The Blue Point

Date of events: Monday, May 2

There was a chilly, fresh spring breeze that morning as I hiked the three miles into work. I clutched my jacket tight around me, thinking ahead into the day, and hoping Chris would turn up later that morning. I felt uplifted, thinking of him; he inspired me. I swung open the creaky back door of the diner at six on the dot, and a waft of freshly baked bread surrounded me, warming my cold cheeks. I breathed it in, savoring the familiar sweetness of dough and herbs.

I dropped my canvas backpack on the floor of the cloakroom, and hooked my jacket up - just an old blazer I had picked up for a few cents at the thrift shop down the street - before making my way into the kitchen.

"There's a balmy little breeze…ahh

That's whistling through the trees…ahh

And it's telling you to pitch a little woo witha me…ahh"

Picture a larger than life, eighty-year-old woman clad in a bright-red, home knitted cardigan, rocking out to Elvis in an Cork-Irish accent that booms from wall to wall, and you have our Rose. She had cranked up old Crosley to full volume, but it's rusty crackling tunes could barely be heard over her enthusiasm.

Chris smiled from the stool he had been seated on, wrapped up in an old jacket that had been left hanging around the diner. He took another sip of the cup of hot chocolate warming his hands, and I grinned at the sight. That was typical of Rose and Violet. The motherly figures never could resist wrapping you up warm and making sure you were well fed.

"Cassie!" Rose dropped the razor-sharp butcher's knife she had been carving up the cooked chicken with, and bounded toward me, arms wide open.

I made a small "oof" sound as her warm, heartfelt hug hit me head on before crushing me. Hell, she'd only seen me two days ago on Saturday morning. Still, I hugged her back, taking a moment to feel the warmth and safety of being nestled in her arms.

"I see you've conned some fit young lad to help ya today?" she said in her sing-song voice, turning to Chris.

"It's just for the morning; he wanted some work experience."

"Well, he's all well fed up and ready for ya! Can't be workin' on an empty tum!"

"Thanks… err… for your hospitality," Chris uttered.

"It's not a bother, boy! Oooh that Elvis," she said, cocking an ear to the radio. "He just makes me feel… young again! Dance with me, Lovey?"

I glanced at Chris, my face reddening as Rose grabbed my hand and twirled me around on the spot, before swaying me to the music.

"A whole lot o' loving to do…ahh

Come on baby, to make a party takes two…ahh"

"Oh, Elvis," she sighed dreamily. And, with that, she twirled away, sailing across the kitchen to pick up her butcher's knife and resume carving up the chicken.

Chris was chuckling to himself which earned him the side-eye from me as I tossed him an apron with a grin. "Scrub up, Chris. Let's get to work."

I showed him where to hang his new coat, and lead him to the bathroom to scrub up.

"You're here early," I told him. Both our pairs of hands were in the basin, taking turns with the soap and running water. "I said, seven."

"Yeah… except my old man came home batshit drunk last night and smashed our alarm clock. I stayed awake half the night, worried I might not wake up in time."

"Oh - you didn't…"

"Once I saw the sun, I left. I didn't know what time it was; I just didn't wanna be late."

A warm smile spread across my face as I nudged him gently in the arm. "You're a sweetheart, you know that? I don't even expect you to be here."

He looked at me in disbelief as if struggling to comprehend that someone, especially someone he just met, would see that in him let alone say it to his face. I passed him a towel, and he finally returned my smile as I saw something shift in him. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes had a new found spark - a spark of possibility, and perhaps even a glimmer of hope.

"Come on, let's get this done," I told him, gesturing for him to lead the way out.

We walked back into the kitchen to find Elvis was still the topic of choice.

"Now, you shouldn't be listening to that man," came Violet's small voice from one corner of the kitchen. She had been there the whole time, chopping the ingredients for her county-famous pumpkin soup, but sometimes she's so quiet you don't notice her steadily working away in a corner somewhere.

"And why not?" boomed Rose.

"Because he does that thing with his hips! You saw it on the telly! It's outrageous!"

"Oh, Violet, you prude! He's not strippin' off his shirt and showing his bare chest and nipples, like! Although… if he did, I wouldn't complain." Rose gave Violet her cheeky, wrinkled-nosed grin that never failed to make her sister smile back.

"Where are we up to?" I asked, joining them at the bench with Chris by my side.

Chris worked tirelessly for two hours, tackling each task without complaint. I took the opportunity to show him the ropes, teaching him how to craft our in-house ketchup and mustards. He prepared sandwiches, wrapping them for customers to take away, he baked apple pies, chopped up lettuce for the salads, and even helped with the clean up.

