The Man at the Diner

Winston sat by himself inside the diner in his usual place, a table meant for two. The waitresses always greeted him with a smile and the coffee always tasted the same. His eyes roamed around the décor of the place, which had surely been the same since the '70s.

Between orange formica table tops and faded yellow bench style seats, his eyes met those of a man he'd never seen there before, a man who'd already been staring in Winston's direction. Winston held his stare momentarily and then let his eyes continue to move, glancing across light brown interlocking tiles and the old black grout sandwiched between them.

"What can I get for you today, honey?" a waitress asked.

"Oatmeal with brown sugar and fruit, please."

She took down the order and walked away wondering why he didn't just make that for himself at home, but then again eggs were easy to make too, and some people just liked to get out.

Winston wanted to get a better look at the man who had seemed to stare at him, but was afraid to lock eyes for a second time. He did his best to seem casual about it. Immediately he knew that nothing had changed. Even as the man ordered breakfast, his glare never left Winston's face. 

Something else began to bother Winston as he slowly abandoned his attempt to hide his own stare: other than the man's loosely hanging long hair, bushy beard, and flashy style of dress, Winston thought the man could be his doppelganger. Winston's own close cropped hair, clean shave, and plain clothes prevented him from seeing this at first, but the longer he looked at the man, the clearer the resemblance became.

"Here's your oatmeal, sweety. More coffee?" 

"No, thank you."

As the waitress placed the food on Winston's table, he'd already risen from his seat and started walking across the room. The man nodded toward the old yellow bench across from him as Winston approached.

"You look familiar, do I know you?" Winston said as he sat down.

"Yes, I thought you might say that. We haven't met, but you do know me."

"How so?"

"Remember how you didn't have the balls to ask Penny Tate out in college?"

"Huh? How do you know Penny? And what makes you think I wanted to ask her out?"

"Come on, don't bullshit me. How about how you intended to move out to L.A. and pursue acting, but instead you took that desk job back in Philly?"

"Where do you get your information, pal? And who are you?"

Just then the waitress approached, "Here you are, sir: eggs over easy, pork roll, bacon, hashbrowns, white toast."

"I'm you, Winston. I'm every decision you never made. I'm the free-wheeling, fun-loving party guy you wish you could be."

Winston sat back in his chair, thought for a few moments about his life. Then he laughed out loud. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'm heading back to my table to eat mine. Nice to meet you."

"Wait a minute! You can't just walk away! Don't you wanna hear about all of my adventures, the adventures that could've been yours? All the fun and good times you missed out on?"

"Sounds enlightening, but my oatmeal is getting cold. Maybe some other time."

"That's the problem, Winston: 'maybe some other time,' you've been saying that your entire life. When will that time ever come, Winston?"

"Can't tell you that, but one thing I do know is that Penny Tate turned out to be a real bitch."

By the time Winston returned to his seat, the table where the man had sat was empty, just an orange formica table top and a faded yellow bench.

Listless

Winston stared at the miniature house with its fresh coat of paint and its perch, feeling a mixture of pride and anxiousness.  Birds flying through his yard would now have their own special place to relax, and he envied them.

He paced around inside the house.  Eyes darting, he couldn’t find a trace of his ex-wife.

How to get over her completely?  He’d begun with a list of all the things he wanted to change about himself.  He learned to cook, established an exercise routine and vowed to stick with it, stopped watching so much television in favor of reading more books.  He made lists of herbs to plant in his garden, carpentry simple and complex around his home (the birdhouse being a small, most recent example), places around Philadelphia to visit via bicycle, new gastropubs to frequent, etc.  He even made a master list of his various lists, for organizational purposes.

But today he couldn’t think of a single thing he felt like doing.  Unnerved, he felt.  Who was he anymore without something to do?

Back in the backyard, he stood and stared.  A light breeze passed and made his neighbors' wind chimes chime.  He took a deep breath and sat in his favorite chair, an outdoor rocker with comfy cushions.  Maybe I’ll just do nothing for a few hours, he thought.

He fell into that peaceful zone between wakefulness and sleep.  A Dark-eyed Junco flew from a nearby tree and stopped momentarily on a fence post in Winston’s yard, listened to him as he snored.

Image courtesy of Steve Creek Outdoors

Assigning Blame

Winston grabbed the two pages he’d just printed and took a thorough look at both.  One wire order, one approval.

“Ron, we need to talk, it’s important.”  Winston closed Ron’s office door behind him.

Ron pretended to have been doing something other than following the Phillies game on his computer.  “Give me one sec,” he said, eyes fixed to the screen.

Winston planted himself in a chair.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“I logged into the PNC account today to make the China wire and our balance didn’t look right.  Take a look at this transaction.”  He handed the two pages to Ron.

“Seventy five thousand even.  That’s odd.  What’s it for?”

“I was hoping you knew.  I don’t know of any bills for that amount.”

Ron glanced up at Winston, back down at the printout, up again and now locked the other man’s eyes, his expression a combination of anger and fear.

Winston, expectant, held Ron’s stare.

“Who’s the beneficiary?”  Ron asked.

“It’s a numbered account at a bank in the Caymans, no name attached.”

“When was the wire made?”

“Last week.”

“And you know nothing about it?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you ask Dan?”

“I wanted to discuss it with you first.  You know he and I are the only ones who have access to the system, and the wire was made via his login ID.”

“But any wire made with one ID has to be approved by the other, and from what you’re saying, you didn’t approve it.”

“Look at the second sheet of paper.  It’s an approval for the wire made via my account, but I didn’t do it.”

Ron’s stare became more intense, searching for weakness in Winston’s face, a flinch, any implication of phoniness.  He got nothing, but kept quiet, waiting for what he knew Winston would say next.

“Dan has access to my password and I can access his.  Just in case something happens to one of us, we keep them written down in the safe.”

“Dan’s worked here twenty years.  You’ve been here three.  Are you accusing him of stealing seventy five thousand dollars?”

Winston shifted gears, looked away from Ron, appeared personally hurt by Dan’s alleged thieving.  “I don’t know.  He certainly doesn’t seem like a crook.  I’m just presenting you with what I know.  Maybe someone else got the passwords from the safe.  You wanna call the police?”

“Seventy five fucking thousand.”  Ron shook his head, slapped the desk in front of him and turned in his chair, away from Winston.  “Dan’s not the type to do something like this.  Something’s not right.”

". . ."

The boss turned back to his employee.  “Get out of my office.  I’ll handle this from here.  I’ll tell the cops and see what the banks can find out and," Ron's eyes widened, "rest assured I'll get to the bottom of it.”

Winston nodded and left Ron’s office as quickly as he could.  He imagined himself, as he often did, sitting at Dan’s desk instead of his own, thrilled for a moment and then suddenly angry, yet again, recalling the day he stealthily learned that Dan had been sleeping with his wife.