Summary: Sam and Mercedes meet in Spoony's Diner on Christmas Eve in 1975, setting off a catastrophic series of events.
Rating: Teen
Warning: Mild cursing
Chapter 1
Mercedes stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the gaudy multicolored lights shining in the window of Spoony's Diner. The red, green, and blue, oval-shaped bulbs reminded her of a grammar school Christmas tree. She preferred one or two colors, not a crazy rainbow; and she thought of Wolford's Steak Inn about two blocks away, how classy it looked with a basic color scheme of blue and gold. The restaurant's Old English lettered sign painted in black, and its open flame street lantern near the entrance were reminiscent of a European village. She sighed and tugged at the waist of her bright green waitress uniform; it was too tight around her hips and generous bust line.
Old man Spoony, the diner owner, smiled and placed his withered hand on her shoulder, a Santa hat was on his bald head:
"I like the colors."
"Have you seen Wolford's?"
Spoony folded his arms and shrugged. In the old days, he boxed, and he never got out of the habit of wearing wife beaters, which is what he wore now, but any muscle he had was gone and replaced with loose skin and sagging flesh. The Marilyn Monroe tattoo on his shoulder stretched a bit when he flexed his arms, then returned to its wrinkled state.
"We ain't Wolford's," he said and went back to the kitchen.
Mercedes sat down to the counter next to Quinn who was smoking a brown cloves cigarette and flipping through Rolling Stone with Bonnie Raitt on the cover. Her blonde hair was twisted in a bun; frosted pink lip gloss coated her thin lips. She wore too much Shulton's Blue Jeans cologne, and the spicy, floral scent, almost overpowered the sweet cloves smoke surrounding her; her uniform had a faint coffee stain on the skirt.
"The old ladies will be here soon," Quinn said, "I hope they don't stay long."
"They always do," Mercedes said, "Besides, it's Christmas Eve."
Quinn closed the magazine and put out the cigarette.
"Yeah," she said, "Oh, guess what?"
"What?"
"I got that Mrs. Claus mini dress off layaway, I'm wearing it tonight to Paula's Christmas party."
"You mean the red velvet one with the white fur trim?"
"That's the one."
"I thought Puck didn't want to go to Paula's."
"I changed his mind."
"Hope you have fun."
"Thanks," Quinn said, then she lowered her voice, "I'm going to surprise Puck and not wear any panties under my new dress."
"That'll get his attention."
"I hope so. He's bored with me. So what are you doing tonight?"
"Playing it by ear."
"No parties?"
"Not my thing."
"Hmm… Puck is picking me up today."
"No bus for you today," Mercedes said. She and Quinn usually took the number 13 bus together, but they got off at different stops. Mercedes was glad Puck was picking her up. She needed quiet time to think.
"Yeah, now I won't see Roscoe flirt with you. You should go out with him."
Roscoe was the bus driver and about thirty years older than Mercedes, had a salt and pepper Afro and beard, and sported a gold tooth; his skin was the color of molasses and wrinkle-free and reeked of Old Spice.
He smiled at Mercedes a little too hard whenever they got on the bus and always talked to her about how he was Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson's great-nephew, had a new Cadillac, and once shook Martin Luther King's hand at a rally in 1963. It got on Mercedes' nerves that Quinn thought he was such a good match for her.
"I'll pass."
"Why? He seems nice."
"Would you date him?"
"I'm married."
"If you weren't married?"
Quinn blushed.
"Well I…. I uh, well I…"
"So why should I date him?"
"I was only trying to help."
"Like I said, I'll pass."
"Sorry," Quinn said.
"It's ok."
Mercedes then gazed around the diner and admired the silver snowflakes she and Quinn hung from the ceiling, twinkling in the fluorescent light. Spoony let them decorate the Christmas tree that stood in the corner, and they, wrapped gold tinsel garlands around the tree, draped it in white lights and put a big star covered in silver glitter on top. Underneath the tree was empty cardboard boxes wrapped in green and red paper and tied with white satin ribbons. Bing Crosby sang of a White Christmas on the old Seeburg jukebox in the corner; his classic crooning drifted through the diner.
Quinn nudged her.
"Look, they're coming."
Mercedes looked out the window. It was late afternoon, and the sunset's orange light was brilliant against the frozen white snow covering the parking lot. And then she saw the group of widows, gray-haired in sensible shoes, heavy wool coats buttoned up to their chins, walking toward the diner entrance.
They got off their stools and went to the door, greeting each old woman as they walked inside, complaining of the cold. Quinn took their coats while Mercedes seated them in the vinyl jade green booths, handing them plastic menus. Spoony and Clovis, the fry cook, came out from the kitchen, saying hello the geriatric brigade. Clovis teased and flirted with them, calling them silver foxes.
"Y'all look sweeter than candy canes," he said, smiling at them, "So who's been naughty? And who's been nice? Clovis used to be a male model until he broke his nose in a car accident, and cut his face on the windshield glass. Now he looked slightly deformed.
"Merry Christmas, Clovis," one of the women said, blushing as she sat down, "You're looking handsome."
"Welcome, Ladies," Spoony said, "We got all our Christmas specials ready."
In Mercedes' mind, these lonely ladies were the Discarded Ones, like unmatched socks, forgotten toys, or loose change you found beneath the sofa cushion you didn't realize was there. As she took their orders, she saw under their false smiles an overwhelming sadness.
When their food arrived, the ladies displayed a façade of holiday cheer as they ate the warmed-over turkey and crumbled stuffing. They spoke of past Christmases and how things used to be in Lima. Wistful nostalgia filled their stories, and it was all Mercedes could do to keep her composure, because their stories broke her heart.
