TULSA IN THE '60s WAS MORE THAN
just vibrant colors and "free love." It was divided smack down the middle: the East and West. Socs vs. Greasers. One side arguably ruled by the pariah Tim Shepard and the other controlled by the name Sinclair.
Only th...
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•✧────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────✧• THE LINES WE CROSS; CHAPTER ONE 【 june 25 1967 】
Rain pounds against the windows, forcing the pans to shutter slightly in their frames. Despite the grey murk outside, a buzz of background music and conversation wafts through the open air as rollerskate wheels turn on the slick checkered floors of Benny's Twenty-Four Hour Diner.
Eggs sizzle on the stovetop in the back while two pieces of toast pop up simultaneously. In the front of house, a coffee jug bubbles on the warmer, but I hardly feel its heat when I pluck it off the counter, pouring the steaming brown liquid into customers' mugs sitting on the other side of the bar.
It's mornings like these that I love; right after church has gotten out and the diner has gone from slow to suddenly whirrling with chatter from the god-fearing residents of Tulsa.
The customers aren't my favorite part, but more so the rush. The sudden spike of adrenaline that courses through my veins and the way my heart seems to pump with excitement.
My co-worker Lacey Smart, a feverish young girl, doesn't get the same adrenaline rush I do from serving this new crop. To her, it's easy money. Accepting big tips from elderly women in their Sunday dresses who have nothing better to do than spend money and attend worship– it's like Christmas to a girl like her.
A smile lifts my lips when the bell chimes above the door and Duke Moore strides up to the counter, taking his usual bar stool in the very center. He comes in every Sunday after church and every weekday before his shift begins over at the power plant for the late shift. The only day he doesn't come in are Saturdays during which he spends the day with his wife and older son.
"Mornin', Duke!" I grin from ear to ear— without fail the kind gentleman always manages to brighten my day.
He smiles back at me, taking off his flat cap while setting the morning paper on the counter beside him, "Morning, Monroe. Busy day?" He quizzes, shaking the water off his hat.
"Well..." I glance around, chuckling a little to myself at the amount of full booths and seats at the bar. Despite the humid summer rain, the post-church rush never fails us. I nod, "Yeah. Busy mornin', you know with all the church folks comin' over and whatnot..." I wave a hand, the other settling on place on my hip.
Duke smiles at me, weaving his fingers together on the counter in a neat little ball. "Well, you've been working on this job for two years now, you know how it is."
I nod, simultaneously flipping out my order pad, "Right. Anyway, what'll it be today?"
The man rattles off his request for the kitchen, making casual small talk with me while I hang his ticket in the window and pour him a fresh cup of coffee.
