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The transition of the biting autumn breeze to the still, lukewarm comfort of the dinner, sent me into a shivering frenzy.

With my arms wrapped around myself, I walked towards the last bar stool at the end or the room, smiling at Ida. She smiled back before returning to her customer.

I threw my bag down on the counter next to me, leaning my back against the wall to the right and resting my elbow on the counter. The dark gray sky illuminated the diner through large windows facing the harbor.

I'd been coming regularly to Jerry's Diner for a few weeks, nearly every morning around 7.  I discovered it not long after I moved here for college and drawn in by the warm, hospitable vibe the diner gave off.

It was old fashioned with classic checkered floors, and red cushioned bar stools and booths. Each table was decorated with an old Coke bottle holding a faded plastic flower as its centerpiece. Dozens of framed photographs and autographs hung from each wall. An antique gumball machine sat in the corner with gum most likely twenty years old and inedible, and an old school pinball machine collected dust beside it.

Ida finished speaking with her customer and walked behind the counter, sliding the order through the glassless window to Jerry. "Green tea?" She asked me as if I'd order anything else. I usually only ordered a green tea and maybe a muffin, depending on the time of the month. I'd come in for dinner a few times, but that was when I'd not been grocery shopping in a few weeks. This was my routine.

"Yup," I gave her a tired smile.

She brought me a steaming cup of water and set a packet of green tea on a napkin. "How are you, sweetie? Anything new?"

"Fine. And not since I saw you yesterday." I gave her a tight smile watching the tea bag float to the top of the cup. "What about you?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered, waving a hand in front of her.

Ida was a nice lady. She opened up to me and it made me feel obligated to do the same, but it didn't take her long to figure out I was a private person. She tended to pry but knew when to stop or Jerry, her husband, would swoop in and stop her before she said something she shouldn't. I'd shared with Ida more than I shared with anyone else I'd met here. That wasn't much, though; there weren't many.

I had learned Ida and Jerry had owned the diner for nearly forty years, almost as long as they'd been married. They had a son and a daughter, two years apart.

She knew I was from California, had a sister, and came from divorced parents. I told her my real name is Vienna and I went by Valley, but I didn't tell her why.

She was the closest thing I had to a friend in my new home because I hadn't made any real ones yet. There were acquaintances and I got on fine with people but I wasn't the best at opening up to them, so I had no real friends.

"So, Valley, have you thought about our offer? Jerry decided he'd pay more than whatever your salary is at the boutique in town."

"You decided that. I just didn't bother arguing," Jerry called to her from the kitchen, humor laced his voice. 

Yesterday, Jerry and Ida offered me a job waitressing morning tables. I already told Miranda, my boss and the owner of Swanky, I would finish the rest of the month out, but then I wouldn't be working for her anymore.

Ida and Jerry knew I wanted to work for them. I asked for a job the day I found the adorable diner but they didn't have any positions open then. Since then, Ida had come to see I wasn't the friendliest person so I wasn't sure why she would hire me, but they were offering to pay me more. I couldn't argue with something like that.

I grinned at her, "I told you yesterday, I would love to work here."

"That's great. Jer, she said yes!" She called through the window.

"The same answer as yesterday?" Jerry asked sarcastically. "That's incredible. Thought she would have changed her mind; realize it'd be a mistake to work with you. I know I regret it," he teased.

"You can start whenever you like," she ignored him again.

"Is the beginning of the month fine?" I chuckled.

"Sounds like a plan," she said.

It had always been sort of a dream of mine to work in a little diner like Jerry's Diner. The college girl waiting tables at an adorable family diner. A small town girl from a small, happy family with wishes for the girl to get out of the town and make something of herself, but know she won't because she's just an average girl with average grades and an average future. A cliche, maybe, but I was fixated with the idea nonetheless. 

Because I wasn't any of those things.  

