real water, but the food was all illusory. Provided everyone ate a real meal later on down the road, no harm was done.
After Brian discovered the diner one rainy afternoon, he kept coming back, night after night. This place had a healing effect on his soul, and he and Margie developed feelings for each other. Pops brought him out at high noon to show him the truth, but it didn't seem to faze him. In fact, he began spending more time there, every night.
Pops noticed Brian had been only eating at the diner, and was wasting away. He finally convinced Brian to call his brother, hoping a living family member could get him to change his course.
"I'll do what I can," I said. "I'm sure he'll listen to me."
"I'm afraid you're too late," Pops said. "He was further along than I had thought, getting himself here by sheer willpower. Brian passed away yesterday, just before you arrived."
He showed me my brother's body, lying on the floor of the diner's back room. The floor was bare dirt. Two shovels stood by.
Normally, I would have insisted we bring Brian home. But this was anything but normal. This was his home now. With his body buried there, his spirit would be anchored to this place. It was a curse he took on willingly for someone he loved; I couldn't deny him that.
Still, as I finally drove home alone, I ached from more than hunger.
- - - - -
Entry for LJ Idol: Season 9, Week 10, Topic: " If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time."
And also be sure to check out the latest by the_dark_snack; revisiting one of the most important decisions of her -- and one other's -- life.
"I need you to come out to the 'In'," he said. "It's a little tricky to get here this time of day. Coming from the motel, take the first left off of Route 9. Just keep going until you see my truck."
"OK," I said. Something about his tone had me concerned. "Is Brian OK?"
"Before you head out," he continued, "it's important that you get something to eat there in town."
"Couldn't I just get something at the diner?" the fact that he didn't answer the question about my brother had me fully awake.
"It's... not open now," he said. "Just get dressed and get some lunch. Meet me out here at noon. I'll explain everything."
My first thought was that something had to be wrong; forget lunch, I'd go straight out there. But when I stood up, I felt dizzy with hunger. That didn't make sense, as much as I had put away last night at the Roadside In. But that's how I felt, so I did as the old man said, hastily dressed and wolfed down some McBurgers and fries before driving out of town.
They satisfied the ache, but didn't taste nearly as good as the food the night before.
It had been dusk when I first saw the Roadside In. In conversations with Brian and the regulars, they told me it was supposed to be "Inn" with two "n"s, but when the sign first went up on the roof, the last letter fell down. Before anyone got around to fixing it, the name had stuck.
The place was retro heaven, with style and decor from the '50s and '60s, even the staff's clothing, and the old but still shiny jukebox with real 45 records, all hits predating the Beatles invasion. The menu was basic all-American comfort food -- burgers and fries or meatloaf and mashed potatoes, served with a Coke with a sweetness you don't taste in sodas these days.
It seemed appropriate to finally catch up with Brian there. He loved old-fashioned things, even majored in history in college. After all that happened last year, losing everything important in his life -- his job, the house, Diane -- he declared he needed to take some time for himself. Using an excursion down historic Route 66 as an excuse, he got in his car and vanished. For months, we had no idea where he was.
Then I got the call.
Brian said Pops had talked him into it, but he was glad to finally hear my voice. He said he had found the perfect place for his fresh start, and would I meet him at this diner off the freeway between Effingham and Fort Wayne.
The Roadside In was barely visible from the Interstate, and it didn't have one of those "food this exit" signs, yet the place was busy when I arrived that evening. No doubt word got around among the truckers, as there were a couple of rigs in a nearby dirt lot. Closer to the diner's doors, I saw family minivans, a State Trooper and a Toyota belonging to a traveling salesman.
Still, there was room inside. As I spotted an open booth, Brian intercepted me with a big hug.
"So glad you made it," he said, smiling like I hadn't seen in years.
"Did you lose weight?" I asked as we sat down.
"Maybe," he shrugged. "I've been keeping busy."
"So, you found work around here?"
"You could say that." His attention turned to the waitress walking up to us. "See, honey, I told you he'd come!"
