Kansas Summer

The Liar Redeemed

The cool breeze wraps around me, but chills me rather than comforts me.  Even in the summer heat, my whole being feels cold.  I wrap my arms around myself as I amble to the nearest subway station.  A jogging man in shorts and a thin muscle shirt passes me, body shimmering with sweat.  A large chill runs down my spine, but I cannot stop it.  My heart pounds; I am fraught with guilt.

My mind races; I am getting mixed messages from my conscience.  I was correct to scold Alyse and be so harsh; she was bothering me and needed to be told that.  Then my dad’s voice echoes in my mind, scolding me.  I remember how he always used to be gentle with people, even if they acted less than civilized towards him.  I can’t help but feeling like I let him down, but am too scared to go back and tell Alyse that I am sorry.  I feel too ashamed to do anything.

I sit alone on the subway; the only other people are a man and a woman who don’t even look at each other.  I watch them, seeing myself and Alyse in a metaphor.  The woman reaches out and tries to touch the man, but he swiftly knocks it away.

“Charles?” the woman begins meekly, “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.  Please forgive me.  We all make mistakes…”

“Now is not the time, Sharese.  I’m so angry with you.”

“Is there anything I can do?”  The train slows to a stop and the doors open.

“You can sit here on this train,” the man replies, jumping up and out the doors right before they close, leaving the woman very much alone.  She slumps in her seat and cries loudly.  Her whimpers break my heart to the point that I can’t stand it anymore.  I get off at the next stop.

At the top of the escalator that leads out of the station, there is a café on the street corner: Halfway Home Café.  The front looks like it has survived through the Middle Ages, the Great Fire of London even.  The bricks are encrusted with what looks like creosote, and the mortar is rotting, but the neon light flickers as the last of the sun’s rays strike the glassy Hudson River.  

Immediately, I crave a pick-me-up coffee, and push open the door that swings silently to admit me.  I survey the scene of things.  Everything is perfectly placed and ready.  For a restaurant that looks so run down on the outside, it’s odd that inside it should be so clean and inviting.  The walls are freshly painted, and the tile is squeaky clean.  The metal at the bar is polished to a brilliant luster. 

However, the clientele isn’t as well-kept as the restaurant.  Two people dressed in street rags sit at one of the booths, sharing a cup of coffee between the two of them.  At the other side, an older man and a teenage girl wearing a very low-cut top sit, holding hands.  I almost turn around and walk out of the establishment, but the owner stops me.

“How about you sit dawn in a char?  Anneewur.”  I don’t refuse him, but sit down in a booth near the door, just in case I need to make a hasty escape.  “Ricky,” he booms, “Kin you help dis cussmer?”

From the back comes an older white male of about fifty years and six feet.  He marches over to my table in a pressed white apron with a clipboard and pencil.  “What can I get for yuh?”

“You can tell me what this all is about,” I tell him.

“”Fraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the waiter replies.

“Halfway Home Café.  What does that mean?  Why is the outside so crummy and the inside so inviting?”  I stare at him awkwardly, questioningly. 

The waiter sighs and slides into the bench opposite me.  “So you’ve recognized that, huh?  Well, it’s a long story.  Back in the ‘80s, there was a businessman by the name of JW Carter who got fired from his job and spent the night in a restaurant in Palm Springs, California that was, not coincidentally, called the Halfway Home Café.  The idea for this restaurant came from there; the owner of the Palm Springs restaurant let the man stay overnight there because JW didn’t have anywhere else to go.  Amazed by the man’s generosity, JW came to New York where his family was, and rented out this building, taking the name of the restaurant that he stayed at in California.