Stevie-T

Prompt - Your character overhears something that changes their path.

By Colin Phillips

8 September 2024

2934 words

Content warning: This story contains strong language, depictions of transphobia, discrimination, and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.



Less than twenty-four hours into 1973, Stevie sat in the diner nursing a cup of coffee, watching the sky lighten as dawn broke. The coffee was a bitter, overcooked cup of Joe courtesy of Jack's endless coffee. Jack's was an all-night diner just off the highway. It had been a welcome bright spot in the darkness when Big-T had dropped her off.

Stevie had rushed from the warmth of the cab through the frigid night as the snow swirled at her feet into the diner. Big-T's solitary moan on the rig's horn said a sad goodbye as he pulled back onto the road, then disappeared into the night.

The diner had closed down half of the booths as the late-night traffic was light. A single waitress served the truckers coming in for their coffee refills. Stevie sat there wondering what the coming day would bring. The five dollars in her pocket would buy lunch, but she had no idea what would happen after that. Stevie wrapped her Afghan coat around her. Stroking the shaggy cuff, she looked at the embroidery, the intricate designs, the beautiful flowers. It was the last thing her mother brought her. Wiping a tear away, she looked outside again.

Frampton, she thought, was the backend of nowhere but Big-T's final destination. He had picked her up at Dayton, just north of Conway. He was hauling fifty tonnes of molasses through the night and needed someone to keep him awake. They had chatted for a while and when the conversation ebbed, she had taken out her guitar and sang songs for him. Meaning only to keep him awake. He had loved her voice so much she asked him to make requests. He was so taken with her version of Maggie May that he had called up his fellow truckers on the CB and had her play it again over the airwaves. Holding down the CB talk button for the full three minutes as she played. Big-T's fellow truckers hollered their appreciation. One trucker even gave her an air horn salute as he passed, heading in the opposite direction.

Big-T gave her the handle 'Stevie-T' as he talked to the other rigs. It had taken her a while to get comfortable with the CB, but the chat had been fun as they roared on, eating up the miles together.

Big-T would ask her to check out for the bears ahead of them and getting the all clear, would push the rig as hard as she would go, eating mile after mile. For the next few hours, requests would come in from the CB, and Stevie would sing and play as the big truck hammered on through the dark. Eventually, her voice grew hoarse, and she agreed to one last song.

Somewhere in the night, a trucker called Strider asked for 'Walk on the Wild Side'. Her voice was clear and inviting as she sang about Candy, never giving it away, and little Joe making everyone pay and pay. The trucker fraternity showed their appreciation. Their whoops and hollers echoed from the CB.

With her voice needing to rest, Stevie sat and listened to Big-T talk about his daughters. How he and his wife had split a few years ago and how he seldom saw them anymore. This big bear of a man who handled the rig with such delicacy had started to ask her awkward questions when Frampton appeared.

Big-T explained he needed to drop her off well before the sugar mill as he wasn't allowed to have people in his cab but he had promised to drop her at the diner so she could get another lift.

"Go with god," was the last thing the trucker had said, pressing ten dollars in her hand before pulling the big rig out to make his delivery.

Stevie looked through the windows as the morning light grew stronger. Rural towns were usually half dead, but Frampton seemed to have expired. Most of the buildings seemed to be boarded up, and there were few cars on the road.

The wall of the booth was covered in Frampton tiger pennants, with the words 'Go tigers' painted in bright orange on the wall. The pennants stopped in 1969.

"Refill, sweetheart?"

Her waitress was a big-boned, flat-footed white woman sporting a home dye job that didn't adequately cover the grey. Her name badge said "Tammy." Tammy looked all kinds of tired. Tammy was being chewed up before being spat out by the system. Stevie imagined Tammy living in a trailer somewhere with a couple of teenage kids and a deadbeat husband.

Stevie smiled her thanks and let Tammy fill up her cup again. The diner was dead. It might be hours until the breakfast rush. She looked at her stuff. A small day pack, sleeping bag, a large-brimmed hat and her guitar. Everything she owned in the world. It wasn't much, but it didn't matter. It would be warm in California.

A police cruiser pulled into the empty lot. Stevie watched the two officers get out of the car, both 'lean and mean' as her father used to say. The door dinged, and welcomed, the officers sat in what Stevie imagined was their usual booth. Tammy hustled with coffee, laughing and chatting with the men before taking their order.

The grill cook started the eggs, which crackled in the fat as they hit the surface. The bacon and the sausage made Stevie's stomach rumble. The bagel she had eaten earlier had barely touched the sides.

Tammy switched on more lights, lighting up more of the diner in advance of the morning rush. She filled up the coffee of both officers and then began to lay out the cutlery on the newly lit booths.

The door dinged. Another waitress walked in. Her blue uniform was visible under the thin, worn coat she wore. Cold and hassled, she was a younger woman, probably thirty, Stevie guessed. Tired but not so worn down by the world as Tammy. She quickly rushed to put on her hat and was just fastening her apron when a voice from the griddle shouted, "Late again, Darlene."