Ultimately, I moved to break free. My mom was too controlling, demanding, and was never the understanding type. She acted like I was a perfect kid in public but as soon as the doors were closed, she turned around to tell me to do better, be better.

I moved to leave behind the memories of loss, tragedy, and false love.

I guess in my head that meant moving all the way from the West Coast to the East Coast to escape. So there I was. There I was, sitting friendless in a diner, drinking tea, thrilled that soon I'd be starting work with a sixty-year-old couple.

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At the sound of the bells when I opened the door to the small, rented room of the brick building, Miranda   looked up from behind the counter. She wasn't surprised in the slightest. I often came in early to work, having nothing better to do. She smiled kindly but unlike the relationship I held with Ida, the conversations with Miranda were forced. Too polite and awkward.

Swanky was another oddity of the town. The small boutique sold clothes, jewelry, accessories, postcards, and candy, all of which were made locally. The back wall was a deep shade of purple and in the corner was a tiny, makeshift dressing room. There was a long glass cabinet displaying more expensive items and a large vanity that held shoes. The shop was a mix of cute things a person might give as a side gift to a loved one and things they throw out when their great-aunt dies, wondering what on Earth compelled her to buy such a queer thing. 

I slipped behind the counter to hide my purse underneath. We were opening in about an hour, so I grabbed a small box of about 25 felt rings to place a handful in a dainty dish. They were bulky things- probably made with wire then wrapped in felt- with large, stiff flowers of the same material protruding from the top. I never understood why anyone would buy any of the absurd things the little old women sent Miranda to sell for them, but they were always bought by tourists looking to blow money and old women wanting to support each other's crafts. It was fun to see what they could make, though, and intriguing to see what people would spend their money on.

I didn't need the job. I wasn't putting myself through college. What my scholarship didn't pay for, my parents were covering, something I was beyond grateful for. My dad had been saving for college since I was born and my mom was paying off what his money couldn't.

My mom had this idea that I shouldn't be working while I was in school because it could distract me from my studies. I had a lot of free time on my hands, though, with my lack of friends and non existent social life, I needed something to do. A routine better than lying around all day, over analyzing, and cross checking my papers.

It was a stress-free job. One I may not have needed, but the extra cash for things like clothes, and makeup, and whatever else I wanted was welcome. I planned on using some of the money for another tattoo also. Something my dad wouldn't have approved of. 

But that doesn't matter now, does it? I reminded myself.

As usual, there were only a few customers during my shift, a woman and her daughter who bought a scarf and a small plush toy, an elderly lady looking for some flowers (which we don't carry), and another woman who bought a pair of electric blue rain boots and one of those felt flower rings. Just another day at work.

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The rest of the month flew by like that. I was waking up to grab my tea at Jerry's and then working with Miranda, or doing homework for classes if I didn't have work. I strolled lazily through my midday classes before heading back to my dorm, ready for the same things the next day.

It was an empty routine. Nothing special, nothing exciting or even different about my days. I didn't hate my life or what I was doing, in fact, I loved it. It was the peace I had been searching for. But I felt something was missing. It hadn't been as prominent since I moved to the West coast, but it lingered. I was wasting my time.

As the days passed slowly by and the day I would start working for Ida and Jerry neared, my spirits began to lift. That was a change I needed. It wasn't large or significant in any way, other than a change of routine. But this would probably be the most exciting thing to happen to me in the months I'd been in Rhode Island.

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"Hi, V."

"Hey mom," I said into my phone. I was sitting in my car outside the diner, watching the rain splash against my window.

"How is school, going? Is that administration of justice class hard? Probably not, and even if it is, you can handle it."

I sighed lightly. "It's good. I'm learning a lot."

"Really? With all the programs and the mock trials you did so well in, I would think you would know most of the material."

"Mock trials and law school are not the same mom," I tried to say gently.

"Yes, I know that, Vienna. But you're such a bright young woman, I thought maybe you would be ahead," she said impatiently.

