The Light Inside

(The following short story was "inspired" by the famous painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. I was asked to create a story reflecting what may be occurring within the portrait between the people painted within it. ~Micki)

Outside, where no one asks you how you are, it is dark. And no one strolls by anymore. They just blow by! In a flash! Then, boom! They are gone. Their distant hurried footsteps echoing a whispered thunder down the street, proof the silent storm of sadness rages around them. While they race by they once again missed the light inside. 

A special vision comes from stillness. It takes a special vision to see past the repressive color scheme of army green. Most people are afraid to peer past the past while searching for some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. Questioning if it is there, by chance lurking somewhere in the future. It seems too daunting a task to think of waiting it out in measures of time. That was the real burden of war. Waiting out the darkness. Others, though, were just as anxious waiting out the darkness but rather than ponder the light they just accepted the fact it was indeed there. Even on the longest night, when just the idea of light was hidden by the distance of a million miles, they knew it was there. Therefore they allowed themselves to be led by it. They knew they didn't need to rush towards it. It was there waiting for them knowing when it was the right time shine. Time is an unatrual measure to these kind of people. This is how they have special vision and so it was this way that people could see the light from inside.

Inside buttery yellow light melts from the ceiling, drips down the walls, oozes out the window panes and glazes the sidewalk around the front of the building. Sonny is the proprietor of Phillies, a kitchenette. Inside Phillies is where the light that trickles out, begins. Engage Sonny in conversation and he may give you a piece of day old pie on the house. "Given the night hour and all" he'd chimed with a cocked smile, twinkle in his eye. It was his way of thanking one for adding to his day. He knew time and kindness were free to give away yet, "Folks seem to hold onto those things like they were gold today", he pondered "they must be convinced the stakes are too high I suppose." 

Ester watched Sonny plate the last piece of tart cherry pie for the loner seated at the other end of the counter. She had seen the man hanging around Phillies for years yet the only thing she knew about him for certain was that his name was Cal. 

He never added much to conversations. He didn't seem to take much away from them either. If someone asked Cal a question he usually answered with a cliche`. Something boring like "Well, if the shoe fits." Or, "As they say in Sardinia .." with which he always padded with a pause as to imply he was exceptionally clever. Everyone in the diner knew that there was no such saying. Including Cal but it didn't stop him. His co-workers could only describe Cal as an awkward orangutan.

Although the diner still casts a slight glow from the inside out into the gloom it isn't as bright as it used to be. It's heartbeat ceased when The Service became a demand and not a calling. Until 3 months ago Ester was a waitress inside. Eventually however customers became a commodity  When the men left to fight, families were forced to relocate away. There weren't any factories nearby so riveters weren't gunning for seats at the counter either. There just wasn't enough business to keep Ester AND Sonny busy. He had to let her go.

But she kept coming back because Sonny made a decent cup of joe. She would bring different friends at different times. Maybe one took her dancing. Maybe another to dinner. Sometimes both. Some helped her pay rent too. It wasn't something she was ashamed of nor did she let it define who she was. She never lost sight of the light inside.

Keeping time with the swing songs playing on the radio she tapped her fingertips on her coffee cup. Radios were everywhere these days. Tuesday she heard one playing in the library. Radios had become a tether to their reality. A droning voice always in the background acting as a generic conscious  reminding them that perhaps it still wasn't the time to think about the light at the end of the tunnel.Between the war reports every quarter hour though, the radio would also play Big Band numbers. Catchy songs punctuated with blaring bursts of trumpeted sunshine. Even sad songs and longing love ballads were punch drunk with their staccato. The songs contrived happiness for them and played on their sub-conscious as well. Reminding them that if they dared, they COULD dream of better days ahead. Their faith would be rewarded. They just had to wait.

Ester began laughing. "I used to wait tables for tomorrow" she said "Now I wait for tomorrow at tables." Ester stopped laughing. She glanced out the giant plate glass window and into the darkness. Outside wasn't that far away.

"Sonny" she sighed while leaning in to lounge on the counter with her elbow, "tell me about the good ol' days.""Sure! Say, you ready for some pie? Just made it this morning" he sang, "at the crack of dawn!"