I met a man at the 4 Corners named Irby. He was standing outside the entrance as I parked my Chevy at the side of the road. It was early evening. The sun had just disappeared on the horizon, but the lights of the café had not yet claimed the night. I had told my wife that I was going to the local McDonald’s for a burger--something I had really intended to do, but twenty minutes later I was sitting in front of the “cosmic coffee shop” as my mind had lately been calling it.
Irby was a man of about seventy, I’d guess. He was dressed in faded overalls and wearing what I thought at first glance was a battered John Deere hat. But as I got closer, I could see that it had a saying on it: “Love is like two dreamers dreaming the exact same dream.”
I smiled, and he spoke. “Ever notice that Marie Osmond looks like a high-price hooker?”
I paused. Here is a guy I can relate to. “Ever notice that no matter when you turn the TV on Valerie Bertinelli is there hawking something?”
“Perhaps they should have a show together.” he said thoughtfully. “Kinda kill two birds with one stone.”
I laughed and stepped onto the broad covered porch that protected the entrance.
“I’d be careful in there,” he said, his voice lowering. “Betty Jo is on the warpath.”
I peeked in the window, but Betty Jo was nowhere about. “What’s eating her?”
“Some people came in a bit ago that weren’t supposed to be here.”
“What do you mean, weren’t supposed to be here?”
“They weren’t invited,” he replied. “Name’s Irby by the way,” he said, holding out a huge callused hand.
“David,” I replied.
“I know, I know. I’ve heard of you.”
He’d heard of me? I didn’t recall ever mentioning my name to anyone during my visits to the 4 Corners Café. The place was either empty or filled with farmers who didn’t even seem to notice my existence. As for Betty Jo, she could give a shit who I was or where I was from.
“That’s not exactly true.” Irby said with a smile.
Had I spoken? Or had the man just read my thoughts?
He opened the door. I stepped in before him. The place was empty except for the two of us. Whoever the unwanted intruders were, they were gone. Irby gestured toward a booth, an invitation to sit. I’d never sat at one of the booths before. I’d always planted my ass on one of the red vinyl stools at the counter.
I sat, and when I looked up Betty Jo was glaring at me an order pad and pencil in her hand.
"Just coffee, dear," Irby said
“Coffee and a piece of apple pie,“ I said.
“When you going to step up and order a meal?” she demanded.
“Now, Betty, be nice,” Irby said. Betty Jo turned away.
“You’ve got to excuse her,” he said. “Her bark is bigger than her bite, as the saying goes. But make sure you don’t make her bite. Hurts like hell.”
“Irby, you are the first person I’ve ever spoken to in this place.”
“Well, I hear you’re not much of a conversationalist. That’s kinda why I’m here.”
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I’d always suspected that there might be consequences for hanging out at the 4 Corners Cafe. I mean, the place wasn’t like going to Denny’s...
Betty Jo returned with our order. She looked down at me; her wrinkled face looking more like a prune than ever, then turned away.
Irby stirred sugar into his coffee. “How did you come on this place?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“What brought you here other than that truck you drove up in?”
“I, I saw the sign. I’d driven past it for months on the way to visit my daughter up in Plymouth. I didn’t notice a restaurant at first. Just the broken sign and the phone booth. There was something about it... Then one day I looked down and discovered there really was a restaurant here. So I stopped and came in.”
“How many times have you been here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Dozen times, maybe more. It gets—“
“Confusing,” he said, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah. I guess you can say that.”
I glanced up at his hat. It now said, “Got the werewolf split, when the moon's full I howl at it.”
“Coming here ain’t free you know,” Irby said.
“I know. But I always pay my bill. Say, is Betty Jo complaining about my tips?”
“Got nothing to do with money, and you know it.”
Strangely, I did know it. Knew it from the first time I opened the door and heard the bell above it announce my arrival. Knew it the first time Betty Jo poured me a cup of hot joe and looked at me as if I were a bug.
“So what are you saying?”
“Nothing much, my friend. Except to say that the 4 Corners doesn’t need any publicity, and we know you’ve been writing about us.”
I had no idea blog readers frequented the place. No Wi-Fi here, I was sure of it. There was nothing in here that was built after 1979 that was for sure.
Irby signed. “You’re welcome here but be careful. Some people aren’t too sure about you or your motives.”
I opened my mouth and discovered I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry, and the words felt like sandpaper as they failed to make their escape. We sat in silence for a time. I poked at my pie, but my appetite was gone.
“Go home to your wife,” Irby said. “Think about what I said. And come back when you are ready.”
Ready for what? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t.
I found myself standing. I reached into my pocket for some money. Irky raised his hand. “This one’s on me, my friend.” He smiled broadly. An oddly welcoming smile as if I was now a part of the family. “This one’s one me.”
Down the road there was a wreck, a terrible wreck. Car in the river. Fatalities. As I passed it I shivered. Could they…? I stopped, the question unfinished. It was not to be asked because I didn’t want to know the answer.
Back home, Trish didn’t seem to notice that I’d been gone a couple of hours. She never did. That was what is like when you went to visit the 4 Corners Café.
Later, I went into my bathroom, closed the door, and looked at myself in the mirror. "David," I said to my image, "Maybe you're making a big mistake."
Irby was a man of about seventy, I’d guess. He was dressed in faded overalls and wearing what I thought at first glance was a battered John Deere hat. But as I got closer, I could see that it had a saying on it: “Love is like two dreamers dreaming the exact same dream.”