Rose handed Chris a big paper bag filled with an array of delicious food for his school lunch. "You'll hafta keep this lad on, won't ya, Cassie?" she praised him. "You're a good lad, boy!"

"Thanks a lot…"

"Will you be alright today, Cass?" Violet chimed in, concern etched on her face. "You know we're just across the whey if you need us."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Now, go get your nana nap."

After one last squeeze from both sisters, Chris and I were left alone.

"What is it about this diner?" Chris pondered. "Those ladies were so nice. Maybe I didn'twake up on time."

I smiled. "I know what you mean. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't found them." My mind wandered off for a moment, and then I realized Chris was staring at me inquisitively. "Do you wanna see something before you head off to school? Your help got us half an hour ahead."

"Sure."

I guided Chris to take a seat in one of the diner booths, and with a sense of nostalgic anticipation, I brought out a photo album bound in rich royal blue leather, and elegantly trimmed in gold. Chris looked on with interest as I flicked through the pages, revealing a treasure trove of memories preserved in sepia-toned photographs and newspaper clippings spanning thirty years.

The first images painted a vivid picture of the diner in its prime. A lot of the diner's features were the same as now, only… new and fresh.

Chris pointed to a photograph where two proud couples stood hand in hand in front of the diner. The men wore hats and held pipes, exuding an air of confidence and charm.

"Is that Rose and Violet?"

"Sure is. And their husbands."

"Are they still around?"

"No. They passed years ago, I hear. They must have all been in their early fifties when they opened this place. It shows that it's never too late to start something new, right? It was during the depression too, so it can't have been easy."

Chris continued to flick through the pages and found a newspaper clipping of Rose in her waitress uniform, her radiant smile spreading infectious laughter to the customers she served.

"They were so happy," Chris said, his sparkling with awe. "This place really is special, isn't it?"

"You can feel it too, huh?" My voice broke a little, and concern flickered across Chris's face.

"Is everything okay?"

I hesitated to reply. Chris had enough on his plate, and I didn't want to burden him with problems that might not even arise. "I hope so."

"What's the matter?"

I sighed and shook it off. "Nothing you need to worry about. Now, get to school. It's nearly eight, and I need to open up."

"Or… I could stay. That was more fun than I thought it would be." He gave me a cheeky grin that was so cute it was almost too much to say no to.

"Don't you dare set your aspirations on becoming a meal prep boy," I chuckled. "A chef wouldn't be so bad, but you'll still need school for that."

"What if all I wanna do is draw?"

"I'd bet my bottom dollar you'll still need to at least make it to high school to get anywhere. You're a good cartoonist, though, I'll give you that."

"I'm learning. I'm not as good as Eyeball, though. That's my brother."

I chuckled at the nickname. "He's pretty good, huh?"

"I mean, he's an asshole, but damn, that cat can draw. He drew this dragon once on this huge piece of paper, took him like a week, and the detail made it look real."

"Wow, that's amazing. I'd love to see it sometime."

"Nah, one day when my old man got pissed about him not comin' home for a whole week, he set a match to it."

"Oh…"

"Yup, my old man's an asshole too. Which is why it's so nice hangin' around in here…" he sighed, relaxing back again.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Chris…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'…" He slid out of the booth and threw his satchel over his head, and it hung at his hip. "Can I come after school?"

"Of course you can. Use the space to study again, if you like."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." With a warm smile, one filled with a sense of achievement, he bounced on his heels down the aisle and disappeared out the door.

After all that hard prep work, the diner seemed unusually quiet that day, with only a handful of customers scattered about. Seizing a brief moment, I shot out to the nearby General store to pick up two new packs of crayons, one pack of colored pencils and a newspaper. I skimmed through the inky pages with my heart in my throat, hoping beyond hopes that I wouldn't find anything. Then, my heart sank. My spirit sunk down to my knees. True to that Cynthia bitch's word, another article had been published, casting another damning shadow on our diner. And to add salt to the wound, an advertisement caught my eye, announcing that a shiny new diner would be opening just down the road. We had noticed some sort of store being setup down there, and there were whispers that it was a new grocery store. I, myself, was looking forward to the convenience of having one so close.

Lost in my thoughts, I stood motionless in the general store, peering blankly through the paper, stunned into silence. Mr. Johnson, behind the counter, asked if I was alright. "Not really," I muttered, shaking my head, and I walked out of the store.

Chris didn't show that afternoon. The following days came, and still no sign of him. I thought of him on the Friday, and wished him luck for the test he'd be sitting that day. I hoped the study had gone alright. I hoped for everything for that kid.