Laughter ala mode

Written by Diane T. Stokowski

This was written for a short story contest, Fiction 500

I sat in corner booth with my grandpa in a small building filled with people, young and old. The room smelled of fried everything, and coffee. I looked around wondering why my grandpa would take me to such a run-down diner.

             I was equally confused as to the name of this establishment, “Grandpa why did they call this place the California Lunch Room? This is Georgia.”

            Grandpa roared with laughter and yelled, “Hey Wade, tell my here my granddaughter why ya’ named this place the California Lunch Room?”

            A short, black, fire-plug man turned, smiled revealing a missing front tooth, “Well ya’ see I figure so-fis-ti-cate-ed people are from California. That’s why I named it that.” He pointed to his head, “I’m smart.”

            A hunched man at the counter cackled, “Yeah and those sophisticated people can buy a pack of smokes and some gloves to go with it!”

            “Don’t forget a ball cap!” Whinnying laughter exploded.

            I felt like the whole diner was laughing, except Wade.

            Wade frowned, slumped shoulders over, “Oh ya’ all be laughin’ when I charge double for that plate of black-eyed peas.”

            “Yeah, because all those sophisticated people from California will run on down and buy your mushy black-eyed peas.”

            The diner’s whistling of laughter tickled me. All the people in it seemed to know each other. In these walls, all the worries of the world seemed to fade. I felt like I was at a party, not just some boring restaurant.

            When all the laughter finally subsided, the one elderly man from the counter got up and shuffled to our booth.

            Grandpa looked up, his blue eyes smiling, “This here is Mr. Sheatz.”

            Mr. Sheatz shook my hand with his bony cold hand. He looked like a walking skeleton with a smile on his face, “Ya’ sure have one pretty granddaughter ya’ old coot.”

            Grandpa shook his head, “yep, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He winked at me, “next to her grandma, no gal can compare.”

            “Good thing she got her looks from yer wife,” Mr. Sheatz chuckled.

            Grandpa grabbed my hand and squeezed, “Yep, she sure did.”

             “Nice to meet you.”  Mr. Sheatz nodded and shuffled off.

Grandpa still held onto my hand, his smile subdued, “Ya’ know granddaughter, I love you very much.”

            I shrugged, “I know grandpa. I love you too.”

            That was the last time I’d seen my grandpa alive. The memory of that day imprinted in my mind forever.

            The California Lunch Room closed up some 20 years ago when Wade passed away. I still purposefully drive by that tattered building, still standing, words faded on the side.

            The roars of laughter echo, sweeping happy memories held dear. A tiny little diner named so cleverly. Though words faded and the building falls apart, memories will remain to last a lifetime.  The California diner, where one can get lunch, smokes and a side of laughter ala mode.