After the sixty-five mile training run....
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Farmer and His Wife
I then made my way walking across the
Sussex Queens Diner parking lot. I knew
that I had to clean up in the bathroom after ordering coffee, I think as I
approach the lobby of the diner.
I entered the lobby before opening the door
to the dining area. I take off my camelbak and untied my jacket, smelled
it, it smelled like the clean fresh air from outside. ‘Thank God’. I thought to
myself. I donned the jacket back
on. I pushed my sunglasses up to fix my
hair from my baseball cap, I’d been wearing to protect me from the sun.
Then held my camelbak and entered the dining area. I then ventured to do something I’d never
done before. I sat on the diner’s stool
that faced the somewhat typical backdrop of a New Jersey diner, where there are
mirrors behind the counter that appear planted in between where waitresses
stand watching customers, and the machinery, for the coffee and the like, are
being operated from.
I’d really only seen men sit on these
stools at a diner counter. The men that
sat there appeared to either be blue collar workers, usually at the end of
their shift. Quite often middle-aged men
or older men did this. It appeared to
be their wind down, as if a pre-retirement mode of what they’d like to be doing
when no longer working.
I also recognized quite often depending on
the time of the day, that I’d see men, who were retired, perhaps widowers or
men who had wives who were either always out and about with their friends, or
their wives were home-bodies.
At first I felt so awkward. Then a waitress of about early to mid-fifties
asked, “What can I do for you?”
I responded, “I’d love a cup of coffee and
a big glass of water and a menu, Ma’am.
Thank you.”
As she began to serve me, I asked her,
“Ma’am, could you please tell me where the ladies room is?”
She replied, “Yes.” And pointed to where it was.”
I thanked the waitress and proceeded to go
to the ladies room. I cleaned up
washing my face and hands, and then got back to my seat at the counter. As I sat down I realized there was an
elderly gentleman, of World War II age generation, who was seated next to my
seat. He neared around six foot tall and
had a strong, modest, yet slender build.
The one thing that grabbed my attention
was, prior to this I didn’t notice him as I approached my seat. He sat to my left. I thought to myself, ‘Am I supposed to talk to this elderly man?’ I then flip back to my hunger. I scan for pancakes, eggs, bacon and some
sort of fruit to eat.
Now, barely having six hundred calories
I’ve ingested on the run, I realized I’d ran about sixty-five miles or
more. The time I spent running was a
good nine hours and thirty-five minutes.
I had been outside including purchasing drinks, eating, and phone
calling about ten hours and fifteen minutes or so.
Having about four hours sleep before the
run after a full day of work and family, lent itself to a distant fatigue. Everything now was in slow-motion. A common thing I’ve experienced, after a good
three hours on my feet running is when I stop, the world seems bigger. I seem smaller, nothing matters anymore and
you just can’t get me pissed. I have the
longest fuse, I’m calm. I’m not quick to
any kind of judgment or thought either.
And I’ll listen to stories from people endlessly. It’s like I’m the black hole, taking in
whatever the world is doing, saying and I have no response.
Soon enough the same waitress who served me
coffee and water comes to take my order.
I order pancakes, full stack, a poached egg, bacon, and grapefruit
juice. I’m so psyched to eat.
As I sat there at the diner counter I began
to get a little nervous, because the elderly gentleman next to me seemed to be
lonely. So to regain my social skills, I
begin to fumble around with the coffee creamers placed before me, before the
food comes. I’m inspecting the creamers
and wonder, ‘how cold do these things
have to stay?’ I’m in a bit of ‘la-la’ land feeling stoned from the
run. My head is buzzing.
As I sit there in my buzzing wonderment, I
looked up, I look down. I look straight
ahead. I then repeated the looking up
and down and straight ahead. ‘Weird’.
I thought to myself. ‘I now realize I’d never been put in this
situation before.’ I thought over
and over again to myself as I sipped the coffee and drank ice water awaiting my
mini-feast.
My thoughts continued, ‘Wow! So this is what the old men in the diner feel like, Uncomfortable,
no one to turn to, and no one to talk to.
My mind screamed. ‘God! How lonely?!!!’ I sink back into my own uncomfortable
feelings. ‘I must understand this old man, who’s sitting next to me. He must be so alone. I can’t be so selfish, considering the
awkwardness that scares me. I’m not even
at work, and I’m thinking like this.
Well, that’s me. I am a
workaholic.’
I pause my thoughts, ‘God! Okay I’m not old right now.
Make the best of it. I am dressed
kind of odd. Gee, I hope I don’t stink.’ I sniff,
‘Nope. Good. I can’t ignore this guy. It’s just not right to. What do I say?’ I try and stop my brain. I’m jittery yet super calm. ‘Okay
God I need a sentence. A one-liner would
do. Like a guy picking up a girl would say,
but not exactly like that. God, now
that’s a terrible thought.’
The
elderly gentleman is very quiet. He
seems totally still. Almost as if he’s
not even sipping his coffee. That is how
still he is. ‘How do old people do this?’
My thoughts continue to flow,
‘Actually, most of the times I picture old men at diners, whose wives are ill
or dead, never old women. It’s as if it doesn’t happen to old women or
something. Well, no, because they’d be
with one of their girlfriends. Men don’t
do much of that, especially while their wives are alive and well.’
Getting the nerve up, I begin, “I remember
when I used to work behind a counter as a waitress.” I pause, “It was a long time ago.”
I can now sense the elderly gentleman
beginning to turn his head slightly my way.
He begins, “Well I was a short order cook, when I was a kid. And you can’t be that old.”
I respond, “Oh it was almost thirty years
ago, when I was age sixteen. I’ll be
forty-five this year. I’m older than you
think.”
He smiled slightly, “Well I did it for a
short period of time. In 1942, I became
a paratrooper. I missed the invasion of
Normandy.”
I now was enthralled. I love history, “Wow!” I nearly stammered, “How did you end up
there?”
He continued as my food was placed in front
of me, “I was nineteen and I got called to go into the Army. They liked me and offered me to become a
paratrooper.”
Hesitating I asked, “Not that I would think
anyone would have enjoyed themselves in the war. But, did you enjoy the camaraderie?”
He paused and smiled, “Yes, I did. Actually, yes.”
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