The Short Story blog series is an experiment where I write short stories one week at a time before they’re actually published. Get the whole archive here: charleskunken.com/season6
The Half-Buttered Croissant - Part II - The Diner
A day of hooky in search of purpose. Part 2 of a short story.
Part 1: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-one
Part 2: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-two-the-diner
Part 3: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-three-the-rose-garden
Part 4: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-four-the-finale-the-avant-garde
Full PDF: charleskunken.com/s/The-Half-Buttered-Croissant-by-Charles-Kunken-June-2020.pdf
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Part 1 Ending: …When he pulled up to the Doubleday Animations building, he noticed the flag out front was standing at half-mast. His boss, a military man, must have already read the paper.
And at that, John threw the Buick into reverse, rightly guessing that they wouldn’t be expecting him in the office today.
Part 2 continues below…
Part II - The Diner
John’s car clunked up to the old diner on the outside of town, which looked more like a tavern from the outside.
He took a seat at the counter (or bar) and glanced at the memorabilia hung randomly across the dusty walls—professional sports to the local softball teams to the dart league championships, the most local game of all. Directly across from him behind the counter was an old photo of a vintage orange Mustang surrounded by a racing team each holding up a finger.
“Excuse me?”
When the voice interrupted John, he was studying the crew, hair drenched, all smiles, drinking bottles of something he couldn’t quite make out
He ordered a coffee from the elder lady and began perusing the menu when a hulking biker dude with a handlebar mustache came busting in through the front door. The jingling bells signaled his arrival.
He saddled up a couple seats down from John, looked his way, and stuck out his hand. “Ron Carlson.”
John turned slowly and took it. “John Eldridge.”
An older gentleman at the other end of the bar glanced over his newspaper in their direction.
“You’re a cartoonist?” the dude asked.
John did a double take.
“That’s your Buick out front, ain’t it?” the dude said. “I saw the sticker.”
“Oh.” John nodded, a proud member of the Cartoonists Guild of America. “My main car is a Corvette.” He went back to reading the menu.
A coke arrived for the dude without having to order it, and he took a sip. “Sorry I’m late.”
John, studying the menu said, “Late for what?”
The dude looked at him quizzically, reached into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a crumpled note. He read it then looked back at John. “We’re supposed to meet. I’m here to take you on your trip.”
“You must have me confused,” said John. “I’m playing hooky from work,” he paused for a moment and looked up, “well, sort of. There was a misprint in the paper today. My obituary.”
The dude raised an eyebrow over the rim of his soda. “A misprint?”
“Yeah, I might complain, but I’m taking some me time for now,” John continued. “Let everybody else sort it out for once.”
The dude’s mouth hung open, and his face went a little pale. He ran his hands through his hair. “Excuse me.”
John shrugged while the dude sent and received a text message on his flip phone. Once done, he zippered it back into his jacket and said, “I’m really sorry about that.”
John wasn’t looking his way.
“Must have been some confusion.”
They sat for a moment.
“May I ask,” said the dude, “at least whaddya think?”
“Hmm?” said John, putting the menu down and looking towards him.
“About the obituary. Whaddya think?”
“Eh,” John said and pressed his lips together. He bobbed his head side to side and began flicking a sugar packet.
Not wanting to push, the dude took to studying the memorabilia himself. He looked at the orange Mustang.
“You know how when people die,” John said as if he’d been thinking about it, “folks always say things like, ‘I just saw him yesterday. He was doing such and such’?” John clinked his spoon down and looked at the dude. “Well, I didn’t do anything yesterday.”
The dude stared back.
“At least nothing of note,” John said. “Or on any days before that. I’ve never done anything of note.” He looked back around. “All I’ve ever done was go where I’m told—school, college, work,” he looked back down reaching for the creamer, “picking up the milk.”
The dude listened.
“There’s not a lot to show for all the hard work,” John said. “I’ll be remembered for nothing.” He finished adding creamer and went back to the menu.
The dude looked up at the ceiling and said, “Well, that’s pretty fortunate then, isn’t it?”
John turned and raised his eyebrows. “What is?”
“The paper, I mean.” The dude chewed on some ice. “Not many people get to read their own obituaries. Now you get a chance to change whatever you want.”
John mulled it over.
“Mind if I see?”
John reached into his bag and slid the paper down the bar, folded to the page from the kitchen table.
The dude took a pair of reading glasses from his vest pocket and began to read. “You know,” said the dude without looking away, “there’s a place people eventually get to go that addresses a lot of your concerns.”
“Really?” John perked his ears.
“Yeah, it kind of explains things,” the dude continued, peering down through his glasses, not paying attention to his words. “Shows them how their lives had meaning. How they made their mark. That kind of stuff . . .”
“Where is it?” John interjected, now sitting upright.
The dude looked up at him.
“Ohh,” he said seeing John’s expression, “No, I just meant like, after you—”
“You gotta show me where it is.”
The dude paused, looking at John, his tongue resting in his cheek. He started shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I can’t.” He turned back to the paper. “I mean you said it yourself; it was a misprint. A mistake. I can’t take you there. I could lose my—” The dude cut himself off. He began rubbing his neck. “I don’t think you could get in.”
“Forget what I said about misprint,” John said abruptly. “You’re a hundred percent right,” his voice now rising. “This is my wake-up call. My chance.”
“They won’t let you in if you’re not on the list,” the dude said.
“There’s no harm in trying.”
The dude didn’t respond as he searched for what to say next.
“Come on,” John said, looking the dude in the eye. He gestured at the paper. “I can’t miss this chance.”
The dude looked back at John.
“Please,” John said.
The dude stared back. A hundred thoughts raced behind his eyes. He took a swig of Coke and then looked down, cursing himself quietly. He brought his finger to his lip and then suddenly looked up. “I’ll take you on one condition.”
“Anything,” John exhaled as his shoulders dropped. He reached for the paper.
The dude smacked his palm down on top of it and looked John in the eye. “You can’t ever file that complaint.”
John looked back in surprise. “Why?”
“I just,” said the dude, softening a little as he loosened his pressure on the paper, “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”
“Okay,” John said looking at him for a moment, searching, “I promise.” He slid the paper slowly out from under the dude’s grip.
“And I can’t guarantee you’ll get in.”
“All we can do is try,” said John. He put the paper back into his bag, fastened the clasp, and gave it a pat.
* * *
Ten minutes later, he was speeding north at sixty-five miles an hour. The goggles helped, but his cheeks were flapping against his mouth.
The golden retriever shifted on his lap, so he wrapped his left arm around her tighter while gripping the handrail of the sidecar with his right. Maybe that obituary was prophetic after all.
John looked up at the dude and wondered why he couldn’t have just followed in the Buick. Who was this dude guy anyway?
But he pushed all that aside. He wasn’t going to miss this chance, even if it meant riding shotgun with Hulk Hogan meets the Ghost of Christmas Past—and heading towards the seedy part of town.
To be continued…
Part 1: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-one
Part 2: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-two-the-diner
Part 3: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-three-the-rose-garden
Part 4: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-four-the-finale-the-avant-garde
Full PDF: charleskunken.com/s/The-Half-Buttered-Croissant-by-Charles-Kunken-June-2020.pdf
Have some thoughts? Feel free to drop a comment or hit me up: charlie@charleskunken.com
Other Posts In The Hollywood Heist Series
What would you do if you read your own obituary? Part 4 (the finale) of a short story.