Darlene looked flustered and went behind the counter to talk to the man. Stevie could hear the tone but not the words. The disembodied voice, who she assumed was the owner, was angry. Darlene was trying to make nice. She caught the last bit, something about a kid with croup. A few minutes later, Darlene emerged and made fresh coffee, much to Tammy's disgust.

"Why tip that away?"

"Oh, sweetie, I need fresh coffee to start my day," Darlene said.

A group of men in work shirts that read Frampton Sugar came in and settled in a booth. Darlene soon had coffee on the table and took their orders. Stevie looked up to see one of the cops looking directly at her. She looked down, rearranging her paisley scarf. She didn't need attention.

Darlene smelt of baby powder and milk as she offered Stevie a refill. Stevie didn't want it but knew it would buy her time. Darlene looked at the guitar.

"You play that thing, Hun?"

Shy, Stevie just nodded.

"What can you play?"

"Just about anything you want to hear," Stevie said suddenly brave.

"For true?"

"True."

Stevie had been playing that guitar ever since her mother gave it to her for her seventh birthday.

"But you're good, right?" Darlene wanted to know.

Stevie laughed. "Yeah, I'm good. I can sing, too."

"Well look at you all talented, and what not. Wait here, Honey," Darlene said and wandered off into the kitchen. A few minutes later. She emerged with a smile on her face. "The boss said he will stand you breakfast if you play."

"I can't play on an empty stomach," Stevie said, wondering if she was pushing too hard, but Darlene just smiled. "Then you better give me your order, Hun, and while Jack has it on the grill, you can play for us."

Stevie didn't need to look at the menu. She had fantasized about what she wanted when she had ordered her bagel. "I take the big breakfast, eggs over easy, with hash browns and extra bacon." Darlene wrote it down, ripped off the receipt, and placed it down. The receipt said $6.50 plus tax.

"I thought..."

"Relax, Hun, that's just for the till. It's covered. Now, what you gonna sing?" Darlene asked.

Tammy walked up and hissed at Darlene, "Cover your tables, Darlene. What's the hold-up?"

"Hold your britches, Tammy, just getting us some music. This here, young girl, what's your name, sweetheart?"

"Stevie"

"That's a pretty name. Is it short for Stephanie?"

Surprised, Stevie only managed, "Sure__,"

"Tammy, Stevie's going to play for us. Do you have any requests?" Darlene asked sweetly.

Tammy walked off, grumbling, "Shit! It's the kitten all over again."

"Never you mind her darling. She's just a grouch when she gone done nightshift. You pay her no mind, now. Now let's see, what should we have___. Can you play "A Horse with No Name"? I do just love that song so much."

Stevie nodded and set to tuning her guitar. Darlene went off to take orders. The diner had more people in it now. It felt like the world was coming alive. Stevie started strumming, made a small tuning alteration, and then started again. The music attracted attention. People turned and stared. Stevie refused to close her eyes. She hated it when singers did that. It was such a pose. "Spit in their eye", her father used to say.

She began to pick out the melody and sang, "On the first part of the journey__" Stevie soon found the beat, and her voice grew in confidence. Darlene started dancing from one booth to the next, taking orders and pouring coffee. Even Tammy smiled and seemed to lose some of the weariness of the night shift. Stevie came to an end of the song and went straight into 10cc's "I am not in love."

The plates were coming out, and Darlene and Tammy worked hard to deliver. If no plates were waiting, the pair refilled the coffees, working the room, bouncing between the call of the customers and the little bell that said a plate was ready.

Stevie kept playing, moving right into T-rex's Telegram Sam. Stevie took a short pause to refine the tuning, and there was a smattering of applause. Stevie looked up, smiling, only to see the same cop looking at her. Ignoring him, Stevie started Carly Simons' "You're so vain". Stevie put her all into the song, imagining what it would be like to fly in a jet. She had just finished when Tammy brought her breakfast.

"You can sing, Kiddo! I'll give you that," Tammy said, putting the large plate on the table. Putting up her guitar to another round of applause, Stevie looked at the breakfast before her. She began to eat with relish.

Outside, trucks were pulling up as drivers stopped for their breakfast, and the diner became busier still. The two women worked hard to keep on top of the orders and the little bell rang and rang as Jack delivered one perfect breakfast after another.

Twenty minutes in, and the Godzilla breakfast is beating Stevie. She reaches for the ketchup as the officer approaches her. She looks up as a sense of dread washes over her.

"I haven't seen you around here before. Do you have any ID?" The police officer towers over her. His badge said Zachowski. He has an aquiline nose with a large brush moustache. It looks odd on one so young, but the hair on the back of his hands and razor rash on his neck makes her think of Big-T and how they had looked out for Bears.

