The Beginning, Middle, but not the End

Day 5,964 (February 14th)

Dallas and I sit in a table at the restaurant Callie works at, Grill + Smoke, sipping on our lemonades. Callie walks over to us with our plates. My warm BLT with fresh asparagus and cherry tomatoes are served on a ceramic dish, and Dallas' favorite, the signature steamy pulled pork sandwich with garlic and herb fries is served on a cast iron plate. "So what are you kids up to on this fine, fine Valentine's Day?" Callie smirks and puts her hand on the back of my chair to balance herself. If she were to sit, her boss would likely yell at her, so she has to remain standing.

Dallas pulls off a pickle from his sandwich and takes a bite, "Oh you know, robbing banks and burning down homes, the way platonic lovers do."

Callie laughs, "You're a butt. Are you guys gonna go to the park later?"I nod, "Wanna join us after your shift is over?"

"Sure, is it cool if I bring Cam? We were wanting to do something later anyways. We were gonna go out to eat but we could just grab something on the way there." I nod yet again and she smiles at us. Callie leaves just as a couple walks into the restaurant. Dallas begins to eat his food like he's never eaten before. I eat my food slowly and watch as people come enter or leave.

I admire a lady with light gray hair tied into a neat bun who struts into the restaurant. The wrinkles on her face sink with sadness as she is seated at a booth next to our table. After a closer look, I can tell her eyes are a faded blue and she has scars on one side of her face. They aren't burn scars or melted scars, they're more like little white scratches and patches next to her left eye. Her bright purple glasses cover them up mostly though. It's sad to see her come here on her own, I wonder what her story is.

I often do this, I find a person and wonder who they are. Their story, life, and even name is a complete mystery and something about this piques my interest. Because I don't know anything about the elder woman, I can create my own fictional background for them. For example, this lady comes here every other month and sits in the exact brown leathered booth. She orders the same meal each visit, which is why she barely looks at the menu. She grew up in a small house with her parents, but her dad died when she was only a few years old because he had to fight in the war. Her mother was forced to raise her only child on her own with the help of babysitters who would watch the toddler as she went to work at the diner a few blocks away from their small house. Later on, when she is in her 20s, she decides to go for a walk. She is mugged and knocked onto the ground and slides on the concrete, creating the scars we see now. The man turns back and realizes what he's done. Guilt builds up inside him, so he returns her belongings. The man helps her to her feet and assists her to the nearest hospital. The doctors patch her up and when they ask how she got the injuries, she covers for the mugger. Several years later they get married. Unfortunately, he got sick two years ago and died after contracting a terminal illness. They used to come and visit this restaurant together every other week, but the widowed woman comes here every other month alone, now.

The elderly woman passes me a glance, making me aware that I've been staring at her. I smile at her, and she returns it. A waiter goes to her and greets her, allowing me to refocus onto my meal with my best friend.

After Dallas and I finish our dinner, we split the bill and stroll outside to the busy street where people rush past in their thick winter coats. We cross the road and the trolley tracks to get to the music store, just down the block. The warm store has a unique smell that is indescribable, other than that. It's cozy. The walls are lined with record albums and band posters. Aisles of organizers and baskets are filled with more CDs and vinyls. The back of the store has music players of all sorts, ranging from cheap MP3 players, used radios, to outdated stereos. Dallas and I separate and begin to wander down the aisles after the cashier greets us.

"Oh hey, Dallas, we got the Washing Machine album on vinyl stocked for you." The cashier walks toward him holding a record, still with the plastic seal around the sleeve. They start discussing the band and the band's highlights while I continue searching the CD aisles. I skim the rows of music and find Elton John. There are already a few albums of his sitting in my room with my other CDs, so I decide to go ahead and add a new edition by grabbing Honky Chateau. I find a few more albums by other artists and rejoin my friend who is also ready to check out. We exit the store and walk down the sidewalk. The sun is starting to set as we make our way to the park. Families are leaving and packing up their belongings.

On our way, Dallas breaks the silence, "Hey Jo?" I look at him, begging with my eyes for him to go on.

"Have you thought about the trip?"

I shake my head, "Not yet." The silence returns, but we brush away the awkwardness.

We walk over to the swings and talk for awhile. The sun has set, our only source of light is the light that stretches on the pavement from the street lamps in the distance. The cool winter breeze makes the metal on the swings untouchable, so I keep my hands in my pockets.

Finally, after what seems like years of waiting, Callie and Cam show up. "Hey guys, we bring good tidings," Cam holds up a tray of hot chocolate cups from the cafe down the street from Salt + Smoke. Callie holds up a bag of, what appears to be, cookies.

Camden is tall with light brown hair, and blue-green eyes. He's rather muscular, it's odd to think he used to be chubby when he was in junior high. I remember one time when I went to his parent's house with him and Callie for his birthday. While Camden went into the kitchen to help his mom clean up, his dad showed me and Callie his pictures from school. He doesn't even look like the same person. Cam was over two hundred pounds back then but he's lost so much and gained a lot more muscle. He's just under two hundred, and now he has prominent muscles and a prominent jawline. Sometimes we tease him about his old four identical friends, all named chin. It's all just fun and games though, he knows we're just kidding.

The two hand the goods to me and Dallas. Callie sits on the swing next to mine, and Cam sits on her other side. The chill in the air keeps us awake, but the laughter in our conversation keeps it relaxed. We stay like this for a few more hours, then I yawn. Dallas nudges my side with his empty cup, "Sleepy?"

I nod, "It's a school night."

Callie drops her cup, "Oh God, I forgot! We need to get back." We laugh at her sudden realization and begin to stand up and stretch before we depart our hang out place. No one is in a rush, I know I'm not. Dallas and I hang back as they lead us to Cam's car down the road. We all pile in, the scent of cologne and laundry soap fills my nose. The seats are freezing and we can still see our breath. As if he is reading my mind, Camden turns the heat to full blast. The radio slowly starts playing a song I haven't heard, but it sticks to me.

Let's go sailing on the sea, let's go dancing on the juke-join floor and leave our troubles all behind, have a party...

The radio begins to tune in and out of static, but the song is still vaguely audible. Camden starts the engine and soon enough, we're on our way home.