- The Waffle Houseby pbomar1115
This work has reached the exceptional level
Running into a lost love.
The Waffle House by pbomar1115
Artwork by Raoul D'Harmental at

It takes patience to get a real job, but I was running out of time and money for gas.  I hadn't enrolled in my classes at Mountain View yet, so I accepted a temporary job, recommended by a friend. It sounded easy, but what I learned was hard.

Working as a bagman, commonly known as a delivery boy for a thug, I was hungry after the last drop off. The Waffle House was near and open at 2: 15 am and I yearned for pancakes. The eatery was swarming with Nighthawks: red, blue, blond and mixed colored hairs ladies; and truck drivers' big rigs filled the parking lot to capacity.

I hastily entered the diner, taking giant steps. It was my lucky night, or morning rather when I slithered into an opened booth. Before I knew it, a hard-looking waitress was standing at my table with a laminated menu offering staple diner food: bacon and eggs, pancakes, burger and fries, meatloaf, grilled cheese, etc. In a  monotone voice, she asked, "What are you having?"

I told her, observing the waitress and out of the blue, there was Wendy Hills. Our eyes locked in a gaze, surprised to discover each other. When she approached, I slid out of the booth to my feet and we got the lowdown on our past. It thrilled me to see her.

It was High School since we had seen each other, so I insisted, "Please, let me buy you breakfast?"

She took a slight step back, looking down, nodding reluctantly.

I instantly reconsidered, "Oh, I'm sorry, you must--"

"No, no, it's all right," Looking all around her, behind her when she interrupted me.  "I got off work as a waitress here."

I saw nothing wrong with that, so we went back to recollecting on our past as we slinked into the booth where I could peek out the smudged window to see my 1964 Chevy in the parking lot.

After remembering her as a fairylike creature, mischievous, a playful spirit, it seemed natural she chose that profession.  I’d always wondered what happened to that frisky, flirty girl.

I was young and didn’t know much about flirting when I was helping her prepare for a math test in the library when she rubbed her leg up against mine. During a break in the studying, she looked into my eyes when I took off my glasses and said, “You have pretty eyes.” Before we could be friends, her boyfriend walked in and ended the potential fun. She was the one that got away.

I said, "Well, let me buy you coffee or something?" Even though I was yearning for the pancakes, it competed with what could have been with Wendy. She has always been a special beauty, making the average girl look secluded and under some vow to be obedient.

Still excited to meet Wendy, I occasionally spoke without thinking first. I asked, "Why are you wearing that god awful orange hair? You had a beautiful head of hair. Did you lose it or something?"

She chuckled. "You still the same old Pondexter but you're not covering up those pretty eyes now."

He points to his eyes. "Oh! These are contact lenses."

I was getting ready to say something clever about my eyes that would lead to taking her out when one vexed truck driver passed by my booth not once, not twice, but three times, staring at Wendy.

I looked at Wendy, "What's going on, Wendy? Is he looking for you?"

Wendy shook her head whispering, "I got to go now, Ellis."

Wendy stole my heart as she did in the library that day but not my yearning for the pancakes.



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