Lying Beyond the Diner is a Dream: The first piece in a collection for suppressed creatives

By Alexandriana Davis

Every day, I tell myself it is cruel to force artists to live in the mundane world of capitalism. I feel a desire to escape into a world of whimsy whenever I begin tying the back of my crusty black apron. Yet here I am, forcing myself to clock in for my night shift at the only 24/7 diner in the city so I can afford to eat tomorrow.

I look around at the tattered booths of memories with pancake crumbs slyly grinning at me on unfinished plates. The lights are dim, allowing 2 am mischief to escape the diner unnoticed. It is rare that anyone is at the diner this late on a Tuesday, so I walk up to one of the large windows before I get to work. The city lights shine brightly against the sky, and I can barely make out a star or two against the light pollution. While some might go to the city for the hustle and bustle during the day, I find comfort in the quiet of the city at this hour. I take a deep breath, relaxing the tension in my muscles.

"Can I get a refill?” I jump at a low, scruffy voice from behind me.

I spin around and spot the person speaking to me. I can barely see them in the shadowy corner of the diner. They are a peculiar figure, with sopping leather boots halfway up their calves and an oversized trench coat that appears as if it is consuming them. I reluctantly turn away from the beauty beyond the window and walk towards their table.

“I asked for a refill. On the coffee.”

I keep staring at this mystery person before it registers with me what they said. “Um… oh! Yes. Of course. Right away.”

I begin to walk back to retrieve the coffee. I think to myself how eerie this situation seems, and I almost trip over myself as I’m walking.

While I’m grabbing the coffee pot, the person stands up from their seat. I watch them out of curiosity, getting the feeling I must have done something wrong for them to leave so abruptly. They begin to walk out the door, their boots making obnoxious squishy stomping noises as they march forward. Seeing my confused expression, they grin and wave me over.

"Forget the coffee. I want to show you something.”

I look at this person. A person who looks as if they jumped out of a painting and into the rain. Who is asking me to leave my only source of income and, therefore, survival, to follow them out into the night

I can hear the tremor in my voice as I ask, “Show me what?”

“You want whimsy, don’t you? To leave this behind and find meaning beyond our fast-paced world of productivity? I can show that to you. You just have to come with me.”

I stand there in astonishment. Who is this person? Is this a trap? What if I lose my job and am never heard from again?

Or what if this is everything I have been wishing for?

I stare outside at the city, longing to experience the peace and quiet of the night beyond the confines of this diner just once. I feel my brain tugging at me to follow the sign I have been searching for since I was forced to take this job.

My eyes move from the window back to this mysterious being. I feel my head moving into what slowly becomes a nod.

“Okay.”

I hear the diner bell ring with guilt and excitement as I follow my desire for more out the door and into the night.