One of the women, with blue-tinted teased hair and refrigerator white dentures, described how the church bells used to ring at midnight.
"Everyone heard those bells. You knew it was Christmas when you heard them."
"Why did they stop?" Mercedes asked as she poured the woman more coffee into her empty green cup.
"Why I don't know, but I miss them."
Then another woman, an immigrant from Ireland, who had haunting green eyes, said to everyone:
"May I trouble you all with a song?"
"Go on, sing," they said.
So she sang an Irish Christmas carol her voice was pure as crystal:
I sing of a night in Bethlehem
A night as bright as dawn
I sing of that night in Bethlehem
The night the Word was born
Suddenly, she wasn't old and turned into a young girl in Ireland, singing by the fireplace in her father's house. And the stages of her quiet but grand life unfolded with each word she sang: a single woman sailing for America at 22 with only a small black leather bag containing one dress, lace handkerchiefs, and one hundred dollars; a married mother of six who worked as a stenographer, a doting wife, a runner that completed the Boston marathon, collapsing at the finish line, and now she was a widow, sitting in a diner in Lima Ohio, capturing her life in a single song; and Mercedes saw her hair transform from silver to a lustrous red, but her eyes remained unchanged, and they sparkled like emeralds. When she finished, everyone clapped, and tears welled up in Mercedes eyes, Spoony handed her a napkin and patted her arm in a fatherly fashion. The Discarded Ones prepared for their imminent departure, clutching their canes, and filling their pockets with the green and red ribbon candy in a large glass bowl next to the cash register. Finally, they walked out into the twilight darkness, back to their solitary lives, and Mercedes and Quinn cleared the tables, pocketing the crumpled dollars left behind.
Spoony put on his long plaid coat and hunter's cap, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his coat pocket; he handed each of them a white envelope containing their holiday bonus and bid them a Merry Christmas, before walking out and getting into his beloved 1963 greenish-blue Chevrolet Belair Sedan. Clovis left next. He kissed their cheeks beneath the mistletoe in the doorway, smiling mischievously, his gray eyes shined, as he waved goodbye from the parking lot, the snowflakes falling into his thick black hair. Quinn sat in a booth near the door, waiting for Puck.
"When are you leaving?" She said to Mercedes.
"Closing time. Spoony said I could get some extra hours."
"But it's Christmas, go home."
"I need the money."
"You just got a nice bonus and tips."
"Nothing wrong with making money."
Are you sure you can handle things by yourself?"
"I'm not expecting many customers. And I've been here alone before."
"I know but – "
"It's fine, Quinn."
Quinn let the subject drop and fiddled with the zipper on her white fake fur coat. To spruce herself up for Puck, she took her hair out of its bun and let it hang free; her golden mane reached her tiny waist; she applied powder blue eyeshadow and touched up her lip gloss. The whiteness of the coat made her eyes look bluer than the ocean. Then they heard a loud honking and a shout:
"Hey, Quinn!"
Puck was outside on his roaring motorcycle looking like a typical jailbird with his black leather skull and bones jacket and biker boots. Quinn slung her blue velvet purse over her shoulder, stood up and hugged Mercedes.
"Be careful."
"Merry Christmas," Mercedes said, stroking her soft hair.
"Merry Christmas."
She went outside and hopped on the bike, wrapping her arms around Puck's waist, as he sped out of the parking lot, her hair blowing in the cold wind.
And Mercedes was alone.
She mopped the floor, took out the garbage, and had a long cigarette break. After taking inventory in the storage room, she took another break and got her View-Master out of her denim tote bag. She inserted the first reel of Volume One NASA Galaxy series, lay back in the booth, and stared at the pictures through the stereoscope; she paused on each one, imagining what it would be like to touch the stars or glide through the Milky Way. She looked at all three reels and daydreamed until she felt rested enough and found other chores to do, like sweeping out cobwebs from the corners and discarding expired condiments. A few hours later, as she dusted the jukebox, a customer came, a young brunette woman in a navy pea coat who only wanted hot chocolate and a slice of chess pie. She was standoffish and rude, and talked a long time on the pay phone near the restroom, yelling at some unfortunate person, Mercedes was glad when she left, taking her attitude and anger with her. An hour later a middle-aged couple drifted in, smelling of mint and holly, bundled in tweed coats, only ordering coffee and black bottom pumpkin pie; they bickered over a road map spread out on the table before them. They were lost and got off at the wrong exit, but Mercedes didn't offer them any help because she was horrible with directions and maps confused her.
Then a regular customer entered the diner; it was Shaun, a college student, who came to Spoony's weekly usually getting hot tea and dessert. He was a tall beanpole with brown hair in a layered page boy haircut; he wore his usual faded Levi jeans, a puffy ski jacket with a Chevron design in orange, black and red, and a blue canvas backpack slung over his shoulder. He sat at the counter and ordered hot tea and mince pie. Quinn nicknamed him Puppy Dog because of his big, brown eyes, that gave him a look of choirboy innocence. As Mercedes placed three small pies on his plate, golden-crusted and dusted with sugar, Shaun asked her if she ever heard of the secret CIA Heart Attack gun.
"They have a dart gun that could shoot poison in your heart, kill you, and it won't show up in the autopsy. How fucked up is that?" He said, waiting for her reaction.
Mercedes poured his tea; steam rose from the cup; then she put two lemon wedges on the saucer the way he liked it.
"That sounds like some Mission Impossible shit."
"Yeah, and as Americans, we have a right to know what our government is doing. I keep my ears and eyes open. You think Nixon fooled me? No way, and hey I got a HAM radio too, picking up intel."
"Intel on what?"
