Unsuspecting Dreamer

Chapter 1 To The Rescue

Its been a long night. I've already dropped 2 cups of coffee and mixed up an order. And, it's only 6:30. I can hear the winter winds blowing from inside the diner. Medford, MN is getting hit hard. I stifle a yawn, at this rate I'll never make it to the end of my shift without falling down dead. 2AM never seemed so far away.

"Excuse me, miss?" A man calls from the end of the counter. I sigh under my breath; he's been bugging me since he walked through the door. I'm pretty sure he's drunk.

"Yes, how can I help you sir?" I pull my order pad and pen out of my dining apron uniform as I walk over to him from the cash register. At least a dozen times he's gotten my attention and he keeps forgetting my name.

He squints at my name tag. "Lizzy. Hi, nice to meet you," he slurs.

"Okay. Hello, what can I get for you?"

"Coffee and a date." He grins. This isn't my first drunk customer to come onto me. In fact, only drunk and senile ones ever do. I like to blame the ugly bright orange button up outfit, with a mid calf skirt, which we tie a white apron over and white tennis shoes. It's pretty bad.

But if you can look past that, my hair is lank brown, losing all golden shine the second I walk into the Diner. I swear, every time I walk into work I absorb a quart of grease, just in my hair. "I can help you with the refill," I say, turning to grab the pot.

"Oh come on honey," he says, "you don't got a boyfriend, do ya?"

As I pour, I give him a once over. He's at least in his 40's, skinny, with bird eyes, and yellow teeth. He reeks of cigarette smoke and alcohol. The stubble on the sides of his mouth hold bits of ketchup and mustard from his meal. I imagine dumping coffee on his head.

"Here you go sir." I completely sidestep his questions.

"Table 8, your order's up!"

I turn on my heel and scoop up the tray. I deliver the order with a smile that I can't quite make genuine. I then deliver 2 bills, messing up the total on one. I am yet again amazed at how angry people get when the bill is messed up in their favor but completely silent when it's in theirs.

Two hours later the dinner rush is finally over, the only patrons in the restaurant are the drunk and a couple on the older side. The other waitresses have gone home, and the cook is busy in his kitchen. None of us bug the cook. He's a nut about cleaning, and hygiene so we stay out of the kitchen as much as possible. I could go on break but with the creepy drunk I really don't want to sit at the counter, so I choose to clean the bathrooms.

By 9 I am exhausted, but still on my toes because creep's still there.

"So what is it? Am I too old for ya?" I refill his cup for the fifth time.

"Can I bring you your bill sir?" I hint strongly.

The bell on the door jingles. I quickly glance up. "Be right with you," I call.
"Sure honey, make sure you put your digits on the bottom." He winks.

Shuttering inwardly, I pull out his fully totaled bill and lay it in front of him. I move around the counter, keeping a wide birth between me and the drunk, heading for the recently occupied table near the door. "Snow's really coming down out there," I say, as he guy brushes off his jacket. I search in my apron for my pen, but I am unable to find it.

"Behind your ear," a light voice offers.

I look up surprised. "Thanks," I reply. My eyes meet a pair of sharp blue ones. He's probably in his early 20's, heart shaped face, black cap with a bill covering his head. And I think I detect a slight southern accent. I pull the pen out from behind my left ear, breaking our eye connection. "What can I get for you? I ask.

"Cup of coffee, and a piece of pie."

"Apple or cherry?"

"Um, I don't know. Which do you recommend?"

"Oh.... uh, the apple is fresher and less processed," I stammer, kicking myself as soon as I say it. I'm just so off balance. The drunk must have me more rattled than I thought.

"Okay then, apple it is," he smiles. I can tell there is real kindness in his smile, and I smile back. Beaming in gratitude.

"I'll be right back," I tell him. While I'm plating the pie and pouring the coffee the drunk actually looks like he's getting ready to leave. I say a silent prayer of thanks.

"I can help you in just a second sir," I say as I bring the order out from behind the counter. I hurry, excited to get rid of this guy. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my hip and backside. I yelp and the coffee and plate are instinctively dropped. Semi-hot coffee spills on my legs and shoes. I whirl and lash out with my fists, keeping my distance. The uncomfortableness and fear don't keep embarrassed tears from springing up in my eyes.

"Leave, NOW." I boom in a voice I have special reserved for bullies and attackers.

"Whatever sweetie." He laughs it off and throws some money behind him on his empty plate. "Name's Harold by the way." He winks and takes a step forward. My hands cross in front of me, defensively, I take a half step back, trying to hold my composure. I step on the plate, the pie, I'm not sure but the next thing I know I have slipped, falling to the floor and landing hard.

I am extremely scared now. It's like nothing exists in this world except me and this stupid, scary drunk. I'm not sure what is going to happen next. But instead, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"She asked you to leave," the soft, almost musical, voice says. I look to my left, he's crouching down by me, his rush to my defense makes me feel a glimmer of relief and protection. I remember I am not alone. I throw my gaze down to the floor, unable to look at Harold anymore. The drunk cusses and finally lumbers out of the diner. I breath a sigh.

"Hey, you okay?" The world seems a little shaky, but things are finally coming back into focus. Now the adrenaline wears off and I am left with the pain. My legs burn from the hot coffee; my tailbone feels like it's shattered it stings so, and my hands and elbows join in the stinging.

I struggle to get up, pottery shards digging into my hands and knees as I flip over. The floor slick beneath me. Then I am yanked to my feet, with little effort. For the second time I am staring into those pale blue eyes.