Walking out of This World

Eight

I purposely find an empty chair next to Grace. She's shuffling a fork among the green beans lazily occupying her plate. She introduces the steamy green to her mouth.

I follow with another green bite. It pops between my teeth giving off a spurt, a hint of salt and some other unidentified spices.

Grace draws the sharp edge of a cooperating knife across a cinnamon-brown ham slice. "How do you feel about your first day of community service?" She gently moves her words in my direction.

"Acceptable," I reply with a friendly toss back brokered with a thin grin. I grind a piece of juicy ham between my teeth. The taste buds on my tongue stand up and take notice of another spicy ingredient the beans have not offered.

"Acceptable...Hmm," She quips belying a questioning tone, while turning her face to meet my eyes. "I hope to see you next week...same station...same time," her beaming eyes support the invitation.

Grace turns her attention to a scoop of white fluff that she swipes through a wash of inviting gravy. She slides the bite between pink lips. The ensuing silence captures the moment given to savoring the labors of the cooking staff.

Caught up in my own culinary exploration I miss the clue that the conversation will now take a slight detour.

"Where you from, John?"

Small talk is always a good way to mine useful information. "A small town about four hours east." I attack an inviting bite of ham all snuggled up to a gravy spill dribbling over one side of a white mash of potatoes.

"Did you choose State because it's close to home?"

"More because my father went here. I was betting on his blessing to keep the family tradition," I explain, covering my mouth with one hand to protect the work being completed on its contents.

"Was he a Road House brother?"

I follow the completed chewing work with another smooth introduction of juicy ham covered with salty gravy. "No, he optioned for a dorm. His main interest was baseball."

"Was he good at it?"

"Yeah...Full scholarship...All four years," I proudly report.

"And Road House?" She asks with a twist of sarcasm.

"I applied on line and broke the good news about the scholarship at dinner one night. It was a bit tense...But my father and I talked it out the next morning. I showed him the House's parent presentation. He relented."

"That must have been a good sales presentation. They've gained quite a reputation lately." She scans my face with her unavoidable gentle eyes. "I don't see any shadows."

That last comment seems to be coming across the bridge to far. I abruptly throw the conversation back to her end of the bridge. "Where's home for you?"

She seems to respectfully follow my protective clue. "Chicago."

I pick up the chocolate pudding cup I'd retrieved from the desert station and work my spoon around the inside, lifting out a delicious bite of dark sweet chocolate. I give it a new home in my mouth. The smooth creamy fluff is gratefully welcomed and chases diner down my throat.

"Hmm...Chicago. That's a good drive north."

"I was given a scholarship and this job...an offer I couldn't refuse," a proud smile crosses her attractive face. She returns to the remains of diner still hanging out on the white plate waiting in front of her.

Her face changes, like a cloud suddenly covering the sun. She sits up a bit, a look of concern crosses her face like she's preparing to return to some bad news. "Some of the older girls in my dorm have warned me about your guys."

"How's that?" I reply, a question mark hanging in my brain.

"They say your guys like to throw some rather intense parties."

"In what way?" The memory of initiation bringing some recognition to her question.

"Just hearsay," the words slip out innocently. "Will you be coming back next Sunday?"

"Yeah, same time. It's my community service obligation to the House."

"That's certainly a step in the right direction," she adds.

"Will you be here?" The sense of a crossing sitting up in my brain.

"Yeah. This is my job...helps to pay for board and room," she remarks.

"Sounds good," I reply.

We both go back to our more immediate engagement with the food on our plates. A chattering of small talk takes control of our little group, along with an occasional greeting from a patron carrying an empty plate to its final destination.

Then I spot that guy leaving an empty plate at the dishwashing station. "Do you know that guy?" I ask Grace, an uneasy feeling crosses my brain.

"That guy in the tweed overcoat?" Grace asks.

"Yeah, He has that homeless look. But that coat gives something away. He must have hit the jackpot at the thrift store...or...there's more to his story than meets the eye."

"Can't say that I know him... now I remember the last time I saw him was when another one of your guys was down here... last week. It might of have been your volunteer coordinator."

"That would be Jim...Hmm," my voice trails off and gets lost in a foggy mist of thought.

Grace glances at the watch conveniently wrapped around her left wrist. "Oops! Time to check out how cleanup is progressing." Grace stands and points her face in the kitchen's direction.

"Need any help?" I say while gathering up empty diner service.

"Nope. Got it covered...I'll look forward to seeing you next Sunday."

She tosses the words behind her back.

A quick look out the window leaves me with a September impression culminating in the shortened gift of daylight. I don't want to have to wait for the late bus. The thought yields an unhappy picture of a cold bench in an unstable part of town.

I'm walking through the nearly abandoned dinning room where the chitchat in sharps and flats has ceased playing its music. The front door and the dimly lighted streets beyond confirm in my mind an imagined path leading to the bus stop.

The hard cement sidewalk and the whoosh of passing cars plays a game of hide and seek with my senses. Suddenly I hear a loud voice advancing quickly from behind.

"Got a dollar to spare...Young man?" The arrival of the gruff, demanding voice shoots an unsuspected note of panic through my brain. My legs get the message and propel mind and body quickly down the sidewalk, my heart responding, pumping with more urgency.

I look back and see two scruffy men shortening the distance between me and them.

"Come on man...Just a dollar's all we're asking!"

I see an open door. I push through the door and allow it to bang shut behind me. I hear the hard bang of shoes impacting the door, giving a punctuation mark to their frustration.

I peek through the adjoining window and notice the bus stop across the street. I open the door and hustle across. There's no immediate sign of my agitated pursuers.

The cold metal bench sends shivers through my body. Waiting for the bus gives room for questions about the last principle of the brotherhood I was able to decipher. Party on!

This unreasoning thought is followed by another. Mr. tweed coat...The note...Warren...Jim...How does it all add up?