One Step Forward

Date of events: Saturday, April 30

An Unreputable Eatery is in our Midst

The Blue Point Diner first opened its doors in 1933, and was once hailed as the pinnacle choice for Castle Rock residents to dine in for a meal. It has even won interstate awards five years running for its fine food. However, in recent times, the establishment has experienced an abysmal decline in food standard and service.

One of the most glaring issues is the diner's cleanliness, which no longer meets acceptable standards. Stains coat the tables, floorboards are not properly nailed down, and the utensils and plates are not properly cleaned. This lack of attention to hygienic standards poses a serious health concern to our community.

Secondly, the quality of the food served is simply not up to standard. Scones are served cold and raw, the portion sizes vary and the overall quality of meals are poorly executed.

Thirdly, and most severely, the service is ghastly. One staff member to cater for an entire luncheon leads to incredibly slow and poor service, and with that, they display a discourteous and dismissive attitude towards the very people who are keeping them in business…

I don't know why I kept that snippet from the local paper. I don't know why I just pasted it into my diary. I guess… because there's no better way to explain how I felt when I read it that Saturday morning.

I blamed myself for brushing off their threat and throwing them out, but at the same time, if I had let it go, I would have been eating out of the palms of their hands, responding to every beckoned call for the rest of my time there.

The owners of the diner weren't bothered by the article. They had owned that diner for over thirty years, and they had faith that the townspeople would be loyal, and at least smart enough to smell a rat.

The first customer in the next morning was a regular and the first proof of that theory. He's an older gentleman who never missed his Saturday morning soup routine and told me he knew the paper was a 'load of rubbish' and sat down to enjoy his usual meal like nothing had happened. Other regulars, though, seemed to become more observant; their eyes would roam through the diner from wall to wall, holding up their forks to check for old food and scrutinizing every detail.

Look… I scrub every single utensil with dish soap and boiling water and check every single one individually. Anyway, it was clear that some people were on the fence about the article, and all I could do was walk out there with my usual heartwarming grin and provide the most efficient service and tastiest food I could, and try to regain the people's trust.

I might have pushed myself a little too far, though. By evening, I was dragging my feet like Slowpoke Rodriguez, hunched over with the baggy eyes and everything. Still, there was no way I'd let myself leave without finishing every job to the highest standards.

Eventually, all was done. As I swung my backpack over my shoulder, I caught sight of the two grey pictures I had pinned to the diner's 'art wall' earlier that day. Two youngsters had come in to dine with their mother and happily grabbed coloring sheets, but since I had lost the crayons the day before and had been too busy to buy new ones, I instead lent them my plain, grey pencil to share. As you can imagine, their artwork didn't quite measure up to the myriad of other colorful masterpieces displayed on the wall.

I was about to lock the front door when the dull and rusty tone of its chimes sounded. Chris peeked his head through the crack in the door, and looked around as if scouting to check if any customers were in. Seeing that it was only me, he tentatively let the front door close behind him.

"Hey Chris, how are you?" I was genuinely happy to see him set foot in the diner again after what happened and was curious to find out the reason for his visit. "I'm so sorry about yesterday."

Clutching the strap of the heavily graffitied satchel that hung across his chest, he drew a heavy sigh.

"Is… everything OK?" I asked.

His face seemed long as he wandered towards me, as if something weighed heavily on his mind. He unlatched the brass buckle of the satchel and grasped onto something inside but just held it there as if still battling with the decision whether to take it out.

"What have you got there?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered before pulling out the pack of Crayola 8's and handing them to me.

"Oh, you did have them! I wondered if you'd picked them up by mistake. Thanks for returning them."

But my enthusiasm didn't seem to touch him. His expression remained sullen, and I understood all.

"It wasn't a mistake," he confessed, unable to look me in the eyes. "I mean, it was. I mean… it wasn't an accident." His cheeks went pinker.

"Oh. Well, look…. they're just a pack of crayons."

Those blue eyes flicked up to meet mine. "You mean… you're not mad?"

"Mad? Over that? No…"

Relief washed over him and he let out another deep sigh. "Last time I admitted to something like this, it didn't go down so well."

"Last time?"

He bit his lower lip and gazed at me for a moment. It was evident that he was weighing up whether he could trust me enough to tell me more. "Sometimes… I can't help it. You know?" He watched for my reaction.

