6 – Dinner is served
Ethan and I worked on the gazebo until dinner, stopped for the evening, then began the task again the following morning. By mid-afternoon the second day, it was nearly done, and Ethan had other work to do, so we called it quits for the time being and went our separate ways.
I took the opportunity to drive into Durant to pick up some groceries and refill my medication. Clouds were beginning to roll in making the temperature dip slightly, but it was still very pleasant. Sugar and I strolled down Main Street, and I paused outside the Busy Bee Café thinking. Tying the dog to the lamp post, I went into the time-capsule diner, the little bell above the door jingling: black and white checked linoleum, polished red and white counters and table tops edged with chrome, red vinyl seats and stools, glass-domed pastry displays, and an old cash register behind one end of the counter. The place had charm and looked like it was frozen in the fifties. On a large, black chalk board above the short-order window behind the counter, the specials of the day were proudly displayed.
An older woman, probably in her late sixties, her silver-streaked black hair sharply pulled back in a bun from her painfully thin face was standing at the short-order window talking with the cook. It was after lunch, and there were only a handful of people in the diner. I caught sight of a young man sitting alone in a booth by the window gazing absently at me. Strangers must be an odd sight in this small town, I figured.
The woman approached as I was looking over the choices on the board.
"What can I get ya, Honey?" she greeted.
"The meatloaf looks good. To go, please." I placed my order.
She gave the order to the cook, and I heard rattling in the kitchen.
"Not from around here, are ya?" she made small talk as the meal was being prepared.
"No," I stated simply.
"Well, ya made a good choice. My meatloaf is the best in town. Served with mashed potatoes and gravy, peas and a homemade biscuit," she assured as the bell on the counter rung signaling that it was ready. Taking it from the kitchen ledge, she took it to the cash. "That'll be $5.75."
I paid the woman and took the container with the plastic fork and knife outside. Untying Sugar from the post, we crossed the street, and I carefully chose a bench in the park. Sitting on one end and looping Sugar's leash to the armrest, I put the container on the seat beside me.
Stroking Sugar's head, I kept my eyes forward and began conversationally, "Dogs are such good companions. They take you as you are. No judgments. Just a lot of love."
The old, native woman looked at me, her own dog sniffing the meatloaf-scented air between us.
I sat, relaxed, waiting a moment before continuing. "Life can be hard," I sighed and slowly stood, unhooking Sugar's leash. Looking straight at the old woman in her worn-out coat and scuffed shoes, I smiled kindly. "Doesn't always have to be, though."
Walking away, I left the take-out container on the seat beside the woman. When I reached my car and opened the back door to left Sugar in, I glanced back at her and her scraggly dog. Her dark eyes curiously followed me as she put her hand on the take-out box. My lips curled up in a quiet smile, and I nodded at her before getting in the car. She smiled back, gingerly took the box onto her lap and opened it. I could almost hear her light cackle of glee as she broke off a piece of the biscuit and fed it to the hungry dog.