The strawberry-blonde beauty turned her sweet smile to me. "I'm Margie; Brian has told me so much about you." Her polite handshake was as soft as a kiss.
Moments later, Pops appeared. His handshake was more firm. It was hard to guess his age, being fit and healthy but with lines at his serious eyes and gray in his hair. The way he interacted with Margie, I could tell he was her father, or grandfather. She had the firm face of someone in her mid 20s, so likely the former.
Brian and I talked through the night. Margie kept bringing food -- every bite delicious -- and sat with us when things slowed down. I only asked him a couple of times about coming home, as when I did, the pained look on his face hurt me to see. I could tell he was in love with this place, and even more with Margie. He said Pops had warmed up to the idea of them being together, but we didn't dwell on that topic when the old man was in earshot.
Eventually, after eggs and toast at dawn and some damn fine coffee, I made my way out to the car to go to the motel Pops recommended. Brian said he would talk to me later, after I got some rest.
I nearly didn't see Pops' pickup by the side of the road. But there I was, pulling into the lot at high noon before a building I barely recognized. The walls were weather-worn, the windows cracked, the sign on the roof missing. Except for some makeshift repairs, it looked like no one had occupied this diner for years. Pops came out the front door, wearing a sympathetic expression.
"Yes, this is the Roadside In," he said. "I'm glad you saw it last night, so that this will be easier to believe."
I went inside with him, and sat at our booth from the night before, now roughly reconstructed.
"The more real items I can get in here, the easier it is on living folks like us," he said. Then he told me the story of the diner.
The Roadside In was a popular eatery in the 1940s and '50s, being on a U.S. highway. The new Interstate system building an exit nearby was an additional blessing. But one night in the early '60s, something happened. A sudden fire or explosion had consumed the inside of the diner. No one made it out. Pops was called Peter then, a boy who helped out at the Roadside In after school. That night, his mother Margie told him to go on home, and she would join him after she finished her shift. That was the last time he saw her alive.
But in the years that followed, there were stories of people lost at night or in rain or fog finding the Roadside In intact, lit up and open. They told of incredible food and a friendly waitress, and even though they couldn't remember exactly where it was, they sure would like to go there again.
Once Peter was old enough that he didn't have to live with his grandparents, he made his way back to the diner, finding it easily. He became its caretaker, getting possession of the land, patching the roof and making other rudimentary repairs. From dusk to dawn, and on cloudy days, the ghostly interior and its spirit occupants were somehow solid. They didn't know how this had happened, or why. They sensed they were trapped there, but took comfort in the various customers who came by over the years.
Over time, the In's dated look became nostalgic, and as Peter aged, he could no longer pass as Margie's son, but as her "father." The travelers who visited were real, as was their money, which helped Pops with upkeep. He supplied real water, but the food was all illusory. Provided everyone ate a real meal later on down the road, no harm was done.
After Brian discovered the diner one rainy afternoon, he kept coming back, night after night. This place had a healing effect on his soul, and he and Margie developed feelings for each other. Pops brought him out at high noon to show him the truth, but it didn't seem to faze him. In fact, he began spending more time there, every night.
Pops noticed Brian had been only eating at the diner, and was wasting away. He finally convinced Brian to call his brother, hoping a living family member could get him to change his course.
"I'll do what I can," I said. "I'm sure he'll listen to me."
"I'm afraid you're too late," Pops said. "He was further along than I had thought, getting himself here by sheer willpower. Brian passed away yesterday, just before you arrived."
He showed me my brother's body, lying on the floor of the diner's back room. The floor was bare dirt. Two shovels stood by.
Normally, I would have insisted we bring Brian home. But this was anything but normal. This was his home now. With his body buried there, his spirit would be anchored to this place. It was a curse he took on willingly for someone he loved; I couldn't deny him that.
Still, as I finally drove home alone, I ached from more than hunger.
- - - - -
Entry for LJ Idol: Season 9, Week 10, Topic: " If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time."
And also be sure to check out the latest by the_dark_snack; revisiting one of the most important decisions of her -- and one other's -- life.