The swift wind gave it that effect. If looked close enough into the condensation one could see the reflection of the sun peaking over the Williamsburg Bridge, the gateway out of this side of Brooklyn into the lasciviousness city of Manhattan. On the left of the car walked an individual that tried to shield himself from the aggressive winds by tucking his head into his beige raincoat. He walked in a staggering lean. For every step he took, Caicas tried to knock him two steps back, but not even the God of wind could keep Simon from his destination. Loose sediments stung his face forcing him to keep his eyes closed. That didn't bother him. He didn't need to see. Like a blind man, Simon knew how many steps it took to make it to the front door of Sear's Diner. When he opened the door, the smell of bacon, eggs, coffee, home fries and fresh bagels met his nose. The sound of loud cordial conversations greeted his ears. Most importantly, the warm smiles welcomed him as he forced the door closed behind him. As he took off his raincoat to shake off the dust the railroad diner shook slightly and, without looking at his watch, Simon knew it was 7:45 and the F train had just left Marcy station. Marcy is the last stop in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn before the iron horse hit the tunnel and resurfaces in the city. Simon was supposed to be on that train. He was supposed to meet with his publicist and editor for their final meeting before his book came out. Missing that meeting he knew that his publicist would be texting him within the next hour or so, but he didn't care. Today he had a mission to accomplish. Simon beelined it to the back of the diner passing the booths on the left and a serving counter on the right. He didn't have to look in the booths or over at the counter to know who were the occupants. The first booth always sat the couple, from what he heard, has been together for fifty plus years, the Woodson's. They must get along very well he figured, yet he never seen them talk to each other. They just ate in silence. Mr. Woodson never smiled. Simon thought that he might have been unhappy that his hair was gone. The poor man only had sporadic strings of hair that he refused to give up. He wore an aged suit every day, from the eighties was Simon's first guess, but one night he was watching a movie starring John Travolta called Saturday Night Fever and knew Mr. Woodson's suits came from the seventies. Mrs. Woodson always smiled, and when anybody walked by she would gently wave at them. She was never caught without a thick layer of make-up, and she always wore a pair of pearl earrings that matched her hair. In the next booth sat a couple in their forties, the Millers. Mr. Miller seemed like a decent man. On the weekdays, he would proudly wear his Home Depot shirt, and some khaki pants but on the weekend he would don a polo shirt and some blue jeans. Mrs. Miller worked at the bank down the block. Everybody knew it because she wore her name tag every day she had to work. The couple usually held hands on the table while they talked, and they always spoke or waved when Simon passed by. On this particular day, their conversation seemed more intense, and Simon noticed that Mr. Miller was holding a letter in his hand. He was using it to point at Mrs. Miller as they talked. When Simon passed them they didn't even notice his presence. In the third booth was a younger couple. Simon never got their name, but he was sure they were both Hispanic. They spoke a mixture of Spanish and English. They were louder than the other two couples. They were also a bit more flamboyant. The two spent most of their time drinking coffee and from what Simon could dissect, they talked about the clubs they went to and the guys that they liked. One thing that he noticed was that one of the guys had a bad habit of saying, "You lying," to his friend. They never greeted Simon, which was fine by him, because one morning he walked into the diner and Simon could smell the liquor coming from their booth as he passed by. Though, over time, he questioned what he heard; he swore he heard one of them say, "Umm, I would love some of that chocolate." Simon knew that they had been drunk or at least drinking, so he let it go. After all, they were a fixture of Sear's just like everyone else. Next to them was the waitress station. That's where the waitress kept all the condiments, the utensils, extra plates and the menus. At the counter, four construction workers who car pooled sat and complained about their manager named Vinnie, and how the union was for sale to the highest bidder. Next to them, sat an old Mechanic who wore the same oil stained coveralls every day of the week. He was a man never too shy to show his three gold fronts, two on the top and one on the bottom. The old man was known, not for his ability to fix cars, but for his handshake that could crush a man's hand. Simon remembered the mechanic tried to sell him a car he had fixed up. And while Simon wasn't in the market for a car, he'd told him he would let his friends know. A card popped into the mechanic's hand like magic, it read: RUFUS LOUD JACK OF ALL TRADES 718-555-0101 "Ok, Mr. Loud, I will let them know." "Good, good, you just let them know old Rufus will gives whose ever buy my car a good deal." "Yes sir." Then Mr. Loud grabbed his hand and shook it tightly he almost crushed his fingers. Just the thought of that day made Simon open and close his hands a couple of times as he went to his booth. Simon's booth was right behind the waitress station and Simon always sat facing the front door. Since the day he started showing up at Sear's Diner, it's as his booth