An Imaginary Line

Chapter Ten: A Change of Plans

When Harper entered the dimly lit resto pub, she was greeted by the delightful smell of buttered toast, bacon, and French fries. She had somehow forgotten how hungry she was. Without a penny to her name, she wondered if this delightful and heavenly-smelling restaurant was a good place to be.

She stepped down onto the restaurant floor and saw the only table with a single occupant—a dark man sporting a five o'clock shadow and longish, wavy black hair. Harper inched toward the table until he made eye contact and confirmed that he was the one she was looking for. She sat opposite him and half smiled.

"Harper, yes?" he asked, friendly but slightly nervous, taking his glass of water up to his mouth.

"Yeah, Harper, Charlie is it?"

"Charlie, yes, happy to meet you."

Harper smiled in wonderment.

"Wh—at?" he asked slowly, eyeing the girl apprehensively.

"Why do you talk like that?"

"I'm..." he searched for the words, laughing incredulously. "British," he finished, still unsure what to make of her reaction. "Unless there's something really the matter with the way I speak that I'm not aware of?"

She simply sat there, amused and shaking her head.

"You're gonna go on and tell me you've never heard a British accent before, yeah?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just... It's really fascinating. I've heard it, of course, well only a couple of times, but never in person. I think it's great," she stated.

"I'm glad I have your approval," he answered, tilting his head to the side in wonderment. "I take it you're local?"

"Yeah, grew up pretty close. Never been any further than Wayne's Crossing until recently, actually."

"Well it's pretty much the same anywhere you go," he answered, his words coloured with the slightest shade of sadness.

It was quiet for a moment, and the only waitress working the entire restaurant took advantage of the opportunity. She floated up to the table, coffee tray in hand, chewing gum and echoing the same phrase for perhaps the thousandth time this week:

"What'll it be folks?" her forced smile rested on her tired face about the length of time it takes for light to travel a distance of 5 feet.

"Coffee smells great," Charlie said, eyeing the tray. "Fancy a bite, Harper?"

"Oh," she said dimly, mustering up all the strength in her meager being to form the following words. "Nah, not hungry now. Thanks."

"You sure? The chips are brilliant," he insisted, playfully exaggerating his accent.

She just forced a smile nearly as fake as the waitress's and shrugged. She practically felt tears coming on.

"That's it, I guess," he said to the woman. As she walked away, Harper's stomach let out an audible grumble. The waitress paused for a split second, but decided to keep walking towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, you don't sound hungry at all. And the insipid glow to your face just proves it—must be all the healthy, well-balanced meals you've been having lately. I wonder—"

"All right I'm obviously hungry, I just don't... Have any money."

"Who cares, you're looking worse by the minute. Get yourself some eggs or something," he demanded lightly.

"You mean, use my credits..." she said, thinking back on her newfound citizenship. She sat up as she realized she may actually be able to legally buy something for the first time in her life.