"Everything."
"Lay off the acid."
"I don't even touch that stuff."
"Well, you've been touching something."
Shaun waved his hand in the air as if she were the one that couldn't see the light.
"Open your eyes, Mercedes."
"They are open."
He picked up a pie and bit into it.
"Ah, now see you think they're open but they're not. We're in an alternate reality."
"Says who?"
"The universe."
"Oh, Shaun."
"This pie is good."
"I'll wrap the rest of them up for you to take home."
"You don't have to do that."
She squeezed his hand.
"I want to. It's Christmas."
"Thank you.
"Besides not many people are asking for mince pie. We have over a dozen in the kitchen".
He smiled.
"Yeah, I guess it's more of a British thing. Is Quinn coming in today?"
"No, it's just me holding down the fort. Remember, she's a married woman." She said, teasing him."
"I don't like Quinn like that," Shaun said, looking down at the counter and blushing.
"Like hell you don't."
"No, I really don't."
"Humph, if you say so," she said, "Are you seeing your Mom today?"
Shaun' eyes dimmed.
"No, her new boyfriend is a dick."
"She'll dump him eventually."
"I hope so, " he said and unzipped his backpack, taking out a small package wrapped in silver paper, he handed it to her, "I got something for you."
"You didn't have to get me anything."
"I know. Go on, open it."
Mercedes opened the gift: it was the latest NASA reels -Volume 2 of the Galaxy Series for her View-Master. She went leaned over and hugged him.
"Thank you, Shaun, that's so thoughtful of you."
"I knew you would like it."
The door jingled and a man with long, unkempt blonde hair, a camera around his neck, and a guitar slung over his shoulder along with a small, green duffel bag, sauntered into the diner. He wore a lined denim jacket with various patches: a yellow smiley face, an American flag, Flash Gordon, and the one that made her chuckle under her breath, was the round, green patch that said Black is Beautiful in big, black capital letters. It was too much. He had sideburns and intense green eyes, and when he looked at Mercedes, she found it hard to stare back, so she began wiping down the Formica teal counter.
"May I help you?"
"Coffee please," he said sitting down to the counter next to the Shaun who stared at him like he crashed the party as he finished his second mince pie; the man acknowledged him with a nod.
"Anything else?" Mercedes said.
"That's all for now."
"One coffee, coming up. Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please."
She poured the coffee and slid it over to him along with packets of sugar and little containers of cream.
"Are the refills free?" The man said.
"Yes."
"Thanks."
While he stirred cream, sugar and a dash of salt into his coffee, Mercedes refilled the salt-and-pepper shakers, as Shaun chatted with her about government secrets, outer space, and the new Gene Wilder movie "The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother" which he saw three times already. She saw the blond man watching them from the corner of her eye, and while that would usually be unnerving to her, she wasn't bothered by it.
"I'm going to see it again tonight," Shaun said.
"The theaters are open?" Mercedes said.
"Yeah."
"I'm surprised. Are you going with friends?"
"Yeah, well, I was thinking maybe – "
"Excuse me," the husband of the middle-aged couple said from the nearby booth, "Do you know how far Lima Heights is from here?"
"Frank," his wife said with a sigh, "It's not Lima Heights. We're going to East River."
"Fine, Mildred. Ok, do you know how far East River is?"
"It's about twenty minutes from here," Shaun said.
"Listen, son, do you think you could help us? We can't make heads or tails of this," Frank said gesturing toward the roadmap on the table.
"Sure."
"Bless you," Gladys said.
Shaun went to their booth and began helping them with a route to East River. Not too long after that, the couple left and gave Mercedes a generous ten dollar tip.
"Merry Christmas," they said as they walked out the door into the frigid cold weather.
"Thank you, Merry Christmas!" Mercedes said and put the tip in her pocket.
"You deserved that," Shaun said, smiling at her.
"Thank you. I think so too."
"Well, I'd better be heading back to the dorm. I got some stuff to do."
Mercedes hugged him.
"Merry Christmas, and if I don't see you, have a Happy New Year."
When she broke the embrace, Shaun looked at her a moment with an expression she couldn't decipher. It was so brief that she didn't have time to analyze it.
"See you around," he said and quickly walked out.
The blond man stayed the rest of the evening, drinking coffee and reading a black and white composition book. She didn't engage him in any small talk because he was so engrossed in whatever he was reading, but his presence was soothing for some reason, like a silent friend. Now it was almost ten o'clock at night, and she wanted to close up, she lit a cigarette, took a drag and let the ashes fall into a cracked saucer on the counter. "Silent Night" by the Temptations played on the old jukebox. She hummed along and watched the portable black and white TV set she brought from home. It sat on the counter and kept her company when business was slow. The nightly news anchors droned on about quadrupling oil prices, Muammar el-Qaddafi, Shah Mohammed Raza Pahlavi, and President Ford. The anchors urged everyone to stay off the roads because of the season's worst snowstorm, before switching to a story about a man dressed as Santa Claus found dead behind the Lucky Irish bowling alley on 14th street.
Mercedes turned off the little TV, looked at her lone customer, sitting at the opposite end of the long counter and sighed; she hated to throw him out, but it was late, her feet ached, and it was Christmas Eve. Though she had nothing to go home to except her tabby cat Cuddles, and she wasn't even sure if the cat liked her or not, as temperamental as she could be: hissing one minute and purring the next, and her cold, empty apartment had no Christmas tree or decorations.
Mercedes watched the heavy snowfall and worried the buses would stop running due to the inclement weather. She could take a cab, though the drivers in Lima, were cowards when it came to snow.
"Hey," she said, as she put out her cigarette in the saucer, "I gotta close up."
