Half Moon, Full Heart

Sid Platte's Café

Chapter Nine

 Sid Platte's Cafe

Two days later,

following an overnight stop at an El Paso Comfort Inn Suites, on Mesa Boulevard, rest stops in Van Horn and several outposts without memorable names, Rachel reached Midland-Odessa, along I-20. It was there she reversed herself and decided to visit Rosedale.

 She had struggled against the decision, but her urge to visit the birthplace she shared with her father, was overwhelming. There couldn't be much to see there, she had argued with herself. What purpose would be served, except to stir emotions better left dormant?

 Rachel desperately wanted to avoid the sadness that almost always attended prolonged thoughts of her father. She still grieved for him, and she labored with guilt for not being by his side during the last days of his agonizing death from lung cancer.

 Then, the surrender. What would be the harm? It would not be a long stay. She would keep I-20 to I-30 and eventually to various U.S. routes to Rosedale. She was certain she could find the old family homestead, or what remained of it. She would take a few pictures; take a slow drive through town and be gone. Perhaps later, she would drive on to Fort Worth, spend the night there, take U.S. 281 to Wichita Falls then on to Oklahoma, where she would pick up I-40 and continue east.

~

It was shortly after 5:30 am when a slightly exhausted, but very hungry Rachel, exited US Highway 71A and entered Rosedale, Texas, which had not fully awakened. Except for an occasional vehicle cruising through, en route to the interstate, or the gaggle of early-birds at Sid Platte's café, very little stirred.

Main street, and indeed most of this small, north-central Texas town was silent, clinging stubbornly to the remnants of a quiet, late summer night. Above, a half moon retreated slowly. A thin sprinkling of dew lay lightly, awaiting the first rays of a Texas sun.

 Rachel slowed to just below the posted 35 miles per hour speed limit and eased into, what appeared to be, a newly built Chevron service station/convenience store. A ubiquitous Sands Motel was across the street. Rachel noticed its neon vacancy sign, with the "v" missing. It seemed every town in America had a Sands Motel.

 She filled up, entered the nearly deserted store and asked the store clerk where she could get breakfast. She was directed to Sid Platte's Cafe, located at the north end of Main. The old café was only blocks from Center Street, which took travelers a few short blocks through town, back to the US Highway junction and to the Interstate.

 Moments later, Rachel sat in her car, trying to decide whether she should check into the motel first, or wait until after breakfast. Hunger won out. She started down Main, a narrow two-laner lined with quaint retail shops and small businesses. Within minutes, she eased her Mustang into the diagonal parking space in front of Platte's Café.

 Platte's was a throwback to the fifties. The front facade was covered with rusting signs of products not made for decades: Golden Age Soda, Buttram's Elixir, Hadacol, NeHi Soda, and others. All signs of paint had long disappeared from the place, leaving only weathered wood that gave it its character. Only the lighted sign above the entry seemed of recent vintage.

 Only a couple of cars were parked out front; there were a half dozen, mud-encrusted pickups, and a shiny Harley chopper. Rachel parked next to the chopper, but a safe distance away.

 Once inside, the old restaurant—with its vintage furniture and smell of tobacco—teemed with local color, even at this early hour. Rachel immediately found herself the center of attention. The patrons, all men, seemed content to simply drop forks and stare, except for the leather-clad, Pillsbury Doughboy in the tattered jeans, black leather vest, and muddy, Roper boots. He stood.