A Christmas tale from Starrwriter, the grinch who stole Dickens' idea and made it better:
Soup and Sandwich
Located in the old section of town two blocks from Main Street, the Friendly Diner had a cozy atmosphere and an orange neon light hanging in the front window. The owner, an old man with a full head of snow-white hair and a bushy white mustache, wore an apron when he worked as cook and waiter for the few customers who came in at night. He left the dirty dishes in the sink for the dish washer to take care of in the morning. Most his business was breakfast and lunch, but he often stayed open until late at night because there was no one waiting for him at home. His wife had died several years earlier, his children and grandchildren lived in Chicago, and he didn't like spending time alone.
The diner was empty of customers when the boy entered and shook the snow from his coat before taking a seat at the counter. He looked nine or ten years old and his hair was cut in a flat-top. He ate supper at the diner a couple nights every week and he always ordered the same meal: a bowl of Heinz bean soup and a cheeseburger.
"Where's your mom tonight?" the old man asked him, slapping the burger patty onto the grill.
"In the bar across the street."
"She doesn't cook much, does she?"
"Not when she's drinking."
The owner shook his head. "First the man takes a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes the man. Only it's a woman in your case."
"Don't you drink?" the boy asked.
"I used to, but it doesn't agree with me anymore. Also costs too much. One drink is too many and a hundred is not enough."
"You talk funny."
The old man opened a can of bean soup and poured it into a pan. "I didn't invent those words. They're quotes from experts."
The boy nervously rearranged the salt and pepper shakers in front of him. The old man used a match to ignite the gas under the pan of bean soup, then he lit a cigarette with the same match and took a sip from his coffee cup. A moment later he flipped the burger patty and turned to face the boy.
"Where's your old man tonight?"
"He don't live with us."
"Why not?"
"They got divorced."
"I see. How come you decided to live with your mom?"
"My dad has a girlfriend. She don't like kids."
"You didn't want to live with your dad?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's what you meant."
"I'm not a mamma's boy."
"Take it easy, son."
"I ain't your son, either."
"I know." The old man took a photo from his wallet to show the boy. "This is my son."
"He looks old."
"He's forty-five."
"That's pretty old."
The owner laughed. "Not when you're my age."
"How old are you?"
"A hundred and twelve."
"I don't believe you."
"I feel that old sometimes."
He flipped the burger again and placed a slice of cheese on top. Crushing his cigarette out on the floor, he poured the soup into a bowl and pushed it across the counter.
"I hope I die before I'm thirty," the boy said.
"What a damn fool thing to say."
"I don't care."
"You should care. Your life doesn't really start until you're thirty."
The boy slurped a spoonful of soup.
"What do you want on your cheeseburger?"
"Nothing."
The old man served the sandwich on a small plate. "How come you always order a cheeseburger and Heinz bean soup?"
"Heinz is better than Campbell's. The grocery store doesn't have Heinz."
"What about the cheeseburger?"
"I like cheeseburgers," he said, taking a bite.
"You never talk much when you come here."
"I'm not supposed to talk with my mouth full of food."
"It doesn't bother me," the old man said, wiping the counter with a towel. "Tell me, how old are you?"
"Eleven."
"You're kind of small for eleven."
"I'll be eleven in July."
"So you're ten."
"What's the difference?"
"Seven months, if I can still add."
The boy ignored him and worked on his sandwich.
"You like school?"
"Nobody likes school."
"I did. It got me away from the farm."
"You grew up on a farm?"
"It was mostly hard work and not much fun. You're lucky you live in town."
"I don't feel lucky."
"Yeah, I can tell. You have a dog or a cat at home?"
"They don't allow pets where we live."
"Too bad. A boy needs a pet."
"Why?"
"Helps to have something to take care of and keep you company."
"I like it better alone."
The old man leaned across the counter. "Bull****."
"I do."
"You're just a kid. You don't have to be so brave all the time."
The bite of cheeseburger seemed to stick in the boy's throat. He couldn't swallow and tears began to form in his eyes.
The owner felt embarrassed. "Forget what I said. I've got a big mouth."
The boy turned away and swallowed, but he couldn't eat anything else. He stood up and took some money out of his pocket.
"Aren't you going to finish your meal?"
"I'm not hungry anymore. How much do I owe you?"
"It's on the house."
"Why?"
"I'm feeling generous tonight. How about a paper cup of hot
chocolate to drink on the way home? It'll keep you warm."
"No thanks."
The boy headed for the door.
"Hold on, I'll close up and walk with you for a few blocks. I'm not going to get any more customers tonight anyway."
"I don't need company."
"Well, I do. I'm an old man and it's slippery as hell out there. I might fall and break my neck."
He took off his apron, slipped into his coat and turned off the overhead lights. After he locked the door, they started down the street in a snow flurry with slush gathered ankle deep on the sidewalk.
"You left the neon light on," the boy said.
"I always do. It helps the street look cheerful, especially on a night like this."
They turned a corner and walked to the end of the block.
"This is where I live," the boy said.
The old man examined the apartment building. "Doesn't look bad."
"It's a dump."
"What floor is your apartment?"
"Second floor."
"Well, at least you get a view from up there."
"I can see the lake from the roof."
"Is that your only entertainment?"
"I watch TV a lot."
"Don't you have any friends?"
"Not really."
"I have a feeling you're not ever coming back to the restaurant. Am I wrong?"
"I don't know."
"I wish you would."
"Why?"
"I need the business. I'll make sure to charge you next time."
"You have plenty of customers."
"They aren't good conservationalists like you are."
"You're crazy."
"Listen, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I know you're mad at me, but I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not mad."
"Then I'll see you at the restaurant?"
"I guess."
"Hey, Merry Christmas."
"Thanks."
He watched the boy climb the steps and enter the building. Pulling up his coat collar against the wind and snow, he began back-tracking to his car parked behind the restaurant. About half way there he slipped on an icy patch of sidewalk and hollered "****!"as his shoulder banged a street light pole. He regained his balance and cursed again under his breath. In his hurry to leave the restaurant he had forgotten to put on his rubber boots, which stood in one corner beside the coat rack.