The man looked at her.
"Oh."
"Yeah so…"
He shut his composition book.
"Did you need any help?"
"Help?"
"With closing up."
Mercedes looked around the diner. She already wiped down the booths and mopped the floor. All the dishes were washed; she only had to count the money.
"No, I just need to lock up."
Then the phone rang.
"Excuse me," she said and went to the kitchen to answer it.
"Hello."
"Hey, Mercedes, it's Clovis. The buses stopped running. Roads are bad."
"I just heard it on the news."
"Yeah, girl, you better take a cab."
"Thanks for calling."
"You're welcome, Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
She hung up and called the only two cab companies in Lima. Both were closed for the night. She walked back out to the dining area. The man looked at her, his face worried.
"Are you ok?"
"Buses and cabs aren't running."
"It's bad out there. How far do you live from here?"
"About five miles."
"That's a bit of a walk."
"I can't walk in this weather."
"I'd offer you a ride, but I hitchhiked."
"That's dangerous."
"I've been through worse."
Mercedes walked to the window and stared out into the snowy night.
"I was an idiot for not leaving sooner."
"What are you going to do?"
"What do you think? I'm stuck here."
"There aren't any hotels?"
"Not close by."
"Well, if you don't mind company, I'd like to stay too. I have nowhere to go."
"Oh, sure, you can stay," she said, looking at him, unsure if she was making the right decision.
He smiled, holding out his hand.
"I'm Sam."
She shook his callused hand, then pointed to her nametag:
"Mercedes."
"Yeah, I know."
She stood there awkwardly and touched her Afro.
"Well, uh, did you want anything to eat?"
"I don't have any – "
"Don't worry; it's on the house. Besides you can't live on coffee."
"For now that's all I can afford."
"It's ok. Consider this a Christmas gift."
He stared at her, his eyes watered.
"Thank you. That means a lot. But your feet hurt," he said nodding down at her scuffed white shoes.
"How did you know?"
"You're walking funny."
Mercedes sat down in the vinyl jade green booth.
"So they are. Give me a few minutes to rest."
"I'll cook us something if that's alright."
Mercedes looked up at him, trying to figure out if he was crazy, but then she didn't care because she was tired and alone and stranded in a God-forsaken diner.
"Knock yourself out."
"What do you want?"
"Surprise me."
"Alright," he said, walking away.
"Wait."
He stopped and turned around.
"What?"
"Could you bring me that pack of cigarettes and that saucer?"
He brought her the cigarettes and saucer and placed them in front of her. She took her lighter out of her pocket and lit one.
"Thank you; I could use a drink," she said, blowing smoke into the air.
"Do you want me to bring you anything from the kitchen?"
"Yeah, Spoony keeps a stash of liquor in the pantry to calm his nerves."
"Who's Spoony?"
"He owns this place," she said closing her eyes, "I think there's a bottle of Johnnie Walker back there."
"I'll get it for you."
"Thanks," she said, smiling up at him. Though he was scruffy and had a free love vibe, she thought he was handsome, in an understated way. Then she wondered what he thought of her.
A few minutes later he returned with the whiskey and a tumbler and went back to the kitchen and began cooking supper. Mercedes poured herself some whiskey and took a sip, getting that warm, toasty feeling she craved. "Where Do the Lonely Go on Christmas" by the Emotions began playing on the jukebox. The song made her feel sadder than she's felt in a long time. It was snowing so hard she couldn't see much outside, except a few bright streetlights. She opened her tote bag and retrieved her small, oval-shaped metal pillbox with a picture of a 1920's flapper on the front with rosy cheeks and big eyes, sitting on a porch drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola. Mercedes opened it up and looked at the ocean blue cyanide gel capsule inside the pillbox, taking it out, she held it in the palm of her baby-soft hand for a few seconds before putting it away. She finished her glass of whiskey and ground out her cigarette. The song ended on the jukebox and there was silence.
The strong aroma of garlic, onions and tomato sauce filled the diner; whatever Sam was cooking made her mouth water. The last man to prepare a meal for her was her ex-boyfriend Tyrone and the less she thought about him, the better; the only thing he was good at making was Spanish rice, cornbread, and chicken wings and that got old after awhile. She shifted about in the booth, adjusting her tight uniform. Her Rubenesque body was too large for the dress.
When she was a kid, her mother usually went to the Chubbies section of the store for her clothes, but that was a faraway memory, just like seeing the camera flash cube burst in a blast of light, as she stood in front of the fireplace in her little green velvet dress with a big white bow, and her father saying he loved her as he took her picture, her face was all smiles and her hair pressed and shiny with Blue Magic pomade. Mercedes recalled him showing her the stars in their backyard, lying next to the sweet rosebushes, telling her she could fly if she wanted to; she closed her eyes with every intention of only resting for a few moments, but she fell asleep, and when she woke up she felt Sam shake her arm.
"Mercedes?"
She opened her eyes, confused at first but then remembering where she was.
"Hmm, yes?"
"Everything is ready."
She looked down at the table and saw two plates heaped with spaghetti and thick meat sauce, and a platter of white toast.
"You didn't have garlic bread," he said sitting across from her.
"That's fine. Dinner looks great."
"You were dreaming."
"Yes I was," she said, picking up the fork, and winding pasta around it, "It's funny how you can't remember your dreams but remember the feeling of them. Thanks again for cooking."
"It's the least I could do. You let me stay."
"I couldn't throw you out in the street."
"Trust me; it's happened before."
They stared at each other for a moment and began eating. The wind howled outside.
"I'll pay you back for all of this," Sam said, piling the spaghetti onto a piece of toast, "I can send you the money."