"Yes, mom. I'm learning a lot but it's not hard because I already have a lot of background on the subject. I'm doing well," I conceded.

"And who do you have to thank for that?" She asked in a sing-song voice.

"Of course I have you to thank for it," I said, knowing she was looking for gratitude.

"Oh no, V. It was all you. You just had me to nudge you along." I could hear her smile through the phone. I'm not sure if her pride was of me or of what she has accomplished through me.

"I need to get going, mom," I attempted to end the conversation. I knew the only reason she called was to check in, to see how I was doing in school. If she could, she'd probably be calling my professors too. I was grateful for the laws against such a violation of privacy.

"Alright. Well, you keep in touch."

"I will."

"Okay. Love you, bye-bye," she said before she hung up the phone not giving my time to respond.

It was the first Monday of September so I was starting my first day of working for Jerry and Ida. I stepped out of the car, quickly walking under the cover to the building before I walked into the diner. I shrugged off my raincoat and swapped out the emerald green rain boots I so rarely wear, for a pair of faded gray, low-top Converse. It was my first day working the diner and I would probably be on my feet more than when I was when I worked for Miranda.

Within the first couple days, I learned who the regular customers were, like me, and what they tended to order; it was a small town. Now that I was spending a great deal of my time here in the diner, I grew closer to Ida and Jerry. But it wasn't long until I was used to the new angle I saw of the diner, and the excitement of my new job faded back to the monochromatic normalcy that was my world. I was dwelling on the fact that I lead the most boring life that any freshman college student could.

My life was an uneventful routine. As predictable as a moth being drawn to a flame, which was ironic because a small flame was more exciting than my daily events.

I was comfortable but that's not what I wanted for myself. I moved here to change the workaholic I was in California, to free myself from the person I had allowed myself to become. I wasn't making much of an effort to do that, though.

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I walked out of the diner typing in the name of a bookstore Ida gave me. She said it's owned by a little old man who lived next door, in a little guest house. Apparently, he's shy but if I were to start a conversation with him, he wouldn't stop talking. 

So I tapped the address into the navigation system in my phone and following the direction to the little home that was transformed into a recycled book store. I pulled my car into one of the few parking spaces in front of the store. It was cute, a little brick-red house with white trim and shutters. It had bushes along the porch and the vines looked like they had been kept at bay with continuous trimming along the railing.

I stepped out of my car, avoiding the puddle below me and walked up the porch. I could see the blinds on the windows were pulled up halfway to make room for the piles of books placed on the window sill. I opened the door, causing the bell hanging above my head to jingle with a high pitched chime, announcing my entrance. I was immediately hit with the scent of inked pages and dusty shelves. I walked farther into the room, hearing shuffles from around the corner before a gray old man came out from behind the wall to meet me.

He pushed his glasses up to look at me from under them, before dropping them back on his large nose where they sat comfortably. He scratched his chin under his scruffy, poorly kept beard, the white hair on his chin was the same as the patchy locks of white on his head.

"What's your name, young lady?" He asked gruffly, the hairs on his lip moving up and down, hiding his mouth as he spoke.

"Valley." I smiled politely.

"That's a peculiar name. I'm Bernard." He nodded. "We only sell books here, Valley."

I smiled at him. Most people thought it's a peculiar name but they didn't usually say it out loud. "That's just what I was looking for. Specifically your collection of poetry and horror."

"The west wall of this room." Bernard turned around, motioning for me to follow him. He led me to the room he had come from before he met me at the door. He pointed to the wall and and then another, "And that bottom shelf." I smiled appreciatively. "Well," he nodded curtly. "call if you need anything. Be loud. I can't always hear well."  

I chuckled lightly as he turned away to a small desk in the corner or the room. He climbed onto a rickety wooden chair with a faded blue cushion as he looked at what seemed to be a box of books he was tagging.

I turned to the shelf, scanning for something I might recognize, but decide to sit down on the cold wooden floor and browse the bottom shelves instead. 

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a/n

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