The Sun Also Sets

            The bell called out as Chester stepped through the door, it’s voice had lost some of the clarity and vigor it had on his first visit to the diner, but that’s easy to blame on the years.

“Heya Sandy,” he called out as he mounted a barstool.

            “Oh Chester,” came the muffled reply from somewhere under the counter. “Don’t bother with those old stools, take a booth. I’ll be over shortly.”

            Chester grinned, enjoying each step of this old dance. With half-hearted complaints about being pushed around by the staff he slid off the stool and grumbled his way to the corner booth, his usual booth.

            “Sorry hun,” Sandy said as she rose into view. “Trying to keep this old grease trap running is a twenty-four hour job. I just put a pot of coffee on, one minute and we’ll have some fresh perked.”

            Chester nodded as he settled back in his booth to watch her bustle about. Though he’d never admit it, Chester was pretty sure he could spend the remainder of her days just watching Sandy flit around, cleaning this and filling that. A dull ding pulled him from his reverie and soon Sandy was taking the seat across from him, placing two cups of coffee on the table as she sat.

            “Should you be sitting down on the clock,” grumbled Chester with teasing familiarity.

            Sandy looked over her shoulder at the diner packed with empty tables, “I think my other customers can wait for a few minutes.”

            Chester grinned as he took a sip of his coffee, “I’m pretty sure you said the exact same thing the first time we met.”

            “There were actually customers to neglect back then,” she replied matter-of-factly.

            The pair sat for a moment in silence, letting the years and the memories wash over them, the nostalgia perking them up in ways that coffee never could.

            “Come with me Sandy,” Chester said finally, shattering the silence.

            “I’m pretty sure you said the exact same thing the first time we met,” she replied coyly.

            He eyed her over his coffee mug, “But now there’s nothing holding you here Sandy, nothing save this old diner.”

            A single tear escaped from the torrent welling up in her eyes. Sandy turned, “I suppose I always knew I’d have to close her down eventually, “she said, running a trembling hand along the wall.

            Chester nodded empathetically before rising to his feet and offering her his arm. A few more tears chased the first as Sandy allowed him to help her up and out of the old diner. She looked at him as they climbed into his truck, a peaceful smile now catching her tears.

            “I suppose there’s no point in leaving a note,” she said, finality gracing her voice.

            “Not when there’s no one left to say good bye to,” he responded as he laid his hand on hers and pulled out onto the empty interstate, headlights towards the setting sun.

La Tormenta

The aging man sat calmly at the cliff’s edge, the first hint of a squall churning the sea below him. He spread his arms out to the coming storm and fixed his gaze on the horizon, his eyes as cloudy as the sky they looked on. Deprived of one sense the old man reveled in his others, the sound of the sea thrashing, the feel of the ocean wind whipping against his face, the electric sensation of the charged air. All of his remaining senses combined to synthesis one feeling: anticipation.

            “Abuelo, abuelo” a thin boy in mismatched clothing shouted as he ran up the hill. “La tormenta.”

            The old man half-turned his head, smiling at the young boy. “Yo say miho, la tormenta de rayos esta gruñana.”

            The little boy plopped down on the grass next to his grandfather, his breath still trying to catch up with him after his dash up the hill. The old man gazed wistfully back towards the sea and put a hand on his grandson’s back. The dark clouds were moving quickly now, the wind whipping the sparse trees into a frenzy. A long bolt of lightening streaked down towards the grey waters and less than a heartbeat later a peal of thunder crashed over the pair like an invisible wave. The little boy clung to his grandfather, visually shaken.

            “Pero…pero…los rayos,” the boy stammered to his grinning grandfather.

            “Shhh,” the old man retorted kindly.

            “Y…y…tus ojos,” continued the boy.

            “Silencio,” the grandfather reprimanded gently. “Dejala hablar.”

            And speak she did. The storm intensified exponentially over the next few minutes, small branches cracked off of the trees and rained down on the old man, his arm covering his grandson protectively. His fear finally overcoming worry for his grandfather the young boy broke away and hustled down the hill to the shelter of home.

            “Vaya con Dios,” the old man called back to his grandson as the first heavy drops began to fall.

            Using his withered old cane for leverage the old man raised himself from the ground, facing the storm on his feet. In his own world of darkness the old man came alive with the storm, her sweet perfume filling his nostrils and her earth shattering thunder setting the beat; the old man danced with the storm, the music of the moment infusing his body with an otherworldly vigor.

            For hours the small boy watched the front door shake in it’s frame, for hours he sat immobile, waiting for his grandfather. Finally as the first rays of sun broke through the cloud cover the boy, driven by fear and uncertainty, crept to the front door and eased it open. The world that met his eyes looked freshly born after the crucible of the storm and making his way slowly down the hill of this newly born earth was the old man. The boy ran to his grandfather.

            “Abuelo, tenia mucho miedo.”

            "Yo tambien miho,” the old man said, embracing his grandson. “Yo tambien.”