The Corner Cafe

“I can’t imagine what life would be like without peanut butter!” Sally said, almost screaming above the noise emanating from the stove’s old exhaust fan. “Why, half of our menu wouldn’t exist!”
         I nodded, silently, without looking up to meet her gaze. Sally’s one of those people who, regardless of what she was doing at the moment, would always look another person in the face whenever she was talking to him or her. She would effortlessly do this even while wielding her sharp chef’s knife across a cutting board. I, on the other hand, am not gifted with such flawless hand-eye coordination; I need to be sure I’m Julienning the red bell peppers instead of my fingers. Sally knew this, of course, so she never expected me to look up while she spoke.
         “I mean, can you imagine?” she continued, while stirring the contents of the larger pot on the stove. “Phad thai would be just, well, just phad, right?”
         “Chicken satay would be just chicken,” I added, which elicited a hearty laugh from my rotund kitchen-mate. She always had an easy laugh for me, even though I don’t consider half of what I say to be particularly humorous.
         She regained enough of her composure to continue. “Even the most basic of sandwiches wouldn’t exist! I mean, who would want to eat a jelly sandwich, huh?” She laughed again, this time with only herself discerning the humor in what she had just said. That was another one of Sally’s talents; she could always find the humor in things. Even now that we are merely hours away from our restaurant’s final evening service, my long-time business partner and dear friend’s cheeks were rosy from her giggling.
         Once again, I am not that lucky; I wasn’t born with such a ‘glass is half full’ mentality. Although, I must give myself some credit for being relatively calm at the moment. Ordinarily, I would’ve been a sobbing mess by now; focusing on the inevitability of the ‘CLOSED’ sign being flipped over for the last time when the clock strikes eleven tonight. I’m trying very hard not to feel morose about the whole thing, but I know that, at some point tonight, the waterworks will come. I just hope that I would be afforded a private moment when it happens. “Hey, Sally.”
         “Yes?” she cheerfully responded, as she moved from the big pot to stirring the contents in one of the smaller pots instead.
         “Are you sure we made the right decision?” I asked, choking ever so slightly on the last few words.
         “Of course, we did, Gracie!” Sally exclaimed without hesitation. “Look, we’ve been at this for nearly twenty years. And, we’ve gone through so many highs and lows that I’ve lost count. But, you and I knew that this day would come. We were on borrowed time here. I’m just happy that we made it happen on our own terms.”
         “I guess you’re right,” I responded, sighing while I halfheartedly scanned the quaint kitchen, noting every nook and cranny. It wasn’t as if I needed to do that; I knew that kitchen like the back of my hand. “I’ll miss this planet.”
         Sally stopped her stirring, and walked to the kitchen’s center island to where I stood, and put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I ceased my chopping, and looked up at my dear friend’s smiling face. It took mere seconds for my anxiety to dissolve behind my own smile.
         The kitchen doors flew open, and in walked two of our young wait staff. Each gave us a forced smile, both understanding very well the significance of this evening for all of us. We were family. The difference is they’re going to walk out of this place tonight and prepare themselves for a new job the following day. Sally and I will be returning to a life that we abandoned twenty years ago.
         Sally heard my thoughts, and spoke to me in kind. “We can make this new life a good life.”
         I smiled at my friend, and continued our conversation telepathically. “I’m sure so much has changed on Thelloria. Hey, chances are, they’ll assign us to another beautiful planet soon. Although, I’d be hard-pressed to consider any other planet more beautiful than this one.”
         “On that, I would have to agree with you, my friend,” Sally responded through our mental link, then turned around to return to her cooking.
         “We have fifty reservations tonight,” one of the wait staff announced. “Looks like we’re going out with a bang.”
         I grinned at her. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
         “We’ll go set-up now,” the other wait staff stated, and both left the kitchen. I heard Sally begin to hum a tune that I hadn’t heard in over two decades—it was the Thellorian Priestess Chant. I’m amazed that she still remembers it.
         Potato… Tomato… Zucchini... Asparagus… I absentmindedly recited in my head the names of the vegetables sitting atop my cutting board, knowing full well that tonight will be the last time that I would see, touch, smell, or taste them—or say their very names. I looked up at the wall clock. Five-thirty. I’ve got five-and-a-hours remaining to enjoy the life that I knew here on Earth.
         I began to hum along with Sally, and she momentarily looked in my direction. I didn’t have to look up at my friend’s face to know that she was smiling.

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Word Count: 904