"I told you it was a gift, so what brings you to Lima?"
"This is as far as my ride would go."
"Where are you off to next?"
"I don't know."
Mercedes nodded and continued eating. Sam wolfed down his spaghetti, and she wondered when was the last time he ate. As he scooped up the last bit of noodles and sauce on his plate, he said:
"I'm getting seconds. You want anything?"
"No, but thanks for asking."
He nodded and left. Mercedes finished her spaghetti, letting out a crude belch, thankful Sam wasn't around to hear it. Soon he was back at their table, with another plate of spaghetti and meat sauce.
"You've got an appetite," she said.
"I love pasta."
"I can see that."
"It doesn't cook like this where I'm from."
Mercedes tilted her head, a bit confused.
"What do you mean?"
He blushed and shrugged, and took a bite of his food.
"Uh, nothing."
Mercedes thought that was odd, but didn't dwell on it. She poured herself another glass of whiskey. He pointed to the bottle, Johnnie Walker.
"Why do you drink that?"
"Are you religious or something?"
"No, I was just wondering."
"Why does anybody drink?"
"I don't know. Does it taste good?"
"I guess. So you've never had whiskey?"
"No."
"Any alcohol at all?"
"No."
"How old are you?"
He thought for a moment as if he couldn't remember, then he said:
"I'm 24."
"Are you sure?" Mercedes said, raising her eyebrows.
Sam laughed.
"Yes, I'm sure," he said and took a drink of water. He pointed to her cigarettes.
"I wonder about those too."
"Where are you from?"
He grew quiet and didn't say anything for such a long time that Mercedes said:
"Hey, forget it. I don't need to know. I'm sorry for prying."
Sam said nothing and ate his spaghetti. Mercedes got up from the booth and went to the jukebox. She chose Elvis Presley's "Blue Christmas" and dropped in a quarter and went back to the booth. Sam bobbed his head to the song.
"I like this," he said.
"Even though it's sad, I like it," Mercedes said.
"Are you always sad?"
"Who said I was –" She stopped talking because someone banged on the locked door.
"Help me!" A man screamed.
Mercedes got up and went to the door, raising the blinds she saw a tall gray-haired man, bleeding and clutching his stomach.
"Please help me!"
She was about to open the door when Sam grabbed her arm.
"Don't open it."
"Sam, he's hurt."
"Don't do it."
"Why, what's wrong with you?"
"Trust me."
The man continued screaming, his agony was unbearable; and she had to end it.
"Let go of me," she said, trying to get free from his grasp, but he was too powerful for her.
"I said no."
"Let me in, please" the man yelled, beating his fists against the glass; he sounded as if someone were stabbing a knife into his flesh.
"Go to the storeroom," Sam said, his grip tightening, "And lock the door."
The man slammed his fists against the door, and the glass began cracking, and an aquamarine light shined from his hands.
"Go!" Sam said, shoving her away from the door.
"What – what's happening I – "
"Just go!"
The man continued beating the door; the light grew brighter, his eyes glowed blue, and the blood faded away and changed to red crystals, sticking to his skin, which was no longer pale human flesh: it was brilliant, glowing light and was bright blue. The glass shattered and the humanoid creature grabbed Sam, shoving him to the floor.
Mercedes wanted to run but she couldn't: panic-stricken, she stood there, clinging to the booth post.
"You disobeyed," the creature said to Sam, who struggled to stand and slowly got up from the floor now covered with shards of shining glass, a fierce gust of wind blew into the diner.
The creature grabbed Sam, shoving him back against the counter, staring into his eyes; "Did you think you could continue?"
Sam pushed the creature off of him, and it stumbled back but regained its balance.
"I haven't disobeyed."
"You need to return."
"Ares, my decision is mine alone."
"Brother, you remember my name."
"Yes," Sam said as his skin became the same glowing blue shade as Ares.
"I thought you've forgotten with your human side taking over."
"Get out!"
"Will she tell?" Ares said, pointing to Mercedes, who trembled, and clung to the post; tears ran down her cheeks.
"Leave her alone."
Ares stared at Mercedes. Despite his violent temper and arrogance, she thought he was beautiful.
"Go," Sam said to him.
"You've been gone long enough. It's time to come back," Ares said, facing him once again.
"I'll decide when to return," Sam said.
Ares shoved him.
"You selfish hybrid! You're unworthy to be the crystal keeper."
Sam punched him, and he fell backward, landing on the floor, atop the broken glass.
"I'm letting you off easy, but try me again and I'll hold nothing back," he said gazing down at his brother, "You're not worthy to touch it."
"You don't deserve its power. But since this is futile, I'll leave. But others will continue to come," Ares said as he stood up, shaking the glass from his skin.
"I know," Sam said, "Did you think you could trick me?"
"Of course," he said, looking over at Mercedes, "At least I deceived the girl."
Mercedes felt him inside her head: it was warm and pleasant like swimming in the ocean with the sun on your back or feeling the caress of a lover, beneath the covers.
Then coldness seeped beneath the warmth, an ugly emotion she wanted to avoid, she felt ice in her veins, and her breathing quickened.
"Stop it," Sam said, stepping in front of Mercedes, blocking her from his sight.
"She's receptive," Ares said, "Du mus sas ossocrad su sra serr. Good-bye, Asudu."
He walked through the broken glass door into the cold winter night and disappeared. Sam raised his hands, and the glass floated from the floor. The pieces formed together to make the door and once it was complete; he inserted it into the frame, and everything looked as it once was. Mercedes sat down in the booth, covering her face with her hands. She cried and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to calm down. Sam sat down beside her. She shoved him away.