I smiled, and he spoke. “Ever notice that Marie Osmond looks like a high-price hooker?”
I paused. Here is a guy I can relate to. “Ever notice that no matter when you turn the TV on Valerie Bertinelli is there hawking something?”
“Perhaps they should have a show together.” he said thoughtfully. “Kinda kill two birds with one stone.”
I laughed and stepped onto the broad covered porch that protected the entrance.
“I’d be careful in there,” he said, his voice lowering. “Betty Jo is on the warpath.”
I peeked in the window, but Betty Jo was nowhere about. “What’s eating her?”
“Some people came in a bit ago that weren’t supposed to be here.”
“What do you mean, weren’t supposed to be here?”
“They weren’t invited,” he replied. “Name’s Irby by the way,” he said, holding out a huge callused hand.
“David,” I replied.
“I know, I know. I’ve heard of you.”
He’d heard of me? I didn’t recall ever mentioning my name to anyone during my visits to the 4 Corners Café. The place was either empty or filled with farmers who didn’t even seem to notice my existence. As for Betty Jo, she could give a shit who I was or where I was from.
“That’s not exactly true.” Irby said with a smile.
Had I spoken? Or had the man just read my thoughts?
He opened the door. I stepped in before him. The place was empty except for the two of us. Whoever the unwanted intruders were, they were gone. Irby gestured toward a booth, an invitation to sit. I’d never sat at one of the booths before. I’d always planted my ass on one of the red vinyl stools at the counter.
I sat, and when I looked up Betty Jo was glaring at me an order pad and pencil in her hand.
"Just coffee, dear," Irby said
“Coffee and a piece of apple pie,“ I said.
“When you going to step up and order a meal?” she demanded.
“Now, Betty, be nice,” Irby said. Betty Jo turned away.
“You’ve got to excuse her,” he said. “Her bark is bigger than her bite, as the saying goes. But make sure you don’t make her bite. Hurts like hell.”
“Irby, you are the first person I’ve ever spoken to in this place.”
“Well, I hear you’re not much of a conversationalist. That’s kinda why I’m here.”
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I’d always suspected that there might be consequences for hanging out at the 4 Corners Cafe. I mean, the place wasn’t like going to Denny’s...
Betty Jo returned with our order. She looked down at me; her wrinkled face looking more like a prune than ever, then turned away.
Irby stirred sugar into his coffee. “How did you come on this place?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“What brought you here other than that truck you drove up in?”
“I, I saw the sign. I’d driven past it for months on the way to visit my daughter up in Plymouth. I didn’t notice a restaurant at first. Just the broken sign and the phone booth. There was something about it... Then one day I looked down and discovered there really was a restaurant here. So I stopped and came in.”
“How many times have you been here?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Dozen times, maybe more. It gets—“
“Confusing,” he said, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah. I guess you can say that.”
I glanced up at his hat. It now said, “Got the werewolf split, when the moon's full I howl at it.”
“Coming here ain’t free you know,” Irby said.
“I know. But I always pay my bill. Say, is Betty Jo complaining about my tips?”
“Got nothing to do with money, and you know it.”
Strangely, I did know it. Knew it from the first time I opened the door and heard the bell above it announce my arrival. Knew it the first time Betty Jo poured me a cup of hot joe and looked at me as if I were a bug.
“So what are you saying?”
“Nothing much, my friend. Except to say that the 4 Corners doesn’t need any publicity, and we know you’ve been writing about us.”
I had no idea blog readers frequented the place. No Wi-Fi here, I was sure of it. There was nothing in here that was built after 1979 that was for sure.
Irby signed. “You’re welcome here but be careful. Some people aren’t too sure about you or your motives.”
I opened my mouth and discovered I couldn’t speak. My throat was dry, and the words felt like sandpaper as they failed to make their escape. We sat in silence for a time. I poked at my pie, but my appetite was gone.
“Go home to your wife,” Irby said. “Think about what I said. And come back when you are ready.”
Ready for what? I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t.
I found myself standing. I reached into my pocket for some money. Irky raised his hand. “This one’s on me, my friend.” He smiled broadly. An oddly welcoming smile as if I was now a part of the family. “This one’s one me.”
Down the road there was a wreck, a terrible wreck. Car in the river. Fatalities. As I passed it I shivered. Could they…? I stopped, the question unfinished. It was not to be asked because I didn’t want to know the answer.
Back home, Trish didn’t seem to notice that I’d been gone a couple of hours. She never did. That was what is like when you went to visit the 4 Corners Café.
Later, I went into my bathroom, closed the door, and looked at myself in the mirror. "David," I said to my image, "Maybe you're making a big mistake."
I ride a beat-up Harley-Davidson fatboy cross country. I seen this four-corners thing a few times - funny thing is it seems to be in different towns but always the same beat up sign and phone booth out front. I remember Betty Jo, she don't like me none. Darned thing I can't remember how to get back to the cafe, I just run across it from time to time without tryin'
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you're finding this so much fun. It may be a joke to you, but it's not to me. I'm the one whose living this shit. I've decided not to return to the cafe. It's just to freaking dangerous. Also, I'd be careful about what you say about Betty Jo. I think Irby was wrong about her. I suspect that her bite is a lot worse than her bark.
ReplyDelete