Somethings Never Change

Somethings Never Change

The ornate antique bell jingled when the heavy glass door to the Happy Family Café opened—just as it had for over forty years. Jane Griffen peered over her glasses to see who had entered.

She glanced at the wall clock behind the counter and pursed her lips for the hundredth time that morning, then lowered her head and resumed reading the Brookville Village Gazette. Not to learn anything, but to stop people from wondering why she was sitting alone in the crowded dining room with no one to talk with or anything to do.  

After eight more jingles, accompanied by increasing levels of Jane’s growing disappointment, Bobby Lee Griffen made an appearance. For what was almost an imperceptible moment, he stopped in the doorway flashing his customary grin. He stood as still as a Greek statue. Tall, handsome, even white teeth, wavy dark brown hair, broad shoulders. He wore a tailored light blue shirt, open at the collar. He resembled the quintessential star quarterback of the Colorado State Championship high school football team, which he was—almost twenty-years earlier.

Jane’s eyes locked on his. He smiled, she frowned.

“Hi, sis. Sorry about being late.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “They didn’t have my convertible at the airport. I had to wait for one to be delivered.” He reached over and picked up a menu between his little finger and his ring finger—Bobby Lee didn’t do anything that was considered normal. He was born to be special.

Jane nodded at the middle-aged waitress, who, like everyone else in Bobby Lee’s orbit, had been waiting.

“Morin’ folks, what’ll be?”

“I’ll have hot tea and rye toast. With honey. That’s all.” Jane said as she folded her newspaper.

Bobby Lee looked up from the menu. “Good mornin’ darlin’. What’s your name?” He squinted at her name tag and offered a toothy smile. “Darla. My that’s a pretty name.” Sugar-sweet charm dripped from his boyish face.

He folded his menu. “I didn’t see what I wanted, so I’ll just tell you. I’d like an egg white omelet with sprouts and black coffee.” Once again, he smiled broadly.

“We can’t do that.” Darla said without emotion. “But you might like our short stack.”

Bobby Lee screwed up his face and stared at Darla in disbelief. “What? You have eggs, right?”

“Yeah, we got eggs. But Inez can’t do that thing with the yolks. She’s almost seventy-five. And we don’t have bean sprouts. You’ll have to go to Wong’s Chinese Restaurant for those.” Darla just stood there holding her pencil and pad.

Bobby Lee looked at his fancy gold watch as if he had an airplane to catch. He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll take the short stack. Can you add a fruit cup, too?”

“Yep. Thank’s folks, I’ll have that right out.” Darla turned and left for the kitchen.

Bobby Lee looked over to Jane and said, “Somethings never change. This one-horse town is exactly like I left it. And you’re still drinking tea and eating rye toast. Did you ever think about a change of pace?”

Darla returned to the table and served the tea and coffee without comment.

Jane sat quietly for a long moment looking at her baby brother. “When I was a little girl, our grandmother taught me that tea and toast were the perfect pairing. Toast was for nourishing the body and tea was nourishment for the soul. I believed her then, and I still do.”

“I get the toast part, but the tea part doesn’t compute. How?” Bobby Lee grinned and raised his bulky shoulders in wonder. “Help me out? What the secret?”

“Well, tea is too hot to drink when you pour it, so you gotta’ wait. While you are waiting, you’re given an opportunity to think—if you’re alone. And if you’re with someone, you’re given an opportunity to have a conversation. Personally, I think you’d benefit a great deal from drinking tea.”

 Slowly, Bobby Lee shook his head and grinned. “Like I said, somethings never change around here.”

“That’s not true. Look out the window. Right across the street is DuClair’s Building and Loan. Their technology committee convinced old man DuClair to install an ATM—"

“Technology committee? What’s that?”

Old man DuClair’s son, Jake, and Clem, their janitor, met and convinced the old man to install one—it’s inside—”

“Kinda’ defeats the—”

“Yeah, I know. On the day they installed it, Mr. DuClair was giving a new toaster to anyone who opened a new account. So Mr. Sven Norberg, he farms south of town, came in and opened a checking account and asked for his toaster. That’s when things changed.”

“How? How did things change?” Bobby Lee gave a faked look of excitement.

“Well, old man DuClair told Mr. Norberg the toasters were only for new folks who opened a new account. Since Mr. Norberg already had a savings account, he didn’t qualify for the toaster.”

“And?”

“Mr. Norberg closed both accounts and took his money to Ordway Township and put his money in their credit union. Their ATM is outside the building.”

Bobby Lee just rolled his eyes in silence. “Okay, sis, what’s all this mystery about? Why are we meeting here instead of at mom’s place like we usually do?”

“Like we usually do? Bobby Lee you ain’t been home in almost three years. You have a job that makes you travel between two coasts, you have a whirlwind love life with two ex-wives and a girlfriend, and you’re permanently stuck somewhere in the middle of childhood and adulthood. None of that’s usual.”

“Pardon me, folks.” Darla appeared at the edge of the table holding a plate in each hand. She set a plate with rye toast in front of Jane and a plate of pancakes in front of Bobby Lee. She reached into her apron and took out three packets of honey and a small jar and set them near Jane. “It’s cinnamon. My granddaughter loves cinnamon with her honey. I thought you’d like to try some.” Darla looked at Bobby Lee and said, ”I’ll be right back with your syrup.”

“Jane, that’s not fair. It’s not my fault that you stayed here to take care of mom and dad—well, until he died. And it’s not my fault that I was born twelve years after you. Life happens, that’s all.”

“Here’s your syrup, hon.” Darla set a small stainless pitcher next to Bobby Lee, then she set another plate next to his pancakes and stood there.