"What the fuck just happened? What are you? What was he?"
"I'm only part human."
"What's the other part?"
"I'm a Zyfonian."
Mercedes felt ill and ran to the bathroom and into one of the stalls, throwing up into the toilet. She knew it was her fear that made her sick. Sam came into the bathroom a few moments later.
"Mercedes?"
"I don't know what you are or why you're here and I don't care. I won't tell anyone about anything I saw. Just leave. Please."
"I can't."
"Take all the money in the register. And you can have all my tips."
"Mercedes, hear me out."
She flushed the toilet, opening the stall.
"Please leave me out of this. I don't even understand what I just saw. I don't need to know anything else. Just go!"
"I have to tell you something."
She went to the sink and washed her hands.
"You look human now."
"Like I said, I'm only part Zyfonian."
"I have to sit down."
They walked out of the bathroom back out to the dining area. Mercedes sat down in the booth.
"Are you cold?"
"Yes."
Sam stretched out his arms and Mercedes instantly became warm; she sighed in relief, it felt as if he wrapped an invisible blanket around her body.
"I'm so tired."
"Go to sleep."
"What did you do?"
Sam waved his hands, and the lights went out, but the Christmas lights stayed on in the window and so did the ones on the tree.
"You don't like complete darkness," he said.
"How did you – "
"Shh, go to sleep."
"I can't sleep, Sam, or is it that other name Ares called you?"
"Asudu is my Zyfonian name."
Mercedes closed her eyes.
Sam sat in the opposite side of the booth.
"Mercedes?"
"Yes?"
"Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"You have so many questions, and this is the best way to give you answers."
"I don't understand."
"You will once we're holding hands. I have to show you my story."
"You're not making sense."
"I won't hurt you. I promise."
Mercedes had no choice but to trust him. Only an hour before, a glowing blue man with ruby red blood crystals, reached inside her for a brief moment and she stood in his brilliant light. And now Sam was an alien that could warm her skin, fix glass doors, and turn off lights with what appeared to be magic. She was a lonely waitress, in a diner in the most boring town in America, working on Christmas Eve, how could any of this happen?
"Please, Mercedes…"
She took a deep breath and reached across the table, placing her hands in his.
"Alright."
"Close your eyes."
When she closed her eyes, Mercedes became afraid; her heart beat fast. Sam squeezed her hands tight.
"Be calm."
"I can't help it."
"It's ok," he said, and his voice sounded far away.
Mercedes felt herself drifting as if she were going through a tunnel.
"Open your eyes," Sam said.
They were no longer in the diner but on a dream-like, celestial planet with six full white moons and mountainous blue terrain. It was nighttime, and a white substance resembling snow sparkled on the ground. A group of Zyfonians sat in a crystal glass room around a floating glass table. There were about a dozen of them, both male and female, their blue skin glowed, and their hair was white but shimmered in a rainbow of colors.
Mercedes looked at Sam.
"Can they see us?" she whispered.
"No."
"Where am I?"
"Zyfonia."
Mercedes turned her attention to the scene happening before them. A male Zyfonian, who looked like he was in charge, spoke first:
"Humans need our help. Earth's resources will be depleted."
"What's the purpose of our helping humans? It appears to be burdensome." Another one asked, he sat across from the man who appeared to be the leader.
"We can teach them advanced conflict resolution and resource preservation, and study their culture, habits, art, music. Then we will take over Earth and rule them. With another planet, our military will be more powerful. Humans could never survive without our leadership. And we would have access to gold, silver, and other precious metals. We're saving them from destruction."
"What if the humans don't want to be ruled?"
"They will once they see the benefit. We'll wear skin shields that will make us look human, and reveal our true selves eventually, but we will use discernment and figure out when the time is right. We'll take the crystal from the Sacred Tower for guidance. Only those worthy can touch it to gain wisdom. It will have different keepers to spread the knowledge."
Then Mercedes and Sam were on Earth again where the Zyfonians lived and wore skin shields, intermingling with humans, slowly teaching them about how to avoid destruction of Earth and humanity. It began in ancient times with papyrus scrolls, stone tablets and cave paintings and humans believed the stars guided them and God spoke through nature. When the Zyfonians revealed their true selves to select humans, some revered them as Gods and built temples in their honor out of marble and gold, while others grew frightened and wanted to kill them, believing they were demons; though the Zyfonians were too strong to destroy and conquer. Each century the crystal was possessed by a different Zyfonian crystal keeper, and as the years passed by, many of the aliens fell in love with humans and mated with them creating hybrids who were born with powers; some used their power for nefarious purposes creating dictatorships while others did good work.
During their time on Earth, the Zyfonians stopped wars; however they soon realized that ceasing one war, only created others. The more humans evolved and advanced from the Zyfonians' teaching, the more division it caused across Earth. Death, greed, and war consumed humanity. The Zyfonians grew disillusioned with creating a better human species and aborted the mission getting their guidance from the crystal. Some stayed behind and lived on Earth because they had families with humans; and for the sake of survival, they kept on their skin shields in public, taking them off only at home; while others returned to Zyfonia. Some attempted to steal the crystal, not believing it told them to abort the mission; but when they touched it, they crystal scorched their hands, and they lost their eyes.
The Zyfonians became myths as the government said aliens never existed; the temples remained and were considered the beliefs of ancient, lost civilizations. The charismatic aliens became folktales and campfire stories. Mercedes and Sam moved through the span of time re-living the history as it unfolded, from BC to the 1950's and suddenly they were in a small, yellow kitchen with shiny white-tiled floors.
