Sustenance and breakfast.

No matter how many times I look at the money in my wallet, it doesn't change. I am in the denial phase. You know the one. You think “if I just count it one more time, there will be another 20 in there-that can’t be right.” But it is. No money for the power bill. Groceries might be lean at best.  Top Ramen and peas again. So being 19, I do the only logical thing I could think of with my money. I meet my best friend at the 4B’s for breakfast.

I love the 4B’s. Just stepping in the door makes everything better. It is an old school restaurant. The air smells of strong coffee, hash browns and tomato soup. All the waitresses are ancient. Seriously I think the youngest server is about 70. They have all known me since my parents carried me in to show off when I was just a couple days old.

Bea brings me coffee and cream as soon as I sit down. No conversation needed. A glass of water makes a splash down a few seconds later on a quick fly by. Bethenny, my best friend, isn't here yet. Of course she isn’t. Bethenny is terminally late. I doubt even the angel of death will be able to make her show up on time.

No biggie. I am in no hurry. I don’t have enough money to do anything else today anyway. For whatever reason something draws my eye to the lady sitting at the counter. Everything about her screamed “don’t look at me!” Her clothes are bland colors, wrinkled and dowdy. Her posture almost slouches her into being a part of the chair. Hat pulled down. Gloves with holes in the palms. Worn scruffy jacket wraps around her shoulders. “Don’t look at me. Don’t notice me. I am not here.” I can’t take my eyes off her. Whoever she is she radiates sadness, a kind of final defeat that you don’t see every day. The attitude that says I am just too tired to care anymore. In front of her she has a cup of coffee and the same quick ice water that I did. I see the empties from the creamers and a pile of sugar papers. I know that feeling. When needed, a girl can turn a cup of coffee into a meal.

She must have felt me looking at her. Her eyes look up and meet mine. A worried inquiry, as if she is afraid she was somehow bothering me, just sitting there. My heart breaks just a little. I offer her a smile, wanting desperately to reassure her that she is ok with me. Bethenny blows in like a breeze and drops into the booth across from me. She is mid explanation and out of her jacket before I can tear my eyes away and acknowledge her.

Bea buzzes by and drops menus at our table. Knowing the drill, we grabbed them to pick our breakfast. We have to be ready before her perpetual speed loop brings her back to our table, pad and pen in hand. The accountant in my head takes over, doing the math in my head about what I could justify spending. Pancakes? Cheap but I know I will be hungry in an hour. Huevos Rancheros? My favorite but much more than I should spend. Hell I shouldn't go past the cup of coffee according to the accountant. Pancakes it is then, with .75 cents for a side of a scrambled egg. Not bad. That should hold me for a little while. I look at the lady at the counter. Her cup is empty. The waitresses scoot past her, ignoring that pleading look for one more cup. Not a local. No refill for you. Something in my heart burns, just a little.

Bea screeches to a halt at our table. I let Bethenny order first. When my turn comes I give her my pancakes and egg order pleased with my frugality. But then almost as an afterthought, before my brain even knows what is happening I say “and send the full breakfast special to that lady at the counter.” “WHAT DID I JUST SAY? Shit, I can’t even afford the ramen now!” I think, panicking.  Bea gives me a look. She has known me all of my life. I swear to God she knows how much is in my wallet. She hesitates, one eyebrow raised, until I look up. Suddenly, for whatever reason I feel my face break into a huge smile.  I meet her eyes and nod, ignoring Bethenny’s puzzled look.

Time stands still. It seems to take 100 years before that breakfast cooks. Thankfully Bea runs by and kindly fills my visitors coffee cup, assuring she would wrap around it and warm up for the few minutes we needed for the food. Bethenny chatters away, not needing much participation from me for her current update. I stare at the wheel, willing it to turn. Waiting for the magic moment that breakfast will appear in the window.

Finally, eons later, our order comes up. Bea drops Bethenny’s waffles and my pancake and egg at the table. The third breakfast balanced on her arm, waiting for the decision on its delivery. Again, Beas eyebrow queries me. “Should I tell her where it came from?” she waits a breath, then two. An Eternity for her to hold still in this place. “No, yes, no..” I am not sure. What do I want? Do I need to be a hero? Do I need some acknowledgment to puff me up?. “No”, I say finally, “just tell her someone says to enjoy her morning.” With a nod, Bea walks over and gently puts the plate in front of the lady. Soft fluffy hash browns, 3 eggs, 4 strips of crispy beautiful bacon and a huge biscuit. The confusion is palpable. Bea smiles and gives her my message. Moving along she follows up. Would she like jelly? Honey? Butter? How about some Ketchup for the hash browns? Would you like another cup of coffee?  A ripple goes through my counter lady.  A soft sigh of relief escapes her. After a second of hesitation she picks up her cup and takes a slow slip of warm coffee. Quietly she adds butter to her biscuit, then Jelly. She salts her eggs and contemplates the pepper. A diner.  She belongs.

I don’t remember eating a single bite of my pancake, although when I look it is gone. I think I ate that breakfast special with her, every bite a revelation to a tired hungry palate. And when she finishes and peeks shyly around, I stare perkily at Bethany, pretending to be enthralled in her tale of shopping returns.

My lady quietly surveys the restaurant, looking for her patron. Finally as she rises and zips her worn jacket, she smiles. This is followed up with a slight bow towards the center of the dining room, wanting to acknowledge what has been shared with her. She pulls a handful of change out of her pocket. Probably what she has saved to pay for the coffee and anything else. She lays it proudly on the counter. All she has as a tip for Bea, who has also proved kind to her. And then she slips out the side door, and  out of our lives.

Bea walks over with the ticket and drops it on our table. Bethenny gives me her money and I pull out the 2 biggest bills in my wallet. “Keep the change” I tell Bea laughing, knowing the couple bucks isn’t much but will be enough for her. She stops and smiles, then puts her hand on my head. Just for a second our eyes meet and then Bea is off again, perpetual motion with a coffee pot. “What was that about?” asks Bethenny, puzzled by the affection in the gesture. “Oh nothing” I say, “It is just breakfast.”