SILVER DOLLAR

You could tell by the air that winter is finally over. Its damp, muggy and it smells, of course it usually smells. Most of the time it smells like garbage and freshly emptied grease traps. Tonight I step out of my room, down the stone steps and take a deep whiff; garbage yes, but there is also the fragrant air of a distant fire, and, I detect a hint of kerosene, yes.

Why, it is going to be a good night. It seems to me that it has been a long time since I have smelled stale grass clippings or an old library book. Those were two of my favorites. I shouldn’t have worn this coat, its too heavy, but it is old, well worn and looks good, black church issue. I sink down inside the wide collar and shiver a bit despite the lack of chill.

As I walk down the drag of chop suey houses and liquor stores, a bus full of hungry faces passes me slowly, a fresco of sunken eyes stare me down. If I had a car I would leave it in the garage.

If it were summer the sun would still be out.

Tires hiss on the wet road on cars thumping blaring bass vibrating metal rattling the blue mailboxes.

A stretch of sidewalk, that’s the oasis, under the warm glow of the theatre marquis. The night is in full swing, or as close as it can. A sacrifice bunt in this part of town is often swing enough. The theatre has long since closed, the free will Baptists couldn’t afford to keep replacing windows and copper piping after they moved in. So the movies and sermons stopped and its under constant construction, the lights are kept on, and a new uplifting message of hope is put up on the marquis every week. Baptists.

Melody was a working type girl who looked vaguely like a Jew, and wore a jade ring on a black leather necklace. Under the dim mosquito gray moonlight and piss yellow streetlight, she is leaning against one of the broken parking meters at the crosswalk.

She approaches a car that has stopped, lurching into the open window, she says a few words to the driver, but the light turns green and the car takes off.

When she sees me, she feigns a look of surprise, rearing back, and drags on her cigarette.

“Well, who let father sensible out of the convent?”

I laugh; “convents are for women.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean.” She says.

I nod my head; my hands went in the pockets of my coat. Grains of salt, crumpled receipts and a double A battery.

“Are you hungry, Mel?”

Her hand on her elbow, she looks over her shoulder at the slow moving traffic then back at me. “A girls got to eat, right?”

With few words we walk around the corner to the silver dollar, an all night diner. It’s about the finest eating establishment in the neighborhood. We take one of the two top formica booths that all surround the large service counter where everything is prepared. Not much choice, you wouldn’t get any service if you wanted a window seat, because in the inner ring of booths, the waitress only has to lean over the edge to refill your coffee or drop off your check.

“ I think I’ve eaten about everything on here” Mel fanned the small menu, “why do I even look at this thing anymore? It kills my appetite.” She laughed, she had this husky voice; throaty. Her voice wasn’t manly; it was deep maybe, or maybe dense but all the more feminine for it. If the sweetest voice were a soft silk blouse, hers was a flannel shirt.

“You know, you shouldn’t waste your money all the time, in this, shitty place.”

“Yes, I shouldn’t I suppose, but I don’t have much money anyway so I might as well waste it, right?”

“Where do you even get money?” she asks.

“ I steal it from the donation box” I answer from behind my menu.

“I knew it”

Shuffling in the front door came three men in blue shirts and slacks, the same three men that always came in and sat together. They worked the late evening shift at the water plant across the street. Usually they would just come for coffee, bringing their lunches with them to eat. I swore they only thing they ever talked about was what they had for dinner the night before.

“I had a coupon for steak and shake…” one of them said, the other ones nodding in feigned interest.

“ I like squash….”, another announced out of nowhere. I sometimes believed that the blue boys may be each others only friends, and yet they converse with each other on the level of strangers forced to sit next to each other on a bus.

I looked across the table at Mel, she yawned deeply, scratching her side. She was staring out the window.

The waitress had come back and set the plates in front of us, she had got the orders wrong, giving me Mel’s eggs and short stack.

Without taking my eyes off her, I swapped the two plates.

We ate not in silence, mouths full of words, full of eggs full of coffee.

The air full of words, full of stale smoke, full of white noise.

The bars had not closed yet.

“Do you believe in being born again?” Mel said, sliding her empty plate away.

I said; “It happens to a lot of people in prison, I can tell you that.”

“No, no I mean being born, reborn after you die.”

“That too, yes definitely” I replied, “and I can tell you why”

“Alright then, “ she gestured with one hand towards me.

“It was revealed to me maybe I think, about three or four years ago” I began,

“When I was in Honduras for a short time, not short enough because I was sick most of the time from the medicine to prevent malaria and also the water was way too infected to drink and we soon ran out of everything but beer. So in the mission where we stayed one day this woman comes to stay a few nights, she was traveling by herself. She was a sort of fortuneteller who read tarot cards and tea leaves, that kind of stuff.

“Was she allowed to do that there?” Mel asked

“Well, it was a little excitement, and harmless, so no, but we let her anyway. I didn’t, but in the middle of the night I woke up and walked into the kitchen and she was at the table, and she said to me; ‘I think I met you before.’, I told her she was wrong about that, there was no way. She takes my arm, ‘let me see your arm’ she says. And she tells me about my past lives. She told me that I died young, many times. I was a little boy who died of fevers, or was trampled. Once I never even made it out alive, she said I was a still born baby. In fact, she said that this was maybe the oldest I had ever been, that I had never made it past my late 20’s. All those times as a young child, that explains a lot.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“She seemed pretty sure of herself.” I said, I sipped my coffee and then also looked out the window, some delicate drops of water were hitting the glass.

It was raining again, I might need this coat after all.