“What’s this?” Bobby Lee asked. “It looks like a white Lone Ranger mask that’s made out of plastic.” He looked up at Darla with his eyes wide open.

“Well, I knew you had your heart set on egg whites, so I asked Inez to fry up two eggs, then I cut out the yolks with a spoon. I figured that’s about as close as we could get for you.”

“And what about green stuff sprinkled on top?”

“Oh, that’s chopped celery leaves. I just made a wild guess they’d remind you of those sprouts you were asking for.”

Bobby Lee was stunned. He picked up a fork and stared at his two plates—and then put the fork down and took a sip from his coffee cup. “Thank you,” he said.

“Enjoy your breakfast, folks” Darla said over her shoulder as she walked away.

“That sure was sweet of her. Don’t you think?” Jane said.

A booming, boisterous voice hollered across the dining room. “Hey, QB 13. I ain’t seen you in years. Damn, you ain’t changed one bit.”

A short, loud man presented himself at the table. Bobby Lee stood and the two men, one tall, one short, hugged each other and slapped each other’s back and exchanged greetings that were more suitable for a locker room than a family café.

The stocky man was dressed in wrinkled mechanics’ overalls that smelled of grease, gas, and old perspiration. His thick black hair, flecked with gray, stuck out from under his ballcap. He needed a shave and a haircut—along with other hygienic attention.

“Hyd. You gained a few pounds, man. I didn’t think that was possible.” Bobby Lee’s shirt was suddenly wrinkled and had an oil-like smudge on the front. “Jane this is Hyd, I mean Butch Freitas. We played ball together in high school. He was known as the human fire hydrant because of, well you can figure that out.”

Jane nodded modestly without speaking.

“I gotta’ a call from ol’ Stick Nichols. He drove by the café and said he thought he saw you come in here, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

“I’m sorry to bust up this love fest, but we need to finish our meeting, Bobby Lee.” Jane was serious.

The two guys exchanged protracted goodbyes and offered promises they’d never keep. Bobby Lee sat down and gave Jane a look of disapproval.

“What’s the hurry, Jane? We were just talking.”

“I know. But I have to tell you stuff and answer your questions—then I need to keep my other appointment. Looks like Hyd came at the right time, QB 13,” she said with a hint of ridicule. “QB 13—it’s gotta’ be a sign. Do you know what the thirteenth letter of the alphabet is?”

“P?”

“Close enough. It’s M. Do you know what M stands for, Bobby Lee?”

“Where I come from it stands for money.” Bobby Lee answered with another of his toothy grins.

“It stands for mom, little brother. That’s what it stands for. Mom.”

“So where is she?”

“In a nursing home. She’s recovering from another fall. Going through therapy. Again. I’m pretty sure she’ll love seeing you. Now and then she looks at your photographs and asks who you are, and where you are—”

“How’s she doing, really? Be honest with me.”

 “Bobby Lee, she’s 79 years old. She’s had a stroke, she can’t hardly walk, she’s diabetic and has early onset dementia that’s getting worse. And she eats pills by the bowlful.”

Bobby Lee sat in silence. “Holy mackerel. I didn’t think things were that bad. I guess we need to talk.”

“I can’t stay, I have an important appointment. If you had arrived on time, we’d have another thirty minutes to talk. If you had returned my calls, we would have even more time. If you’d come home once in a while—”

“Well, if you had a smart phone we could have been texting—.” Bobby Lee was starting to understand the situation when Jane stopped him in mid-sentence.

“What’s texting?”

“It’s kinda’ like Morse Code, but with letters.” Bobby Lee replied cynically. He sat still without saying a word. The painful truth had pierced his Teflon exterior all the way to his core. “What are we going to do?”

“We?” Jane reached into her oversized purse and fished out a large, thick, tan envelope and placed it on the table near his coffee cup. Then she placed a key ring with a handful of keys on top of the envelope. She folded her arms and pushed back into her chair.

“What’s all that?”

“Everything you’ll need to know. The deed to the trailer, her will, bank accounts, medical records, insurance papers, and so on. Every important document you’ll need. A list of her medications, and her doctor’s phone numbers is taped to the mirror in her bathroom.”  

“Wait just a minute. You can’t do this. You can’t just drop all this on me. It’s not fair—”

“Life isn’t fair, is it.” With discomfort, Jane stood and picked up her purse. She placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “You see, Bobby Lee, some things DO change in this ol’ town.”

“Where are you going?” He practically shouted as his eyes bugged out and his face was plastered in fear.

“I have an appointment with my oncologist to sign my final papers. I’m dying Bobby Lee. I have incurable cancer.”

“Can you at least get a second opinion before you—?” He stammered.

“Hell, I got five opinions. How many more do you think I need?”

“What are you going to do?” There was fear in his voice.

Jane turned her head away and sighed. “I’m going to die, Bobby Lee. That’s what I’m going to, I’m going to die.”

“Wait a minute—."

“No, you wait. I buried our grandfather. Then I buried our grandmother. I buried our daddy. You weren’t here for any of them. I’ll be dammed if I’m going to bury our mother all alone. And I’ve made arrangements to end my life in forty-eight hours—and I’m gonna’ do it my way.”

Bobby Lee held up his hand. “This is too much. I can’t handle this.”

“You can. And you will. First, you gotta’ pick up momma from the nursing home in the morning, then get her settled. Your complaints about the lack of change just ended, Bobby Lee. You’re gonna’ have nuthin’ but changes in your future. Goodbye.”

Jane Griffen stepped through the door into the midmorning sunshine and turned left. Behind her the ornate antique bell of the Happy Family Café jingled one last time. Somethings never change.   

John D. Britto

October 3, 2024

2,219 words