"Well… I think everyone does things they can't explain. That doesn't make you a bad person."

"But you were so nice helping me with the maths and everything, and then I took those things right from under your nose. That makes me a shitty person in my book."

I gave him a warm smile. "Your eyes are open enough to see your faults, and you're willing to fix them - that's not being a shitty person, Chris."

"Then why do I feel so shitty?"

"That's exactly why. Remorse." I let my pack slide down my arm, dropping it on the floor at my feet. "How about I get us a milkshake or something?"

He shook his head, his expression all in a grump. "No thanks."

I placed the crayons on the counter behind me, ready for the next kid's art session, before slipping into the nearest booth to sit. I gestured for him to sit with me, and he eventually slid into the seat opposite.

"You should be proud of yourself for coming in here today. I mean, to me, they're just a pack of crayons, but I understand that to you, its more than that. It's the principal of it, right?"

He nodded.

"I get it," I said, and a sigh escaped me, heavy with empathy. "Believe me - I understand."

He studied my face curiously, and I bit back, realizing I had portrayed more than I intended.

"Nobody's perfect," I added swiftly, aiming to lighten the gravity of the moment. "We all have life lessons to learn."

"I don't know why I do it. I just pick stuff up," he shrugged. "Things people aren't using or don't need, or things I think they'll forget they had. I don't realize that… it might be stealing."

"Things like stationary?"

"Stuff from school, or at home, or anywhere. Someone leaves an eraser on the desk, I find a ruler dropped on the floor, my old man leaves cigarettes around the house, I just take 'em. I mean, it's like you said - it's just a pack of crayons," he shrugged. "And that's what I was thinking, that you wouldn't need them or care, and I thought, wouldn't it be cool if I gave them to my little sister because she really likes to draw too, but she's never had a full pack of crayons before. She would've been stoked when she saw it had a red."

"She doesn't have a red crayon?"

"She used it all, drawing strawberries," he chuckled. "She loves strawberries."

"Who doesn't? I could eat them by the bucket load," I laughed.

"Me too. Anyway… I never used to think taking things like that was wrong or anything, but yesterday… what those ladies said, and seeing what I'd done, it made me realize."

"These are such small things, Chris."

"Most of the time, yeah. But there was this one time… at school…" He paused and looked at me, reading my reaction once again.

"It's OK - you can tell me. But you don't have to."

"I… I took something I shouldn't have," he said, his gaze dropping to the table. "It was stupid. I don't know why I thought no one would think it was me. And now the whole town knows Christopher is living up to the Chambers reputation. And that's the hardest thing - 'bad' is in my blood."

I stared at him in shock. This ran deeper than I thought. "Now, how can that be true? That would mean you'd have no choice, but you do. Right? Sounds like you didn't do yourself any favors, for sure. But you can turn things around."

He shook his head, still with that pouty expression that refused to look me in the eyes.

"Chris, you're in the college courses. You've already been given a chance. If you work hard-"

"Even if I did, it won't change people's minds about me."

"People like those women that were in here yesterday? They're stubborn old battleaxes that will never see to reason. But they're not the ones you need to impress. You need to impress yourself before anyone else. And look, you did that yesterday with the algebra problems. You're a smart kid, and talented. There is so much good in you, Chris, and I think, if people can't see that, they're either ignorant or blind."

He was staring intently at me now with an expression of profound realization. I gave him a minute to let things sink in.

"I dunno why it's so easy to talk to you," he said. "I don't even know you."

"Is it because you know you have a clean slate with me."

He considered that, then gave a tentative nod. "Maybe. Hey, I was wondering, Miss-"

"Cassie."

"Cassie," he said, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck, "I wanna do something to help out. You know, because... I didn't have enough money yesterday..."

"You don't have to do that. I threw my tips into the till. It's covered."

"You paid for me? Now I really feel bad..."

I looked at him for a bit. "Well, I'm sure I could find something for you to do. How are you with early mornings? You can help me prep before school on Monday."

A wide grin spread across his face as he nodded in agreement.

"Be here by seven, OK?"

"Sure thing, I'll be here."

As I watched him leave, I realized how proud of him I was. It must have taken a huge amount of courage for him to walk in and do that.

His actions made me question my own.

I didn't care what other people thought or said about him, and I didn't care about whatever he did. Because I saw something else - potential. I saw someone who had what it took to make something of himself, and he at least deserved the chance.