Ink Stains

Chapter 3

In Asher’s beat up minivan, the smell of used lacrosse clothing filled the air.

Repressing a gag, I plugged my nose. “At least it isn’t axe,” I sighed.

Asher chuckled briefly, his face lit up in actual happiness. Sadly enough, it was something of a strange nature for him. “I forgot to tell you that your house is beautiful,” he commented.

I shuddered. “My mother designed it herself.”

Somehow, he knew it was better to say nothing. Most people don’t understand that silence sometimes could speak louder than any words could. We remained quiet for the remainder in the trip, partly from our awkwardness and partly from Asher focusing on driving.

“You are the most cautious driver I’ve met,” I commented, watching his eyes squint carefully as he reached a stop sign. “On that note, where the hell are you taking me?”

Asher waved a hand close to my face, gesturing for me to shut up. “You’ll find out.”

“I will suffocate you if you bring me to a crack house,” I said impatiently.

Finally, he pulled up in front of an old diner that was lively with older couples swing dancing in the parlor. “We’re here,” he beamed, obviously proud.

“This wasn’t the adventure I thought you had in mind,” I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of his minivan.

Asher giddily ran inside, a skip in his step. I could almost hear him giggling like a school girl.

“You’re making me question your sexuality, Asher,” I called after him.

When I entered the diner, I was in absolute awe. The diner was living relic of American culture. Obnoxious, thumping pop music didn’t overbear the patrons. The dancing many were partaking in was actual dancing rather than fist-pumping, or worse. Red and white stools lined along a bar, vanilla milkshakes being shared between couples.

Asher approached the bar area, leaning over the edge. “Hey, Mary,” he greeted the middle-aged woman cleaning dirtied dishes and cups.

“Asher!” she exclaimed cheerfully. Any of her previous negative emotion seemed to vanish away from her with his very presence. “Did you finally get a girlfriend?” Mary inquired, peering beside him to catch a glimpse of me.

“No!” both Asher and I shouted at the same moment. We glanced back at each other, already panicking.

Mary chuckled to herself and put her hands up in surrender. “Well if you want her to be your girlfriend, you better be polite.”

A deep scarlet spread across my cheeks. Fortunately for Asher, he had the luxury of never being able to blush from cold weather, embarrassment, or anger. Asher cleared his throat, “Auntie,” he warned, glancing back towards me.  “This is Clara.”

I came forth, outstretching me hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Mary laughed, wiggling her dirty gloves. “I don’t know if you want to shake my hand right now. How about you and Asher go sit down in a booth? I’ll be there in a moment to get you guys something to eat.”

Asher nodded, and then pulled me by the forearm to go to a booth in the far corner of the restaurant. “Sorry about her,” he apologized, sliding into his seat.

“So your aunt works here?”

Just as I questioned Asher, his aunt seemed to arrive out of nowhere. “Actually, I partly own Harry’s,” she answered. “Asher’s grandparents are the actual owners, but they haven’t been well enough to work here anymore.”