The Escapade

"We had a place that we could call home, and a life no one could touch."
-Prayer of the Refugee; Rise Against

When I was sixteen or so, I landed my first job. I was out to get the job done, and to prove to my parents that I was worthy of being one of them—a working individual. Growing up in a working family, everyone was so stubborn that each and every one of us stood up against each other every time there was a disagreement. My mom had to be the worst out of all of us. She always did everything, and always did it correctly. My dad was like her, but he did his work in an orthodox way. My grandparents were the same. Everyone knew how to work, work correctly, and be satisfied at the end of the day.

Now, I'm twenty-one. I'm still at the same job have been—at a diner—and my position hasn't moved at all. I'm still a waitress, and every now and again I'm the manager. I don't get paid much, but at least I'm working, right? I'm paid in minimum wage, which is roughly around seven dollars or so, give or take a few cents. Tips don't come in easily, even though many prefer me as their waitress. I even get requests now and then to come and wait on people, which I find extremely neat. I wasn't all that favored in high school, during and even after I graduated four years ago. I didn't do what I wanted to, but I did graduate in the top of my class. I'm saving up for college, too. The only reason why I didn't ask for a scholarship is because I really couldn't break my bond with this place.

Today was the first day of summer, which meant more and more people would be filing in soon. School is out for break, and I know most people's jobs are most likely hitting a all time low or high. This season brings out the 'hit and miss' of the economy—from here it could either go up or down. As I'm mopping the floor, I move to get out of my manager's way. Okay, maybe she isn't the manager, but she's the manager's granddaughter, I should say.

"Get out of my way!" she exclaimed. I rolled my eyes and continued to mop the floor while she sat on a bar stool painting her nails. She held her too-expensive-wasting-money phone against her shoulder while she chatted away. This chick was someone I never wanted to be. Her name was Kate, and she was the granddaughter of Elaine, the manager. Kate never stayed around, except for one hour a day. She stayed here from seven to eight o'clock, opening time to one hour after. Her snobby-nosed boyfriend picked her up at eight, and God knows what they did. I tried to befriend Kate, because she was in school with me and graduated when I did.

Elaine was nice to me. She was the best—and only—manager I ever had. Her mother opened the diner up when she was around my age. The diner is named after her mother, too—Bonnie's Drive Thru. Elaine hardly talked about her mother, even though she remembers her quite well. Elaine isn't old; she is only in her mid sixties. She doesn't show her age, which is something she has in common with my family. Her daughter's name is Victoria, who is complete polar opposite of Elaine. Victoria and her daughter are very similar, which I'm guessing why they never come around much. Elaine hardly ever talks about Victoria either, but only says, "She'll learn about her family one day," and leaves it be. None of us at the diner ask about Elaine's life, but we'll listen carefully when she does speak about it. Elaine is very kind and gentle, but she can be austere when she wants to be.

I'm pretty okay with the workers here. We all know each other and have been friends for a long time. Sometimes I think that I'm the one who brought everyone together, but it could be just me.

"Lexie," Elaine called from the kitchen. "I need you to start inventory after your break today."

I nodded and agreed; inventory wasn't something I looked forward to doing, but I had to. My friend LB and I were the only ones who knew how to do inventory.

"Speaking of LB," I whispered to myself, setting the mop aside. "Hey, LB! You got a minute?" I yelled.

LB—short for Laura Beth—came out of the kitchen. "Always for you, darling." She said jokingly. "What's up?"
"Inventory." I said. The one word that made her face turn whiter than usual.

"Ugh, seriously?" she asked.

"Yeah, I know."

"Okay. After break?"
"That's fine." I said. She opened her mouth to speak, but it closed and formed into a wicked smile. She pointed discreetly into the corner of the diner. "Your man is here." She whispered.

My insides jumped internally as I knew whom she was referring to. I whipped out my notepad and pencil as I walked over to him. He always came in here late, always ordered the same meal, and left me a larger tip than he really should. No one at the diner knew him but me, and no one else spoke to him. I asked LB about it, once. She said that most were afraid to, because he looked intimidating.

"Good morning, sir." I said with a smile as I approached his table. He returned the smile.

"Morning, Lexie. I'll have the usual." He said simply. I nodded at him and gave him a cup of coffee to hold him over while I fixed his meal. He was simply referred to as "My Man" at the diner, because neither of us knew his name. I was prompted to ask on certain occasions, but I didn't want to interfere that much. I was pretty shy, too. He was tall and slender, but mostly made of muscle from what I could tell. His eyes were the deepest but lightest blue I ever saw, and his hair was a light gray. He was very aristocratic looking—a strong and high set jaw line, a stern facial expression and his eyes could pierce your soul. He was very laid back and nonchalant. He rarely laughed, and when he did, the sound came from Heaven. He had the deepest but huskiest voice in this town. Today, he was wearing blue jeans—form fitting from all angles, by the way—and a navy blue short-sleeved shirt. He wasn't old, though. He was talking to a friend once, and I overheard the conversation. He was only twenty-six, and he was single.

I wasn't about to change the last part because there wasn't any way on God's earth that he would go for someone like me.

I handed him his regular breakfast meal—toast, eggs sunny-side up, bacon and two biscuits—and simply said, "Enjoy."

"Thanks, doll." He said as I left the table. I felt his eyes bore into the back of me, and I knew he was watching me walk away. I turned to LB in the kitchen and smiled at her.

"I'm going to get his name tomorrow."