“Dear Diary,” langid cursive began to fill the pages of a battered journal, Stephie liked the quiet of the evening, after all the chores were done and her mother was out, working nights in a beaten up diner on the other side of town.  This was her time, when she could curl up on the porch and watch as the heat seeped from the day into the darkness, alone with her thoughts.  “There’s a little over a month left of school, and I can’t wait for it to be over.  Sure it’s only for the summer, and I have another three years to look forward to, and sure I’m going to be working in the diner for most of the daylight hours, but anything, and I mean anything, has to be better that school.  The constant need to interact with people who wouldn’t know an original thought if it wandered over and introduced itself, who view conformity and anonymity as some kind of ideal to aspire to…”  She trailed off, not willing to venture down that particular avenue of teenage angst, well aware of the irony that she too conformed to, perhaps the most cliché, stereotype, the outcast loner, slightly geeky, perennially unfashionable, the person who went to the school dance to make the punch.  What was she in movie speak?  “The good looking ugly chick.”  A smile flicked across her eyes interrupted by the phone ringing.

Unfolding her legs she opened to door and went into the darkened house to find the phone.  It was hiding under the kitchen table and she grabbed it just as it reached the sixth and final ring before the answer machine took over.  “Hello,” she said, standing up to bang her head on the underside of the table.  “Ouch.  Fuck!” she exclaimed, before remembering why she’d been on the phone in the first place and apologising profusely to her grandmother who was most definitely not used to that kind of language and took the opportunity to begin her much over-used diatribe about the youth of today, how glad she was that Stephie didn’t resemble them, how she wished Stephie would have a few more friends if only to sooth her poor daughter’s worries, finishing up with a new addition to the ensemble that there was never, ever any need for such language.

“Yes, Gramma,” placated Stephie, careful to modulate her tone so as to cause further offence.  “Mum’s at work, I’m afraid, though I can tell her that you called.”

“No need, it wasn’t important, I was calling to invite you to lunch this weekend.  1 o’clock.”  Stephie silently rolled her eyes, this was the lunch she and her mother were invited to every weekend, a stage for her Gramma to offer rendition of more of her favourite grievances.

“Of course, Gramma, we’d love to come, is there anything you’d like us to bring.”

“Course not, dear, I’m perfectly capable of making lunch for my family…”  Sensing what was coming next, Stephie feigned a huge and very audible yawn.  “Oh goodness, yes it is quite late isn’t it, you should be in bed, dear.”

“Yes, Gramma, I’m on my way now, just brushing my teeth.”

“Well get back to it then, a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast, that’s the way.”

“That’s the way, night.”  She hung up and put the phone back on its cradle this time, save grovelling about on the floor under tables when it rang next.  Wandering back out onto the porch she discovered she’d missed the perfect moment that comes once and evening, when the sky is neither blue nor black but somewhere in-between and everything is completely silent as the world wonders at the perfect-ness of creation.  Grabbing her pen and journal she returned inside, poured herself a glass of water and went to her room to once again pour her thoughts onto paper, social outcast style.

*

Across town Angie was bussing tables at Bob’s 24 hour diner.  Working alone made the minutes drag as she poured coffee for police officers and truck drivers.  

The girl wandered in from the night looking much the worse for whatever journey it was she was making.  She went to a booth and sat, canvass rucksack waiting on the bench beside her, staring at the laminated place-mat menu intently, half-starved eyes devouring the food pictured under its cracked surface.

Coffee cup in hand, Angie made her way over and poured the girl a cup.  The proximity did nothing to hide the air of desperation that clouded her.  “What can I get you, hon?” she asked, fishing in her apron pocket for her pen and order pad.

“Toast, please.” the girl’s clear voice cutting through the despair in a tone that indicated distrust of the world, stranger or no.  Angie made a note on her pad and returned to the hatch speaking in hushed tones to the night cook before returning to making the regular rounds of the regular patrons and trying not to stare too often at the waif-girl in the corner booth, sipping coffee like communion wine, back to the door, shutting out the world.

