Paperback Writer

Every morning when the sun rises, I rise with it.  I have to get up and start that first pot of coffee because I know almost as soon as I unlock that door, Zalman will enter the shop, all ready for me to pour him his first cup.

It’s the same routine every day.  I get up and shower.  Then I wake Alexis, my daughter.  It would appear her alarm has problems working on the days she needs to get up for school.  After that, it’s straight to the restaurant to start that coffee.

The restaurant is only slightly younger than the house to which it is attached.  My grandfather opened it shortly after he moved here.  That was a long time ago, before I was even born, and I feel as though I have been alive forever.

I walk through the swinging doors that separate the house from the restaurant.  I think I could be blind and still be able to find my way around without confusion.  Nothing has changed.  Not even the clientele.

I stand behind the counter.  It’s a large solid piece of wood.  I forget what kind.  I polish it every night after the last customer has left but it never seems to shine like it used to.  I rub my hand on its smooth surface for a moment before turning my sights to the kitchen.  Greg is late and so I’ll have to start the baked goods before I do anything else or they won’t be ready in time.

Soon the muffins are baking and it won’t be long before we’ll need pancakes and eggs and bacon on the griddle.  I hope Greg is here by then.  Thursdays are notoriously slow but the leaf peepers are starting to pick up in number and it could be a problem if I have to work the griddle too.

Next I unlock the doors and prep the tables.  There are also four booths, two on either side of the entrance.  The seats are a lot like the counter.  Hard, but smooth and worn.  They’ve been patched too many times to recall.  I suppose I should just replace them but there is always the problem of money.  There isn’t always enough.

Just as I finish with the morning preparation, Greg shows up.  He dashes off an unnecessary apology for his lateness and disappears into the kitchen.  Next Zalman comes in with the same toothy grin stretched across his face and sits down at the counter.  I automatically reach for his mug and fill it for him.  No cream, no sugar.  Zalman likes it black.  He’s had it that way for forty years.

I haven’t been behind the counter for forty years.  My father owned it before me and his father before him.  Every morning they did what I do now.  I inherited the business after my father died.  Got married and had Alexis.  It happens to a lot of people in this town.  It’s a trap.

Zalman is the perfect example.  He sits at the counter every morning, drinking coffee and reading the paper.  He’s never left, never gone anywhere.  Never had the chance.

I glance at the clock.  Alexis is going to be late.  I leave Zalman to his coffee and his paper and go back into the house.  I stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell to her.

“Lexi!  You’re gonna be late!”

“Coming!” she calls back.

I go back to the shop and wait.  Zalman finishes his coffee and helps himself to another cup.  The morning crowd begins to trickle in.  Most just want a cup of coffee and a muffin before they head off to their offices.

I hear Lexi come into the kitchen after the first rush has gone and the shop is empty of customers except for Zalman.  I hear her talking to Greg.  She calls him Grill Man.  He calls her Sunshine.  It suits her.  When she smiles, she looks like sunshine.  She got her looks from her father.  Her blond curly hair and blue eyes came from him.

Greg calls me Rosebud.  I don’t know why.  Because of my name, I guess, but it doesn’t fit.  Rosebuds are new, fresh, just starting out.  I’m not.

“You ever gonna set that alarm?” I ask her when she comes into the dining room.  It’s our morning ritual.

“Why I would do that?” she asks in return.  She gets herself a muffin and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  “I have you.”

“You think I’m that reliable?”

Alexis smiles.  “As long as Zalman needs his coffee, I’m set,” she says, waving to the white haired man at the end of the counter.  “Now seriously, do you want me to stay home today and help you?”

“No, I want you to go to school.”

“But you’ll be all alone.”

“Rachel’s coming to help me.  You don’t need to worry.”

“Sure I do.  Now I’ll just worry for different reasons,” she says.

“Rachel will do just fine.”

“I know.  I jest.  But if you’re going to insist on this school thing, can I at least have some money for lunch?”

It is my turn to smile now.  “You know you could just bring a lunch with you.”

“I could, but that would be uncool.  You don’t want your only daughter to be uncool, do you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, getting the money out of the register.

She puts the money in her backpack and then slips her arms through the straps.  She smiles at me again and picks up the Help Wanted sign on the counter.  She moves to the door and puts the sign in the window.

“I love Mother Carroll, but you need a real waitress,” she says on her way out the door.  “See you after school.”

“I’ll be here,” I say even though she is gone.

I will always be here.  I can’t leave.  I had my chance once but that’s gone now and all that is left is Alexis and this shop.  It’s like the Bible says.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

He’ll take her next.