It wasn't easy, but Jordan and I finally caught a taxi that would drive both of us. Although he did offer Jordan the front seat, he chose to sit with me in the back. I snuggled up against his strong chest.
"Where are you headed?" The cabbie asked.
"Maybe the nearest restaurant?" I said.
"Where you headed, sir?" he repeated.
"She just said the nearest restaurant." Jordan clenched his jaw in irritation.
"How 'bout Danny's Donuts?" There was a new edge.
"How do you like that, Princess?"
"That's fine," I replied.
"Where is it?"
"Just inside Monroe."
"Good."
We rode in silence for the rest of the ride. More signs of civilization began popping up. Gas stations, fewer trees and wilderness, churches, shops, and of the like. It was plain and boring compared to the hills and beaches of California. The sky was all in the clear now. It brightened the bad spirits in the region.
"That'll be fifty cents." the cabbie said as we pulled up to Danny's Donuts.
Jordan felt around his pockets. He chuckled. "Look what I have." He whispered and flashed me the remote. It was much smaller now. I guess that's a good thing. It won't confuse as many people.
He handed the man a ten. "Have a good day sir. Keep the change." We got out, leaving him in awe.
"He must think you're rich." he smiled.
"We are rich."
I looked up at Danny's Donuts. The name rang a distant bell in my mind, but I couldn't put a finger on it. It was a flat building with large inviting windows. There were booths outlining the perimeter and a bar seating area. Space was cleared in the middle and there were girls in poodle skirts dancing with boys in light wash jeans. A giant sign flashed Danny's Donuts in red that matched the booth chairs. There were almost no cars in the lot, but it was buzzing with happiness.
I gasped. "Jordan, they have a jukebox!" I had heard stories about them in clubs and diners. It was always featured in old-timey television episodes and movies. I had always wanted one, but they were no longer being sold. Not even antique stores sold them anymore in 2115 and old private investors would hoard them away from the public.
"I guess we'll just have to dance after our breakfast." He grinned. He held the door open for me.
I giggled, "Thank you, sir."
Ding!
Sweet, flaky, dough drifted through the air. The bitterness of coffee beans trailed on its heel. The checkerboard tiles were a classic touch that I'd always loved. The jukebox was on the side but was the center of attention. Five couples, all white, were enjoying themselves. Even if they weren't the best dancers.
"Jordan, my clothes." I realized, suddenly embarrassed.
"You look beautiful as always." He squeezed my hand and led me to a waitress. "Excuse me, I'd like a table for two." Que blinding smile of dazzling white teeth.
"One second, handsome." Her Southern belle accent matched the mood of the morning. She wore a shirt as blue as the sky and light jeans. Brilliant fiery red hair was tied back in a ponytail. She returned within seconds.
No doubt trying to flirt with your boyfriend, Eve whispered.
Shut up.
"Right this way."
YOU ARE READING
Broken
General Fiction"What year is it?" "1955." "Thank you." I turned around, my fears confirmed. I understood why the world seemed so different now. So hostile towards me for no reason. I was black. I was a girl. I was in rags. And it was 1955. ...
