POLESTOWN AT DUSK, PART 1

We arrived at Polestown on the 15th of November, car stuffed enough to warp the windows of our minivan. There was only the two of us - my mom and I; our faces were both sagging from near-exhaustion as we crossed the township line.


WELCOME TO POLESTOWN
Greetings with arms wide open

Tacky, I thought, adjusting my slump in the passenger seat; but it'll certainly do. Anything but the ghosts of the past would be welcome, as the townfolk apparently say, with arms wide open.

Certainly, our personal baggage far outweighed and outnumbered the bags and boxes that stuffed our van. Dad came down with a serious illness last spring, and without warning, died in bed. Mom was hysterical. She wouldn't leave his side as they wheeled him into the waiting ambulance. But he was already gone, my mentor, my constant source of fatherly advice; my coach; my fearless leader.

I leaned my head against the cold window and exhaled, rippling a warm fog across its sheen. I just wanted, somehow, to forget that there was a hole in my soul. I didn't want all of this responsibility; I wasn't ready to become 'man of the house' on the spot... but here it was, thrust upon me like a bandit's ambush.
Mom looked over at me. "Are you OK, Jim?"
"Fine, mom," I replied - my stock answer. I was sure she was hurting too, probably still a million times more than my resilient self. It wasn't time to make things worse by venting on her. Man, how I hoped there were some decent people for us to meet in Polestown.

The semi-rural road suddenly became a Main Street, and trees became storefronts and offices as we drove into town. I noticed a small grocery, outside of which an old man was sweeping the walkway. A young girl was riding a bicycle with a little red-and-yellow basket perched on the handlebars. The proprietor of what appeared to be a barber shop, striped pole and all, noticed our loaded van, guessed what we were here for, and waved enthusiastically at us. We drove past the town hall, a modest brick building trimmed with grey and topped with a large clock with roman numerals.
This was nice, I thought, a bit of a reprieve from the constant noise and confusion of the city suburb we had come from. I leaned back and watched the townspeople going about their daily business.
The car rumbled and shook as it pulled right into the parking lot of a handsome stone office building. Mom motioned me over to her side as she got out of the car. She was holding a twenty in her hand. "Jim, go have yourself some lunch. It looks like there's a diner over there. It shouldn't be long. I'll meet you inside when I'm done closing the house."
I took the bill and jogged toward the cozy diner down the street. A large, faded sign hung above its screen door: "Bab's Country Cafe." Sounded quaint enough, I thought.

Inside, the setting resembled something out of the dustbins of the past, or a time-warp to the "Andy Griffith" era. A stark white counter spanned the length of the narrow room, dotted at intervals with polished round metal stools, the kind that I noticed could send a young child into a spinning frenzy with a push of the hand off the counter's side. There were booths near the eatery's windows, and what appeared to be the only customers sitting at one in the far corner, busy eating and taking sips of their milkshakes. I sat down at a stool near the middle of the counter, and pulled the menu from its holding clamp.
A waitress, hair piled like a cord of wood on her head, rapidly chewing a wad of bubble gum, noticed me and approached me from her station near the grill where she had been jawing with the cook.
"What can I do for you, dearie?" she rasped. She sounded like she had a severe smoking habit. "Our special today is our world-famous meatloaf. Would you care to try some?"
World famous, I thought, like that twenty ton ball of twine in the Guinness Book? What the heck, I thought, I was too tired to read.
"Sure."
"How about something to drink?"
I replied, "Coke, please."
She walked away, snatching the menu from my unprepared hands; as she adeptly plucked it, I noticed something unusual about her hands.
Was that blood?
I shrugged it off. The hamburger must've put up a fight, I thought. Something like that. No need to concentrate any further - I was tired and hungry.

The meat loaf may not have been world-famous, but it was delicious. It was spiced just the right way, with little bits of onion and mushroom and breadcrumbs... and ooh, the tomato mixture on top. I scarfed it down with my heavily iced Coke, and the folks in the corner eyeing me strangely as if I were some sort of zoo animal. I smiled back, and finished eating.

My mother joined me in the diner about an hour later, by which time I'd downed about seven Cokes. She had a tremendous grin on her face; when she caught my eye upon entering the establishment, she dangled a fairly impressive set of keys in front of my face. "It's ours," she said confidently.
I ran to her and gave her a bearhug. At last, perhaps, we would settle down and restart what had been lost.

As we left the diner, I noticed everyone was looking at us, as if they had expected us to give a speech or something. I shrugged it off as small-town nosiness.