A couple argued by the sink filled with dirty dishes and soapy water. The woman had blond hair, and was slender; she wore a bathrobe, her feet were bare. Dressed in a dark suit and striped tie, the man was taller than the woman. She leaned against the sink, facing him. A little boy sat on the kitchen floor in plaid pajamas, playing with blocks, he was about four years old, with shiny blond hair like the woman and bluish-tinted skin. As he stacked the blocks, he looked up at the man and woman, his eyes fearful while he listened to the argument.
"We can make this work," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
"I don't want him to be ashamed of who he is," she said, "I know you mean well but –"
"We'll teach him how to be proud."
"No we can't, not when I hide."
She pushed the man aside and tugged at her pale skin which came off like a mask, and underneath was her natural glowing blue skin, and her hair was no longer blonde, but white, and it shimmered like a prism. She was breathtaking.
He hugged her.
"Your skin shield protects you."
"It was different before the baby."
"He's part human."
"I want him to live in both worlds."
The little boy closed his eyes, and the blocks floated around him, and he made them fly over to his parents, tapping them both on the head.
"Asudu, stop that," she said.
"His name is Sam. Don't confuse him," he said.
Sam looked at his parents and began to cry.
His mother picked him up.
"There, there, it's ok," she said, soothing him, and then she said to the father: "He's picking up on our energy."
"Yes, I know."
"I can't do this anymore," she said.
He sighed.
"I understand the need for him to know who he is. I do not deny that. "But we agreed to live on Earth."
Sam reached for his father who took the boy from her arms.
"It's ok, son."
"I know what we agreed to, and I've changed my mind. I can't live here anymore. I thought I could do it. So much has changed."
"Like what?"
"I used to be ok playing a certain role, knowing what lines I had to confine myself in and it felt safe, and I was happy, but now the lines feel like bars; and we have a child, and I never want him to deny who he is. I want to go back."
"But going back to Zyfonia, is only giving a part of who he is; he's only known Earth. This is his home."
"I want him to come with me," she said, "I want you to come too. Your health won't be affected."
"But my lungs."
"The air is different now."
"Do you want me to die?"
"No, I don't. I've been communicating with home, and I'm told the atmosphere has changed. You could breathe on your own.
"I almost died before."
"You'll survive this time. I promise. I wouldn't be asking to live on Zyfonia if it put your life in danger. I love you. I want all of us to stay together as a family. You even said yourself that my planet is beautiful. I don't feel like I can breathe on Earth anymore; too many conflicts and sorrow."
"Zyfonia isn't perfect."
"I'm not saying it is."
"I love you."
She hung her head.
"I know. I thought the love would be enough, but it's not. And I'm sorry.
"Families like ours survive all the time. I don't know if I could live there permanently. Earth is home."
"I'm sorry," she whispered tears filled her eyes.
She kissed his cheek and walked away. Sam clung to his father as they watched his mother leave the kitchen in all her majestic beauty. The boy shook his head, and thrust his arms forward, creating a force that willed his mother back to him.
"Musrar, cuka bocd," he said.
She almost scolded him for his behavior, but upon seeing his sad face, she said:
"Asudu, I ruqa aeui."
His father put his arms around them both, and they hugged each other in a fierce embrace and moments later, a blast of white light shined, and his mother was gone.
Mercedes felt Sam's pain as he cried in his father's arms. Sam grabbed her hand.
"Close your eyes."
She did as he asked and the same drifting in a tunnel feeling came over her and when he told her to open her eyes again, they were in the diner sitting in the booth, but this time side by side and it was daylight. How long had they been gone?
Sam touched her cheek.
"Are you ok?"
"Did you ever see her again?"
"Yes, in fact, after my parents split up, I would spend one year on Zyfonia with my mother and one year on Earth with my father. And he would come to Zyfonia while I was there, but then over time, he couldn't because even though the atmosphere changed and he could breathe easier, he met someone else, and things weren't the same between him and my mother, and then she met somebody and so it was just me traveling between the two planets."
"Wow. How did you adjust?"
"I don't know. I just did. Then my brother Ares was born in Zyfonia and my other brother Scott here on Earth."
"So you have a Zyfonian brother and a human brother."
"I have brothers."
Mercedes could hear the edge in his voice, so she said:
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean – "
"It's ok."
They sat in silence. Mercedes felt overwhelmed. These aliens lived among humans for centuries. It blew her mind.
"So how did you get the crystal?"
"It chose me."
"Chose you?"
"Yes, it finds you, once the previous keeper no longer possesses it; the crystal searches for the next keeper and once it deems you worthy, you receive it. Some Zyfonians don't like that I have it since I'm a hybrid."
"What was that language you were speaking?"
"Zyfon."
"Why weren't they speaking Zyfon at the meeting?"
"I translated it for you in my memory. Sorry for the last part, I couldn't make the switch to English."
Mercedes understood what he meant. His parents' separation still hurt him.
"What happened to the other hybrids?"
"I believe most of them are dead. I was one of the last ones born. Not a lot of Zyfonians live on Earth anymore they went home."
"I see."
Sam placed his hand over hers.
"I need to tell you something."
"Am I going inside your head again?"
"No," he said, a tiny smile on his full lips, "And you weren't in my head."
"It felt like it."
"There's going to be an intergalactic war and - ."
Suddenly the phone rang in the kitchen. Sam looked at her, startled.
"Why would someone be calling the diner on Christmas morning. It's closed."
"I don't know."
"Don't answer it."
Mercedes decided to listen to him in light of what happened with Ares the previous night. The phone continued ringing. Sam got up from the booth.
"Mercedes?"
"Yes?"
"Take my hand."
"Why?"
"I can't explain now. You'll have to trust me again."
