Apple Pie with Marylou

A cloud of dust comes up as I pull into the dusty parking lot of The Wagon Wheel, a mint green diner that probably hasn't had a fresh coat of paint since 1925. It bears an equally faded sign boasting "the best bacon in the whole of Nebraska," and while I'm doubtful of this bold assertion I still cut the ignition of my beloved Ford pick-up and step into the harsh cold air of the diner.

I walk stiffly up to the counter and gingerly sit down on the cracked vinyl stool. My eighty year old joints don't agree with seven hours of driving as well as they did about forty years ago. Without consulting the menu I order scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast, coffee, and an apple pie from the bleary eyed teenager behind the counter who is probably high or drunk or something else to take his mind off of the fact that he's twenty three and still living in Beaver City, Nebraska and working at The Wagon Wheel Diner. 

Next to me I hear a raspy voice say, "that's sure a lot of food for such a little lady." I turn to my right and see a middle-aged blonde with too much blue eye shadow and a cigarette hanging between her cracked lips. "Marylou" she says by way of introduction.

"Pearl," I say and then ask, "so you from around here?"

She releases a harsh laugh void of any humor and explains, "I'm not really from much of anywhere Pearl. You married?"

Confused by her disjointed conversational style I admit, "not anymore, you?"

She emits another one of those humorless laughs and replies, "a couple of times, not right now, but I don't really think I was ever married if we're being honest."

"Weren't ever really married how?" I question.

"Well my heart was never really in it, you know? I think I might have loved the first one, but I definitely didn't like him and I don't know if you can have one without the other. We definitely weren't good together. He was crazy, whew, that man didn't know how to stop. Always talking, always moving, always with a new plan, a new girl. His friend once called it 'frenetic' and I think he was right, there was just so much going on in that head of his that there wasn't really room for anyone else to exist there."

"Huh," I say because that's all I can muster after that soliloquy.

She stares at me for a while before turning back to what looks like a long island iced tea that she's been nursing since I walked in. The droopy waiter finally arrives with a plate heaping with greasy goodness that I eagerly devour. I eat quickly, pay the check with cash, and leave with a curt nod to Marylou. As I pull out of that tired diner though I think about the hardened woman sitting inside with her long islands and ex-husbands, I think it's time to get out of Nebraska.