Love At The All Night Diner

I’m certain Earle’s mother pictured nobility when she viewed the small bundle of blue in the Iowa hospital and not a bum on the south side streets of Jacksonville, 53 years later. “Heck, things aren’t really bad,” Earle thought as he ambled toward a fast food restaurant where Erma worked. The joints passed out food that had been in the warmer too long and always offered odd jobs for a plate of food for a job well done.

As Earle sauntered, he thought of Emma as she served the larger than usual crowd that seemed everywhere. Some talk had been going on that the Georgia-Florida football game and a Daytona race were both happening this weekend. Both the events would be certain to dump thousands of revelers in the city. The football and race fanatics weren’t lots different. The footballers drank liquor. The race fans drank beer. The ball fans drove $40,000 Cadillacs while the race fans were in $40,000 pick-up trucks. The crowd would overload the diner where Erma toiled; however, he’d go by anyway and see if she’d pass him a cup of coffee out the back door.

Earle didn’t have to be a bum. He was wounded in the Viet Nam war and received a disability stipend, send to the bank once a month. It was a hassle to get money from the bank for someone with Earle’s disheveled look. He was often asked to leave when he walked in to withdraw money. If he did persist, they required two picture bearing ID’s and a major credit card. Occasionally, Earl’s sister, who was on his account, would withdraw a few dollars for him. Things hadn’t been the same after his wife left with circus promoter that came through town ten years back. (Boy was he a salesman?)

Erma knew Earle like her. Why else would he go by daily, speak and check on her? She worked hard for tips to pay her trailer rent, car payment and other expenses. She had little left after spreading her tips around.

When Earle walked in the diner, all the tables and stools were filled with a noisy crowd. Erma was by herself and harried as she tried to cook, waitress, and cashier simultaneously. “Earle, the cook just walked out. Go to the back, wash up, put on the chef’s apron and hat and help me.”

Looking in the mirror, Earle realized he was still handsome, even if he’d lost some teeth and hair along the way. Erma whistled as Earle walked in and presented himself for inspection. Erma again let out a low whistle as he took up the spatula and began to cook eggs, bacon, and hash browns on the grill. The diner was a good cholesterol source with everything fried. Erma showed Earle the 40 pound box of frozen potatoes which were cooked in a steel ring until brown on both sides. The three cases of eggs would last a while as Erma whisked by brushing lightly against Earle each time, as he cooked omelets, pancakes, and waffles while keeping a cup of coffee and banter with the patrons going. By three in the morning, lots of substitutions were taking place. All the bread had been consumed as had the bacon and sausage. “Just cook what we have Earle. I’ll sell it to them,” Erma informed Earle. Hot cakes or waffles served as bread while small pieces of steak served to fill the meat desire and cravings.

“Earle, if there’s no customers, we’ll close,” an exhausted Erma told him.
Around four, with the food almost depleted, Erma pulled the shades and locked the door. The tip jar had almost $400 in it. She offered half to Earle who refused. Instead he took a single twenty dollar bill, and told her, “I’m just helping you out Erma.”

Many of the race attendees check out of their rooms early and left to party and get good parking spots in Daytona. Janie, who was sometimes homeless, worked at the Breeze Motel and allowed Earle to sneak into a vacated room for a hot shower and nap. Earle had finished his shower and was napping, when a loud nock was heard at the door before Erma burst in talking loudly like someone on an adrenalin high. “Earle, Janie told me you were here. I’ve been thinking. I don’t have anyone and you don’t have anyone. I know you like me Earle. I didn’t brush against you by accident in the diner. Come home with me. I’ll talk to the boss and tell him what a good job you did tonight at the diner. I know he’ll let you work there!”

Earle lay silently with Erma in the crook of his arm in the purloined motel room thinking. “I didn’t have anyone. Now I do. I didn’t have a purpose in life. Now, after ten years, I do. I haven’t spent any of that veteran’s pension. That’s $2400 a month for ten years. That totals a quarter of a million dollars, which is a good nest egg. I knew if I’d wait, I could have a life. Now I can.’

With a heart so full, feeling it would burst, as tears ran down his cheek, he whispered, Thanks Erma.”