Mercedes got up and held his hand. Suddenly there was a tremendous rumble, the diner floor opened up, and they fell into a hole and were inside a giant tunnel made of blue ice. Sam held her tight as they continued falling. It was like a dream or nightmare; she couldn't decide. Mercedes wanted to scream, but couldn't, the blue ice walls were like gas stove light flames. When they finally stopped falling, they landed in the backyard of her childhood home; and it was a summer night. The air was warm and humid, and the rose bushes were in full bloom; the stars shined in the black sky; appearing so close that she felt as if she could touch them, yet their brilliance felt artificial. The smell of freshly cut grass and reminded her of field day, family picnics in the park, and carnivals. Lying in the yard, with Sam's arms around her, she trembled as she tried to catch her breath. Everything was vivid and serene, to the point of being unreal. It was like being inside a painting with all the edges slightly blurred.
"Why are we here?"
"Do you remember it?"
"Yes, I know where I am. But we can't be here because – "
"Don't worry. It's a safe place."
She listened to the crickets chirp and smelled the sweet roses.
"But it doesn't exist anymore," she said, looking at the brick house, a soft yellow light shined in the window, the curtains were open, and the TV was on in the living room, "Everything is gone."
"It exists in your memories."
"How do you even know my memories? What is this place? Is it real?"
"I can read people while they sleep."
Mercedes sat up. She didn't like him poking into her most vulnerable state, the place where her childhood home remained on Maple street, and it was always summer. He stroked her arm.
"I'm sorry for intruding."
"What is this place?"
"It's where everything you conceive in your dreams and memories lives."
"Let's go into the house," Sam said, helping her off the ground.
Fireflies danced around them. Mercedes looked up at the sky and saw Orion; then she heard a dog bark and a little black poodle ran over to her.
"Patsy," she said, picking up the dog and began to cry as she hugged her childhood pet. She smelled like eucalyptus pet shampoo, and her brown leather color with a tiny gold bell looked new. Patsy licked her face. Her dog looked like she could be on a calendar featuring cute pets. Was Patsy always so well groomed? Sam guided her into the house.
"I know you're overwhelmed, but it's the only hiding place I could think of."
Upon entering, Mercedes smelled the strong familiar scent of Pine-Sol, her mother used it to clean everything. Plastic covered the white leather couch with short wooden legs. The green glass coffee table had a partially completed puzzle of the solar system on it along with an empty blue mug and a pair of reading glasses. The hardwood floors were waxed and shiny. The blue ceramic lamps on the end tables provided soft, yellowish light; A commercial for Kool cigarettes played on the television, the gold starburst clock hanging above the fireplace ticked off the minutes; it was 7:30 pm. Family photos hang on the brown paneled walls. Mercedes sat on the couch, and the plastic stuck on the back of her thighs as she remembered. Patsy cuddled up on her lap. Sam sat down beside her. Mercedes looked around the room, taking it all in; it felt real and unreal all at once.
"I know this is my dream or memory or whatever but why is it a little –
"A little too perfect?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe it's nostalgia."
"It's nice here."
Footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. Then Mr. Jones' voice called out:
"Mercy!"
"Sam, what's happening? My father is - "
"But so is Patsy."
"I'm scared. Is Dad a ghost?"
Before Sam could respond, Mr. Jones came into the living room, dressed in Bermuda shorts and a short-sleeved yellow shirt.
"There you are, pumpkin, ready to see the stars? Maybe we can see the Pleiades. Then I'll take you to Walgreens for an egg cream. You're wearing your new hair ribbon"
Mr. Jones had the same, gentle face and alto voice she remembered. She handed Patsy to Sam and went to her father, hugging him inhaling the woodsy, citrus scent of his English Leather cologne.
"Dad, I've missed you so much. I love you."
But her father didn't hug her back, and his arms remained at their sides as he said:
"There you are, pumpkin, ready to see the stars? Maybe we can see the Pleiades. Then I'll take you to Walgreens for an egg cream. You're wearing your new hair ribbon"
Mercedes was confused. Why did her father repeat himself? Why wasn't he hugging her? She looked at Sam.
"What's going on? Why did he repeat what he just said? Can he see you?"
"This is your memory of him. Not an interaction. He can't see me."
Her father stood there looking at her smiling. The TV repeated the Kool cigarette commercial, and the jazzy piano jingle was cheerful and upbeat:
"Come up to the Kool taste. Taste extra coolness every time you smoke."
"There you are, pumpkin, ready to see the stars? Maybe we can see the Pleiades. Then I'll take you to Walgreens for an egg cream. You're wearing your new hair ribbon"
Mercedes got up and went to the mirror hanging on the wall near the door. She looked into it, and she was nine years old and wore a red Mickey Mouse t-shirt. And her hair wasn't in an Afro; it was in a single French braid with a red satin ribbon tied at the end.
"Sam, am I a little girl?"
"No."
"What do you see?"
"I see you."
"But this mirror – " she gazed into it and then understood that since this was her memory, she would be nine years old. The summer evening they saw the Pleiades was the happiest time of her life, but she didn't have time to re-live it. Sam brought her here to protect her. By instinct, she closed her eyes and whispered.
"I'll come back, Dad."
Mercedes turned around, and her father was gone. She sat down on the couch and Patsy jumped into her lap.
"Tell me about the war."
Sam leaned back on the couch.
"In one week, Earth could be destroyed."
END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!
Here are the translations for the Zyfon language – Ares: Du mus sas ossocrad su sra serr - Do not get attached to the girl.
Sam's Mother: Asudu, I ruqa aeui: Asudu, I love you.
Sam: Musrar, cuka bocd – Mother, come back.