Main Street

At this hour of the morning, before the main of humanity has awakened from its slumber, Main Street, a product of those who sleep, is largely silent and still. The stores along Main—Irvin's Hardware; Andee Miller's beauty shoppe; the Laundromat—are still locked, their window shades pulled to. Even at Harvey's Diner, the sign is flipped to Closed. But at Harvey's the lights are on inside. A warm glow flows through the diner like a heartbeat and spills through the glass of the front door and onto the sidewalk.

Bleary-eyed waitresses bustle around inside, tying aprons around waists gone soft, setting out paper placemats, putting on pots of coffee. Deidree Hazlett suddenly pauses in her work and laughs, slack-jawed. She folds herself neatly in half and holds onto her sides.

"Ain't nuthin' that funny at this hour of t'day," Winnie Jamison observes before returning to the handful of spoons she's buffing.

"Something funny happened at Andee's yesterday."

"Why you still working there?"

Dee shrugs. "Easy enough commute. And the parking's free." She laughs. Six days a week after she clocks out of her job at Harvey's, Deidree walks down the sidewalk to Andee's to spend the next seven hours of her day trimming the hair of little boys while their anxious mothers look on. Dee sets hair in tight rollers. She bleaches. She dyes. She gives eyebrows their shape and listens to the heartache of others until she feels she will burst. "Timmy's fiance came around yesterday."

Winnie blanches. "Vera?" She sets down the spoons. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry..."

Dee waves away the comment. "Came in wearing an old...I don't know...a sombrero or something." Her eyes twinkle. She walks to the window and stares out at the stars. "Live gives us so many chances," she says. "You just have to reach out and grab one for yourself."

"When you gonna' do that, honey?" Winnie frowns.

"Gene says..."

"Gene's a liar, Dee. You need to wake up to that. He ain't never gonna go to work. Why should he, when he's got you doing two jobs?"

"Vera got herself one of them home dye jobs. Got it off the pharmacy clearance rack for ninety-nine cents."

"You get what you pay for," Winnie says.

Dee laughs. "Oh she got it all right. Fused her hair together. Matted it down like Trixie Bell's dog."

Winnie frowns. "Trixie's got one of them wiener dogs."

"No. It died. She was so upset, her daddy bought her a Hungarian sheepdog." She goes behind the counter and pulls a photograph from her purse. "See?"

"Oh my Lord. How does she keep that thing in kibble?" Winnie says, studying the picture.

"Vera's hair was all matted down, just like that."

Winnie nods. "She got herself into a fine tangled mess, didn't she?"

Deidree nods and blinks.

"Why you cryin', honey? Timmy ain't no better than Gene is anyhow. Get both them men out of your hair and all your problems will disappear."

"I got me a baby by Timmy, Winnie."

"Oh, Lord." Winnie sighs and sinks into a booth.

Deidree walks to the window watching the stars wink out, one by one. She flips the sign to open as the inhabitants of Main Street awaken and gather at the diner to prepare for yet another day.

~end~

For the Scriptic.org prompt exchange this week, Kirsten Piccini at http://www.thekircorner.com gave me this prompt: "Some men are just harder to get rid of…" This line is from the sub-title of a book by Jennifer Crusie entitled Getting Rid of Bradley in which Harvey's Diner and a bad dye job are featured.

I gave The Baking Barrister at www.thebakingbarrister.com this prompt: tulips and daffodils in January