I grew up in foster care, so maybe I should have known better.
My mother abandoned me right after I was born, and my father was rotting in prison.
I learned early that adults could say anything and mean absolutely nothing.
I learned how to pack fast, how to keep my important things together in one place, and how not to cry in front of strangers if I could help it.
When I aged out of the system, I left with two trash bags full of clothes and no real plan.
Terminé en esa ciudad porque el alquiler era barato y nadie hacía preguntas.
I worked terrible jobs for even worse bosses just to keep my head above water.
Then I got a job at Joe’s Diner, and surprisingly, I liked it right away.
Joe hired me because one of his waitresses quit during a breakfast rush, and I happened to walk in asking if he needed help.
He looked me up and down and asked,
“You ever carried three plates at once?”
I answered honestly.
“No.”
He shrugged.
“You got ten minutes to learn.”
That was Joe — blunt, intimidating, built like a refrigerator, and somehow still one of the more decent people I’d ever met.
At the end of long shifts, he’d shove a burger and fries at me and grumble,
“Eat before you pass out and make extra paperwork for me.”
Sometimes after closing, I stayed behind helping wipe counters while he complained about suppliers, food costs, broken freezers, and people who ordered eggs “medium-medium-well.”
And every Tuesday and Thursday morning at exactly eight o’clock, Mrs. Rhode walked through the diner doors.
Mrs. Rhode
La primera vez que la esperé, se entrecerró los ojos en mi etiqueta.
– James -dijo ella. “Te ves lo suficientemente cansado como para colapsar en mi gofre”.
“Long week.”
She snorted.
“Try being 85.”
That was our introduction.
After that, she always asked for me.
One morning she said,
“You ever smile, son?”
“Sometimes.”
“I doubt it.”
Another morning she glanced at me and announced,
“Your hair looks worse every time I see you.”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Hm. Better. You sound almost alive today.”
She was difficult in a way that somehow became charming once you got used to her.
I never saw her act sweet, but she paid attention to people. That counts for more than most people realize.
One afternoon, I was carrying groceries home when she called to me from behind her fence.
“You live nearby, James?”
I stopped.
“Parejar casas abajo”.
Me estudió un momento.
“Hmm. ¿Quieres ganar algo de dinero decente, hijo?
Me congelé.
“Doing what?”
She opened her front door and motioned me over.
“Come help me. We’ll agree on a price. I’ll explain everything over some tea.”
Inside, she poured me tea that tasted like boiled weeds and got straight to the point.
“I’m dying,” she said.