had an invisible reserved sign. His booth was always set up with a plate, butter knife, spoon, fork, and a menu partly open. The Menu was useless because for the last six months Simon has ordered the egg whites, turkey bacon and some green tea. His meal was as routine as his booth setting. A hand touched him shoulder from behind, "I didn't think you were going to make it in today. That wind is no joke." With that touch Simon's body went into the first stage of euphoria. It's the reason he weathered the harsh winds- the Reason why he was going to be late for his appointment- the reason why he sat at the edge of his booth. Heaven. That was her name. Heaven Clark. The woman that stole Simon's heart and has been keeping It under lock and key ever since. "I didn't think it was so bad. I barely even noticed." "I can tell," she said while lightly hand brushing the sand out of his hair. Her voice was delicate with a sweetness that melted Simon's ear drums. "What can I get you today, in the mood for something different?" "You know me. I'll just have the usual." Of course you will. I'll be right back with your tea." "Thanks Heaven. What would I do without you?" She didn't answer. She just smiled, igniting her miniature chocolate chip freckles over her milk dud skin. As always, he watched her walk away. He couldn't help himself. The way her body moved was as if a flower was being serenaded by a gentle breeze. Today is my day, He thought. He set his phone on the table waiting for the inevitable. "When are you going to ask that nice girl out?" Mr. Loud was turned in his stool looking down at Simon. "I'm sorry, Mr. Loud did you say something?" "You heard me. When are you going to stop acting like you scared and ask that poor girl out?" Simon was shocked. He looked around to see if anyone heard what Mr. Loud had said. All the conversations didn't stop nor did everyone turned and faced him. Simon gave a long sigh of relief. "Mr. Loud, would you like to join me?" Even at his old age Mr. loud sprung out his seat like a teenager. When he sat across from Simon he said, "What you afraid everybody goin' to hear me? Hell, everybody knows you like the girl." Although Simon was very dark skinned, his cheeks turned the color of a cardboard box. He looked around the room again as he protested, "I'm sorry, Mr. Loud, I don't know what you're talking about." "I don't know what you're talking about," mocked Mr. Loud, "Son, don't play dumb with me. I've been on God's green earth long nuff to tell when a boy's in love. Look at you, you can't take your eyes off of her now." "Mr. Loud, please keep your voice down." "Now you want me to keep my voice down." He lowers his voice, "Look son, little Heaven likes you as much as you do her, but ain't no woman goin' to wait forever for a man to be a man." Simon nervously taps his foot underneath the table as he sees Heaven coming his way with his cup of tea. The last thing he wants is for Mr. Loud to put him on the spot. Mr. Loud noticed that Simon's attention was diverted. He followed Simon's eyes just in time to see Heaven walk up behind him. "Mr. Loud," she said as carefully placed Simon's tea on the table. "Are you going to keep my friend company this morning? Should I bring your food over here?" "No darling," he said rising from the booth, "I was just asking Mr. Author here did one of his friends seemed to be interested in the car I have for sale. I keep telling him it won't be around forever so if one of them wants it, they better move fast before somebody less worthy snatch her up." Simon put on a nervous grin, "I'll let them know, Mr. Loud, thank you." "Don't thank me. You just be sure they know she won't be around forever." He said with a little nod. With that, he went back to his stool. "For the life of me I don't understand why men refer their cars as she? Why can't it be a he?" Simon laughed, "I'm not touching that." "No, really, tell me." He didn't want to explain the euphemism, but he didn't want her to walk away. "Think about it like this," he said, "What if you walked up on a conversation that two guys were having, and one of them said, 'I rode him hard yesterday.'What would you think?" "Oh- OH!" She broke out in hysterical laughter. When she laughed, her hair bounced. Something else Simon admired about her. Everything was natural, no make-up, her hair was this huge un- combed afro that accentuated her beauty. "OMG, I never thought about it like that." She slapped him lightly on the shoulder but instead of taking it off she began to rub on him in a very nonchalantly. This made Simon feel vulnerable. His blood temperature began to rise. His hand began to sweat and he couldn't stop bouncing his damn foot. "Heaven, can I ask you something?" He looked up in her eyes but quickly looked back down at the table. Her eyes hinted that she could have been part Asian. Those dark brown marble shape soul charmers were more than Simon could take at that moment. Just then a horn blew. Heaven looked out the window of the diner, and then looked at her watch. "Oh shoot," She whispered, "my boyfriend is here. I lost track of time. Simon, I have to go. What you have to ask me? Is it important or could it wait until tomorrow?" Simon looked out the window, he saw a man he couldn't make out sitting in a 2013 silver Mercedes Benz, bobbing his head. "No," he said, slowly shaking his head, "it can wait." "Great, I'm really sorry but Mr. Sear will bring in your plate. You know what, never mind. I'll be right back." As she hurried away Simon didn't watch her this time. His eyes were fixated on Heaven's boyfriend with a new type of blood racing through his veins. "A boyfriend?" he whispered to himself. |