"What's this about, officer?" Stevie asked

"It's about me asking you for ID?" The officer says louder. The diner goes quiet. Stevie opens her purse with a shaking hand, giving the officer her Columbia student ID. Every eye in the diner is on her.

Darlene walks to her booth on the premise of pouring Stevie more coffee. It fools no one. Her face shows concern.

"It says here your name is "Stephen Deschanel." You don't look much like a Stephen to me," Officer Zachowski says.

Darlene chimes in, "I bet that's one of them there French spellings of her name, and it's pronounced Stephan__. I see them a lot in my magazines." "Shut up, Darlene," the officer looks at Stevie and back at her ID card. "You got someplace to stay?"

"No, officer, I'm just passing through," Stevie answers softly.

"I didn't see your car in the parking lot. This county has laws against hitchhikers. You wouldn't be planning on hitchhiking now, would you?" Officer Zachowski asks.

"No sir, I am waiting for___" Stevie pauses, unsure what to say, "a friend to pick me up."

"Do you have any other forms of ID?"

Stevie looks at the officer, unsure of what to do. The other cop gets up, carrying his coffee cup with him. "What's going on?" The second officer's badge says Traven. His ramrod-straight bearing says the military, cleanshaven, his salt and pepper hair is shaved high and tight, the top ruler flat. He drinks his coffee like his life depends on it.

"Not sure, but this here 'girl's' ID says her name is Stephen," the first officer says. Darlene chimes in again, "I was just saying to Mattie here that I see that all the time in magazines. It's the French way of spelling Stephanie___." Darlene sputters like a car running out of fuel.

"For god's sake, Darlene, it's Officer Zachowski," Zachowski says. "Just cause we dated a bit in high school doesn't mean you can't show the badge the respect it deserves." Zachowski's voice is too high to convey any authority.

Darlene, annoyed, retorts. "It's kind of hard, Mattie. Unlike you were when my folks came home early on Prom night. Perhaps if you had shelled out for a motel like everyone else, I would never have ended up marrying the highest-scoring point guard this town ever had."

Traven tries to hide his smile. Zachowski's response is just mean, "And how is that working out for Darlene? I've arrested Lou twice for drunken and disorderly in the last month and will probably do so again this weekend. Two kids and you survive on handouts and what Jack pays you here."

"Lou has an illness. He is working on getting better." Darlene says defiantly, blushing, her shame obvious for all to see. Traven, feeling sorry for her, pushes his cup at Darlene, who seems to have forgotten she has a coffee pot in each hand.

"Is that fresh Joe there, Darlene?"

Darlene puts on her best smile and pours him a fresh cup, "Never a problem for you, Mike." She emphasized the cop's name while looking at Zachowski.

Zachowski turns to Stevie. "Suppose I look in that purse of yours. I just bet I would find an ID that listed your sex as male. Is that about, right?"

The whole diner is listening, and Stevie wants to cry with embarrassment. She just nods.

'So___ you one of these here New York homo___sexuals, I read all about. Is that right?"

Stevie says nothing.

"You like reading about homosexuals now, do you, Mattie?" Darlene snaps.

"Darlene, you best hush up your mouth now, or it won't be Lou getting arrested this month. Do I make myself clear?" Zachowski says.

"Ma'am, Sir, whatever the hell you are," Zachowski says. "Stand up and turn around. I am arresting you for vagrancy and hitchhiking."

"But I told you I am waiting for a friend," Stevie begs.

Zachowski drags her up, turns her round, cuffing her hands behind her back.

"C'mon faggot! A few nights in the county will just see you just fine," Zachowski says. He grabs Stevie's wrist hard enough to hurt and starts for the door.

The door dings. In walks a trucker. He is a giant of a man with a full grizzly-style beard. He sits down, and Tammy gives him coffee.

"Is there a Stevie-T here, plays the guitar, real good like?"

"Here! That’s me! I’m Stevie-T," Stevie calls.

"I told you I was waiting for a lift!" Stevie shouts in Zachowski's face. Annoyed, he twists the cuff chain, pinching her skin. The cuffs dig deep into the skin. Stevie yokes like a whipped dog.

"Is there a problem, officers?" the trucker asks as he towers over the officers. Officer Travener takes a step back, his hand hovering near his pistol. The driver laughs and holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Peace, brother bear. I am just here to pick up Stevie-T. What's she done?"

"It's none of your goddamn business," Zachowski snarls.

Traven gives Zachowski a dirty look before asking, "You know this girl?"

"Sure do, been talking to her all night. This girl can sing. Big-T dropped her off on the way to the mill, and knowing you have laws about hitchhiking here, he put out a call for one of us to stop by and pick her up. I was the nearest, I guess__."

"Let her go, Zachowski." Traven says.

"Goddamn it, Mike" Zachowski pleads.

"I said__ let her go, and it's Sarge, not Mike. You never took me to the prom." Traven walks back towards his booth, pausing to look at the display on the counter

"Darlene, how about we get us some pie?"