wrong,” Lauren says. “So,
something has to come our way. Hopefully, that will happen. How about we go
find someplace to eat.”
I look across the street at the Trolleyman Brewery but
Lauren reads my mind.
“Not there,” she says. “The manager seemed like kind of a
dipshit.”
~~~
We decide to walk around, just to check things out while
also looking to see if we spot someplace where we’d like to eat. It feels good
to be out of the bus and not worried about getting somewhere. We’re just more
people on the sidewalk, blending in like we live in Charlotte too. The day is
getting hotter and more humid now that it’s almost noon but it doesn’t bother
me. I look at the bright side—right now, I probably would have been herding a
bunch of twelve-year-olds on a hike through the woods or hauling a cart full of
dirty towels from the pool to the laundry. Every day is an adventure for a
Leader in Training. Ten minutes ago, I felt totally depressed but now it
doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Maybe Lauren is right and something will
come up. And, if nothing does, we’re still together for now. That’s worth
plenty in itself.
We walk past an old guy sitting on a milk crate playing
an acoustic guitar—dark scalp ringed with gray-frizzled hair, eyes hidden
behind black glasses—and we stop to listen. It surprises me that he’s tearing
into a Pixies song, Dig for Fire , when I expect to hear some old blues
or something. In fact, he’s totally owning it, putting his own spin on the song
and it sounds really cool. I’ve been a Pixies fan for a while and I almost want
to take it for some sort of sign. But I can’t see what the Pixies, or the old
street musician, have to do with anything. All the same, when he’s done I drop
a dollar into his open guitar case and he says, “Keep the faith, my man.”
We walk for maybe another half-mile and spot a place
called the Midnight Diner, a restaurant basically made out of chrome that
dazzles my eyes in the bright sun.
“Let’s check it out,” Lauren says.
We go into the cool air, slide into a bright red booth
and look at menus. Not surprisingly, they’re big on breakfast items since,
evidently, the place stays open twenty-four hours. And, of course, there’s a
big range of burger options plus the comfort food you’d expect to find.
“Ooh, French Toast,” Lauren says.
“I’m thinking Carolina Burger,” I say.
As soon as we place our order, my phone starts buzzing
against the table. I wish I’d left it in my pocket since it’s even harder to
ignore with both of us aware of it.
“Do you think maybe you should answer that?” Lauren says.
I don’t have to look to know who’s calling. “I probably
should,” I say, but I don’t. After a minute, my phone stops vibrating.
The waitress drops off our drinks and Lauren sips her
lemonade. “Have they been calling a lot?”
I poke my straw at the ice in my Coke. “A number of
times.”
“Maybe you should just let them know you’re okay.”
“And tell them what, that I bailed on camp and took off
with you in search of whoever might have owned my guitar because a ghost keeps
appearing next to my bed?”
“You could. After all, it is the truth. I’m fine with it,
if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What about you? Don’t you—”
“Different situation,” Lauren says, sliding out of the
booth. “If the waitress comes back, can you ask her for extra syrup? I mean, if
it looks stingy.”
I watch as she walks toward the restroom. Lauren wears a
red skirt, a gray t-shirt and sneakers. With the vibrant streaks in her hair
gone, at least for now, she doesn’t draw stares for standing out next to the
other people in the diner. I wonder if she just dresses dark for school to put
people off, almost playing into the scary thing, something she picked up as a
defense mechanism along the way. If that’s been her intention, it’s worked
nicely for her. People have long stopped making fun of
something has to come our way. Hopefully, that will happen. How about we go
find someplace to eat.”
I look across the street at the Trolleyman Brewery but
Lauren reads my mind.
“Not there,” she says. “The manager seemed like kind of a
dipshit.”
~~~
We decide to walk around, just to check things out while
also looking to see if we spot someplace where we’d like to eat. It feels good
to be out of the bus and not worried about getting somewhere. We’re just more
people on the sidewalk, blending in like we live in Charlotte too. The day is
getting hotter and more humid now that it’s almost noon but it doesn’t bother
me. I look at the bright side—right now, I probably would have been herding a
bunch of twelve-year-olds on a hike through the woods or hauling a cart full of
dirty towels from the pool to the laundry. Every day is an adventure for a
Leader in Training. Ten minutes ago, I felt totally depressed but now it
doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Maybe Lauren is right and something will
come up. And, if nothing does, we’re still together for now. That’s worth
plenty in itself.
We walk past an old guy sitting on a milk crate playing
an acoustic guitar—dark scalp ringed with gray-frizzled hair, eyes hidden
behind black glasses—and we stop to listen. It surprises me that he’s tearing
into a Pixies song, Dig for Fire , when I expect to hear some old blues
or something. In fact, he’s totally owning it, putting his own spin on the song
and it sounds really cool. I’ve been a Pixies fan for a while and I almost want
to take it for some sort of sign. But I can’t see what the Pixies, or the old
street musician, have to do with anything. All the same, when he’s done I drop
a dollar into his open guitar case and he says, “Keep the faith, my man.”
We walk for maybe another half-mile and spot a place
called the Midnight Diner, a restaurant basically made out of chrome that
dazzles my eyes in the bright sun.
“Let’s check it out,” Lauren says.
We go into the cool air, slide into a bright red booth
and look at menus. Not surprisingly, they’re big on breakfast items since,
evidently, the place stays open twenty-four hours. And, of course, there’s a
big range of burger options plus the comfort food you’d expect to find.
“Ooh, French Toast,” Lauren says.
“I’m thinking Carolina Burger,” I say.
As soon as we place our order, my phone starts buzzing
against the table. I wish I’d left it in my pocket since it’s even harder to
ignore with both of us aware of it.
“Do you think maybe you should answer that?” Lauren says.
I don’t have to look to know who’s calling. “I probably
should,” I say, but I don’t. After a minute, my phone stops vibrating.
The waitress drops off our drinks and Lauren sips her
lemonade. “Have they been calling a lot?”
I poke my straw at the ice in my Coke. “A number of
times.”
“Maybe you should just let them know you’re okay.”
“And tell them what, that I bailed on camp and took off
with you in search of whoever might have owned my guitar because a ghost keeps
appearing next to my bed?”
“You could. After all, it is the truth. I’m fine with it,
if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“What about you? Don’t you—”
“Different situation,” Lauren says, sliding out of the
booth. “If the waitress comes back, can you ask her for extra syrup? I mean, if
it looks stingy.”
I watch as she walks toward the restroom. Lauren wears a
red skirt, a gray t-shirt and sneakers. With the vibrant streaks in her hair
gone, at least for now, she doesn’t draw stares for standing out next to the
other people in the diner. I wonder if she just dresses dark for school to put
people off, almost playing into the scary thing, something she picked up as a
defense mechanism along the way. If that’s been her intention, it’s worked
nicely for her. People have long stopped making fun of
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