First Meeting at Mel's

"Welcome to Mel's Diner. My name is Karen, how can I help you?" the waitress asks. Karen matches the retro 50's style decor; black and white checkered pattern. "Mr. Sandman", by the Chordettes plays on the jukebox, and a guy in the kitchen with a grease-stained white t-shirt, scratches himself immodestly. Karen herself wore a poodle skirt and socks that were too high for my taste. Her sandy blonde hair was curly and poofy. To finish off the look, she chewed a piece of gum, very loudly, I might add. The tilt of her head told me exactly how interested she was in assisting me today.

"What's good on the menu?" I asked, pitching my voice up to sound more pleasant.

"That depends on where and when you're from." If we had been dueling at high noon with words as bullets, she'd have smoked me with the quickness of her reply.

"Heard that question before, I take it."

"Nah, buddy, that was my first time. You are the most original man on The Road." Karen rolled her eyes.

Both of us jump with a start at the sharp crack of the cook's metal spatula slamming against the counter. I sink lower in my seat when I see his large, fishbowl eyes upon us. A cigarette quivers on his lip, almost half its length of burning ash threatens to fall at any moment.
"Karen, what have I told you? Be nice to our guests!" He punctuates his words by removing the cigarette from his mouth and gesturing widely. Ash flies wildly, some hitting the grill behind him.

"Hey, Al, I'm tryin' to figure out when and where this man is from so I can help him decide what to order. Is that okay with you?"

"Whatever." Al turns back to the grill, still grumbling, and flips some burgers.

"I'm from 2016," I say, still cowering in my seat.

"Hun, sit up. Don't mind Al, he's a grumpy old bear but he's toothless," Karen raises her voice on the last part, and Al flips her off without looking back. "2016, you say? Hmmm, well first, we got cups of joe. You can have 'em black or with cream and sugar. Nothin' fancy. No mocha lattes with a half a calf and soybeans, or whatever it is you people have."

"I prefer my coffee with milk and sugar."

"Okay, we just have plain ol' milk that Henry the milkman brings. That alright?"

"Yeah, that's fine." My eyes wander the diner and note a man staring at us. He's wearing a black shirt under a black suit with a clerical collar. I notice that he has a gun belt at his side and is wearing a wide-brimmed, black cowboy hat. Our eyes meet and he tips his hat.

Karen notices my gaze has wandered and says, "Oh, don't mind him. That's just the Reverend, or Rev for short. Now, in 2016, y'all are fascinated with bacon, right?"

"I prefer sausage myself," I mumble. I look around, trying to wrap my mind around the experience. "Karen, what is this place? At first, I just thought you were one of those faux 1950's diners striving for way too much authenticity. That isn't the case, is it?"

Karen's jaw drops and she stares. "Yo–You mean you don't know that you're on The Road? You don't even know what The Road is?"

I shake my head.

She takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm glad you are sitting. I've never had to explain this to anyone. Everyone that shows up here knows where here is."

"I was traveling between California and Florida. I admit I got a bit lost, but not this lost."

"You are in what Professor Jenkins calls an 'interstitial space'. A kind of place between places." Karen sighs when she notices my confused expression. "I'm not explaining it well. See, The Road connects all the different planes of the Multiverse, weaving in and out of them."

When she pauses to take a breath, I jump in, "That's what Isaac said."

"You've met Isaac," I nod, "He's one of the oldest of the Wayfarers. That's what we call those who travel The Road."

"How does one get on The Road?"

"No one knows. Everyone is different. The Rev came upon The Road after he watched an innocent man hang. Thinks it's his road to redemption. Professor Jenkins was blown onto The Road when one of his experiments went sideways. I myself..."

"Yes?"

Karen looks up at me, her eyes threatening tears. Only a moment though. She quickly wrangles her runaway emotions. "I, myself, found The Road at a very difficult point in my life. Then I found this place."

"So, you aren't from here?" I ask.

"No one is from here. We all just winded up here. Even Al. He won Mel's from a Vivaxian in a game of seven card stud." Karen raises her hand, forestalling my question. "They are a sort of... centaur." I nod, satisfied. "Point is, no one even knows the original Mel, much less where he might be. People come and go."

Before I could question her further, I catch a whiff of the burger on the grill and my stomach rumbles. I turn beet red in response to Karen's raised eyebrow. She bursts out laughing at my embarrassment. I am surprised that she has such a mellifluous laugh. I really don't know what I expected her to sound like, but it wasn't that. She sounded angelic.

"Hun, maybe you oughta order something to eat."

"I still don't know what I want."

"How about you leave it up to dealer's choice?"

"Sure," I say, my hunger winning over my indecisiveness.

"Oh, you are going to love this." Karen turns toward Al and starts barking, "I need a Bessie on the hoof walked through the garden but keep it off the grass, make sure she's got some grunts and a hen berry but he wants to see the sun. Give it to him in a fog. Give him a double black cow to finish it off."

Al smirks. "He let you choose, didn't he?" Al peaks around Karen's shoulder at me. "You know she just likes to say all that."

"It sounds good to me!" I say but in all honesty, I have no idea what I just ordered.

"It's your funeral," Al says.