From A Father's Perspective

Elliot hated coffee. He always found people's obsession with it odd. The only benefit he could think of was the way it warmed him up a little as he wrapped his hands around the mug and looked out the foggy diner window. Watching the sun beam down on his Jeep as it sat alone in the parking lot. There was no question why he was the only one there, it was a dusty old diner that didn't make it out of the fifties. And as he looked at his phone again to see it was still twelve-fifteen he decided that it was this place that made time feel as if time stood still or maybe the coffee was getting to him.

Eliot looked up at the sound of sneakers making their way across the checkered floor to him. The same red-lipped waitress that brought him his coffee and the only other person he's seen in this town maneuvered her way to him.

She put her hand on her hip and with an overly-plucked eyebrow raised, the waitress gestured towards his mug. "You want another cup of joe?"

"I'm good. Still working on this one." He lifted the mug in reassurance and took a sip. Biting the inside of his cheek, forcing down a shudder, he gave her a lukewarm smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him and leaned against the boost across from him.

"We make the best coffee in town. Best you'll ever taste around here."

"From the looks of it your the only place that makes coffee in this town." Elliot looked around the empty diner in emphasis. The older woman smirked at him and moved her way to the jukebox in the corner. Somebody to love crackled on the machine and just by knowing the waitress for just a short while Elliot could tell that the woman loved herself ambiance.

"I can tell your a city boy from that car you came in with." She made her way over to him again and sat in the booth across from him. "So what are you doing in our neck of the woods? Got lost?" Elliot laughed, his eyes flickering over the black notebook he always carried and then back to the woman's gaze.

"I'm meeting someone here, actually."

"I'm guessing there not a friend then."

"Why is that?" He asked.

"Cause this place sucks." She stood up suddenly at the sound of the door opening.

"Not exactly the place I'd bring a friend to."

She walked off and gave a generic greeting to the man who entered the diner. And Elliot couldn't help but take a sharp breath. He hadn’t seen the man since he was eight, but he could pick him out in a line-up even now. And by the look of recognition that flashed in the man's face, he recognized Eliot too. The man's feet remain planted to the ground as began to have a hushed conversation with the waitress.

Elliot began to rub the nape of his neck as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. The memory of his mother looking frail with a ghost of a smile on her face as she read letters made him second guess his decision to force a sit down in the first place. He rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. He wouldn't let him do this to his mother again.

"Elliot, right?" The older man offered his hand out for him to shake. Elliot nodded and then gestured for him to sit down. The man slid into the vinyl booth running his hand through his gray hair. A silence swept over them that Eliot found ironic since all the man ever wanted to do was write to him and his mother.

"You kept it the journal I sent you."

"My wife gave this to me."

"Your mother didn't tell me you had a wife."

"I told her not to."

Elliot was given the notebook when he was twelve – one of those many little belated apology gifts for being a crummy father. A small, black, leatherbound notebook that had received even his mother's nod of approval. Now it was just a reminder of the years that had passed.

"Oh." The man looked everywhere but at Elliot as he practically bore a hole into the table with his gaze. "You know when you sent that letter to me, I couldn't believe it-" The man smiled at the memory. The sound of the jukebox skipping over its own static tune made Elliot wonder why the waitress thought it was a good idea to put the same song on a loop. That's probably the reason she didn't have any customers.

"-But I didn't know you were gonna come here. Elliot, you shouldn't have come here."

Elliot blinked as he took what he said. His hands slowly unclenched his balled-up fists and fished the cheque from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. "You can keep this."

The older man stared at the cheque for a minute in bewilderment as if he was expecting more. He picked it up and stared at the twenty thousand scrawled out on it before shaking his head and pushing right back to him. "Take it. Your mother needs it."

"Now you care about my mother, Eric. Right after you walked out on us?!"

can barely stand on my feet… The music continued to wail in the background.

The man's eyes narrowed at the sound of his own name.

"Is that why you came here? To tell me things I already know?" He stood up and took the cheque. "You don't want the money?" He tore the piece of paper into pieces and tossed the shredded bits back onto the table. "Fine. Just get out of here then."

Take a look in the mirror…

"Is this a joke?" Elliot felt like he was having some kind of out-of-body experience. This wasn't the same man who was constantly sending letters to his bedridden mother about all his regrets.

He turned his back on Elliot and began to walk away.

And cry...

Elliot gave out a bitter laugh and stood up. "I knew I shouldn't have asked you to come down here. I'm still dealing with the same coward who ran away from his problems twenty years ago."

Lord, whatcha doing to me…?

"Can you please change the song?! You've been playing it for two hours now!" Elliot shouted out to the waitress who was no longer even there. His father came to a stop.

"What did you just say?"

Elliot shook his head at Eric's wide-eyed expression and began to grab his stuff from the table. "I'm going home. To my wife and my kid.- You know? Family?" When Eric went to reach for him he brushed past him and went for the door. "Do me favor, don't send any more letters to my mother."

Elliot let the door slam behind him and made his way to his car. Tossing his stuff carelessly into the back seat. His eyes suddenly fixed on the navy blue car seat for a moment. He pulled himself away from it and onto the wheel. Driving had a way of calming him – his vehicle was his personal haven.

But this time was different somehow. Maybe because there were suddenly woods where he could have sworn the turn-off had been. So he kept driving and driving in search of an exit that never came. Just trees, houses, and that wretched diner. By the time the sunset, he found himself where he was a few hours ago. He walked back into the diner to see his father hunched over on a bar stool, not even bothered to looked at him.

"What's going on here?"

"They won't let you leave."



Silence filled the place for a moment before Eric looked back at his son with heavy eyes. "Once you're here, Son. They won't ever let you can't leave this town."