*

Stephie clipped her diary shut and rolled over onto her back, listening to the last tracks on her CD.  A fly buzzed around her window as the ceiling fan spun lazily.  She let her mind wander aimlessly, dreamily planning things to do over the summer, in an ideal summer, where money was of no consequence and Bob’s never featured.  The final track died, taking with it the echoes of her dreaming.  Getting up she played responsible and got ready for bed, everything ready for the mad rush to school in the morning, as if somehow it was important to be there early for homeroom.

Curling up under her worn cotton sheets, she closed her eyes and waited to be carried once again to a world where good things happened to people who thought for themselves.

*

“Order up!”  Sam the night cook called, and Angie turned from pouring yet another cup of coffee to pick up the girl’s “toast”.

“I didn’t order this,” the clear voice said, as the deadened eyes revived at the sight of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage and toast.

“On the house, dear,” said Angie, “you look like you need it.”  Without any more pretence at conversation she turned and returned to work, a patrol car had pulled up disgorging caffeine-starved cops.  As she served coffee and apple pie, she smiled inside seeing the girl eat.  No-one else paid the girl any heed, as was so often the case, people focused on themselves, their problems, their lives, not uncaring so much as unaware of those faced by the people surrounding them.  Radios crackled and almost as one, the four policemen rose and left, dropping bills on the counter though uniformed officers got free coffee, Bob’s way of ensuring little eventful happened in the diner.

*

Stephie woke with a start, unsure why.  She flicked on her bedside light and glanced at the clock there.  01:24.  She sat on her bed, listening to the house and the night.  Eventually she climbed out of her tangle of sheets and padded to her door.

Wandering round the small house switching on lights she was sure she was alone, and whatever it was that had woken her was only in her imagination.  She made another circuit of the house, this time extinguishing all the lights and ended up back in her room, still with the lingering feeling that she hadn’t imagined whatever it was that had just happened.  Going over to her window, for all appearances to gaze into the night but really to check the latch was secure, she let her eyes wander across the open space surrounding the house.  A side effect of country living and the peace they enjoyed was a distinct lack of neighbours, five minutes outside of town couldn’t be more isolated.  

The cars running up and down the road at this hour were few and far between, and she saw the intercity bus struggling to accelerate into the night as it made its way onto the next stop, four towns over.  She didn’t see the car with no headlights turning out of their driveway and into town as she re-closed her drapes and made her way back to bed.  Curling back up into the darkness, she drifted once again to sleep, this time a little uneasy.

*

Clearing up coffee cups and mopping up spills, it took Angie a few minutes to notice that the girl had also slipped out with the crowd.  Her bag was gone, her plate clean, and as Angie set the booth to rights again, she noticed a crumpled dollar bill stuffed under the coffee cup.  Smiling and sighing simultaneously, she turned when the bell above the door chimed.

Returning to the counter, she met the new arrival, by the looks of things, another traveller passing through, and handed him coffee.  He sat, drinking it, eyes hiding under a curtain of dark hair, mysterious and dangerously attractive.  Worn hands moved constantly, with minds of their own and unsure what exactly they should be doing in this situation, like a smoker trying to quit.  He’d kept his jacket on, a beaten up leather number that matched his hair, covering a sweater marking him as a football fan from out of state.  Stained jeans and work-boots completed his outfit, functional, practical, certainly not caring for fashion or appearance, and yet worn by him, strangely compelling.  Angie came over with the pot to give his a refill, and as she turned he spoke.

“Excuse me?”  Well-spoken unlike the regular interstate drivers come 2 a.m.  Angie turned to look at him, his eyes emerged from behind their curtain and stared into hers, bewitching.  His hands, finally with something to do, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a creased photo.  He showed it to her.  Angie started when she recognised the girl, she double checked to make sure, but yes, this was her, a happier, healthier version certainly, but definitely the same girl.  Sporting school uniform and a smile she was a different person to the customer who’d come through the door and checked her change to make sure she cold afford toast.  “Do you recognise her?”

“Yes.  She was here.  About 20 minutes ago I guess.  She left though, I guess when the police call came through, I didn’t see her go.”

“Thanks.”  Said the stranger, “My name’s Mark, if she comes back, could you give me a call?”  he handed her a business card, marking him as a lawyer from a large firm in the city.  “Since my wife died, my daughter’s the only family I have.  I’ve been searching for a month.”  With one final, intoxicating smile, he stood and left, dropping bills to pay for the coffee and heading back out into the night.