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Midnight. Right on time. The second hand goes around, the minute hand goes around, the hour hand goes around. Click by click. You can’t change it. You never get more time. Like death, every twenty-four hours. Midnight. The herald of the lonely hours. Herald of the lonely hours, she’d say. You big goof, who says herald? Only you.
This time of night, it’s pretty much always dead. I get a little rush right after eleven from second shift people, mostly nurses and aides from the hospital across the street, coming off work. But by midnight it was just me and Margaret Farrar’s latest act of malice. I tapped my pencil on the counter. Click, click, along with the clock.
A flash of silvered glass across the street caught my eye; streetlight, reflected in the emergency room’s double doors as they swung open. I put down my crossword puzzle and watched. A man, coming outside. Blond, on the low end of medium in height, slim in build. Rumpled black topcoat, black pants. He walked down the sidewalk to the curb, paused a moment, looked both ways, checking for cars. He crossed the street, opened the door to the diner, came inside.
His face bore the bruises of a slugging, his lips split, a conjoined gash that told of catching one straight on the mouth. Looked like a bar fight. I’d have bet on the other guy.
“Any where’s fine,” I said.
“Thank you.” He walked down the aisle, took the middle window booth, sat down.
“Coffee?” I asked him from my spot at the end of the counter.
He looked up at me and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
I put my pencil down, went behind the counter, picked up the coffee pot, grabbed a mug, took it over to him and poured. He wrapped both hands around the mug. A lurch to the gut; his hands were beat to hell, purple-black fingers and nails smashed and split. I tried not to stare. “Anything to eat?”
“In a bit. Just coffee for now,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, and went back behind the counter, put the coffee back on the burner. I went back to my crossword puzzle. Kept my eye on him.
He’d pulled the menu from behind the napkin holder and was examining it. The guy looked tired. Dead tired. He sipped his coffee mechanically, eyes glued to the menu, which was not a work of literature, although the way he studied it, you’d think it was.
Breakfast Twenty-four Hours Farm Fresh Eggs—
grandmother look what happened it’s ruined
you must crack the shell gently Illyusha
pull it apart slowly
now it breaks
the egg is at its most delicate state now
cup your fingers let the egg spill into them
see how the white and the yolk slip away from each other
it may seem as though you are doing nothing but you are the force behind this little violence
this is how to separate them
. . . .
The guy lowered the menu and rubbed his forehead absently, eyes closed. The sleeve of his coat slipped down, revealing a purpled forearm, the wrist encircled by a red, raw band. My stomach jumped again. I stole another, longer look at him. His clothing was too large. No wonder the sleeve had fallen. I realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath the coat. He stared out the black glass into the empty night. Looking for something. Something across the street.
scrambled brains scrambled
it’s the drugs try to sleep
what is it two days
four
didn’t crack thought I was starting to
let me look what the hell they didn’t bother to take the wires off
how inattentive of them
hold still the contacts are on your
leave it they’ll just put them on again
held out as long as I – sorry
don’t be sorry stay awake tell me what you
old stuff nothing they wouldn’t have already
that’s it are you sure
dreamed you were dead
lonely so lonely
can’t reach you
in here hey they’re in here
Illya Illya come on let’s get you turned over
here we go easy now easy
if he makes it through the night
he’s lucky he’s always been lucky
not always lucky
lucky enough
. . . .
He must have felt me spying on him; he glanced over at me. His eyes held an unutterable look of – I looked away. Unutterable. There you go again. Her voice patient, smiling. You’re a professor, not a cook. Get back to Madison when – after. Promise me.
I brought the coffee pot to him and refilled his mug. “Ready to order?” I asked.
“I’ll have two eggs. Over easy,” he said. “With toast.”
“Coming right up,” I said, and went back to the grill. I tossed a couple of pats of butter on the grill and cracked the eggs. They dropped into the sizzling butter, yellow and white. I stuck the bread in the toaster and glanced back at him. He was still watching the night outside.
dragged you out of the cell beat me some more dumped you to the floor out of your head talking nonsense I’m freezing you said . I rubbed your shivering body until the tremors stopped pulled you close to me wrapped you in my arms. You breathed my name drew apart enough so I could lay my hands on you between us. I moved them gently slowly against you until your breathing came faster you returned my movements all of them and when you stilled you whispered my name again and slept
dreamed you were dead, you said later. I was in Central Park sitting on a bench looking at the dates on your tombstone. I was lonely. So lonely. Go back to sleep, I said
. . . .
I plated his breakfast and took it to him. He ate. He looked out the window. He dozed off. So I let him sleep.
dragged apart chained
dark pitch black
Napoleon
answer me
Napoleon
can’t reach you
this little violence
. . . .
I look forward to dawn, after the long, empty hours after midnight. When, after another night of time draining away, the lonely night turns, over easy, into the golden eye of sunrise. Really? You’d say. Who talks like that?
I looked at the clock. Five-thirty. The sun would be up in a little while. Back in January, it was still dark when I got off work. But sunrise is a thing of change. Like life. Things change. The sky was turning lavender and pink when he woke.
“Morning,” I said to him.
He gave me a “Good Morning” in return and went to the can. I could have sworn I heard him talking to himself in there. He came out and walked up to the register. The sleep had done him good - he had a glint in his eyes, and, for the first time, he offered me a smile.
“Coffee, to go,” he said. “Make it two.”
The End