September 25 at 4:12pm ·
I paced the dark alley amidst traumatized thoughts. As down as I was with my dark drained mind, the last thing I wanted was to get caught unawares in this eerie and lonesome setting with totally limited audible sounds. Not even chirping crickets or croaking frogs could be heard. It was hell too scary, and it was funny how much I could loathe the lake. I thought I wanted it as a new and lasting home earlier. Death really wasn't easy, but even more difficult were the cold thoughts of suicide. I raised my wrist to a focal distance. 10:17pm.
The freeway conveyed night crawlers with relative ease and speed of flash. The resulting reverberations rolled past my ears, singing emollient tunes I abhorred. Pedestrians were few and wide apart. Just few inanimate things livened the atmosphere: neon signs, street lights, hooting cars and cabs, and the gentle cityscape breeze, though temperature neared zero. I was famished to the marrow (a suicidee should eat, shouldn't he? The strength suicide requires is enormous.) so I entered a small cafe. The neon sign read "B'Ben's"
I hardened into a rigid mass on the frail sit. Heads were few, three: the café owner, his assistant and a lady seated few tables away, dinner before her. It was unscathed but her life wasn't. Maybe just like mine. Who knows...
My eyes were too clear for comfort. It felt like I would keep a vigil tonight. Oh how I longed for the bottom of the lake to seize my being in eternal sobriety. I wouldn't have to think of all the troubles anymore. The death pills at the doctor's I saw on my way would have been a pretty alternative, but I couldn't fathom that, even if it had to be euthanasia. The death would have been too painful, but wait. Who cared anyway? Did the pain of total rejection and frustration not eclipse the one I would ever feel from choking like a beheaded cock after popping those pills? It would have been worth the try...
The café owner crashed his rant into my ruminations. "Ay', young fella, can't you see or hear that I've called you severally?" I stared at him wild eyed and managed a faint apology. He appeared brazen and unruffled. A bit garrulous too, although in a friendly way.
"What do we serve you? It's late, you know. I see you are not only famished, you've got troubles too. Don't give those worms in your belly a field day, dear friend." I smiled wryly at his familiarization techniques.
"What'ya got? I quizzed in a quip tone. He ogled at me above the polished rim of his pair of glasses. "Check the table top. There's a menu."
I spread the menu card across my face like a mag as a visual veil from the diner's view. I wanted to cleave back to my thoughts. My mind was what I felt the only safe haven in the world. Few moments later, his sharp voice pierced again. "Not made a choice yet?"
"No"
"Lemme help ya. I'll fix you a nice dinner, then we can talk."
I guessed he smelt my troubles. "About what, sir?"
"You."
"What. What about me?"
"I'm coming, son."
Soon, the Jap diner was back with a tray which held scrambled eggs and a loaf of wheat bread hostage. There was a tall pack of juice and a tumbler accompanying the arrangement. He also had an Anglophile assistant beside him who struggled to see to it that I have an English dinner setting. He probably was a new immigrant from Africa.
"Good evening sire." He managed a forced accent and a smile. My returned smile smartly veiled my frigidity. My appetite skyrocketed. For a moment, I stored my worries in a temporal virtual sac as I devoured the meal. Everything was chic and gourmet style.
The diner smiled as he watched me down another glass of water hastily. What for? Only the lord knew. I felt sarcasm in the air overriding any bit of warmth he might be creating.
"My name is Ben. They call me BB for Boss Ben in the hood. I run here. Started it few months after leaving Japan four years ago. What's your name?"
I gave him a thinned look, but he didn't budge. Would he squeeze me for my life's hazy details? I battled reticence within.
"Mark." I mustered after a hard while. I wanted out now, but he obviously wasn't done. His next question caught me off guard. ''Wife and kids? Mind telling me about them if you've got any?"
There was a spark in my brain. Thoughts gushed back, full paced. My wife and daughter were with their maker now, as a truck had smashed into their car earlier in the month. The morgue had called my hypertensive mother-in-law about it. I don't think the idiots figured how ominous the effect of their news would be. She died at the hospital after being rushed there in a comatose state.
Here was an Asian diner with seven 'o clock eyes peering at me behind trifocals (Lord, save me from sarcasm) bringing up the pain in a pack. Should I take the pack from him, my hands might get scarred. I didn't feel like trusting him. I felt nothing could stifle even an iota of trust for this stranger out of me, yet I suprised myself when I spoke. I relayed all my troubles to Him, void of abridgment of any sort. All he did while I spoke was listen. I told him of my crashed stock values, my confiscated crib and company, my aching tooth, my bad tempered friends, all of it. Including the most trivial problems.
How I managed to say all I did surprised me, but not as much as my listener's reaction. His mien erased my previous judgment of Him. His presence now seemed to radiate peace in the air, and his look complimented my new opinion of him. He simply said in a steady voice, "it's been three hours since you've been talking. I'll go fix you a cup of coffee, but before I do, let me tell you this. Jesus loves you. He'll take away your pain if you let Him." With that, he breezed away.
Peace flooded me. I still had one last resort to life. I then remembered an adage I once heard: "Failure is not falling, failure is failing to fall. Until you fall, you can't rise." Ben came back, a cup in his hands. He placed it on the table before me and said "And one more thing, son. Don't forget to share God's love. I ran away from Japan because of desolation, but I found a nun here in Illinois who shared the word." He left again.
As he went back to his counter, he paused at the table the other customer sat at. Her dinner must have been cooler than a dog's nose by then. I saw him give her a knowing stare, then he looked back at me from his distance. Tears were in the lady's eyes. The diner looked back at her momentarily and then trudged on to his counter. I figured what that meant easily. She needed the same kind of comfort I just got.
I worked my slumpy mass the nine yards to her table. As I sat, she raised her head for the first time. Her teary gaze burned hard into mine in expectation. "What's your name?" I asked.
"Your name is Ara. Idiot!" It was Dan, my roomie. "This is after eleven. How many times have I've tried to wake you to no avail! You would have slept forever if I let you."
Ara 'deinde
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