The Coffee Trailer Across From the Diner

The Others

He was not alone for long.

At a few minutes after seven, two brothers who farm north of town came out of the diner with their coats over their arms.

I do not think they had even ordered yet. They walked straight across the street and got in line behind Eldon.

Then came a woman named Ida, who keeps the books at the grain elevator and has had a cinnamon roll at Burt’s every Monday for as long as anybody can remember.

She stood at the window and told Mom she was not sure what a latte was but she wanted one.

Then came a retired man from the highway department who sits at the end of the counter every morning doing the crossword in pen.

He bought two coffees and handed one to Eldon so Eldon would not have to stand there with an empty cup.

By a quarter after seven there were five of them standing on the gravel in front of the trailer with their cups.

Eldon, the two brothers, Ida, and the man with the crossword. Five of Burt’s oldest regulars, standing in the cold.

Nobody said much. Nobody made a speech. They just stood there in the low sun, stamping their feet a little and talking about the soybean prices and the price of propane, the way they would have at the counter.

Across the street, Burt came out of the kitchen with a plate in his hand. I think it was Eldon’s eggs.

He stopped behind the counter and looked at all those empty stools, and then he looked out the window at us.

I did not wave. I did not smile at him. I did not do one thing to rub it in, and I am glad of that now.

I just went back to pulling shots of espresso and let him look.

He set the plate down on the counter. Then he picked up a rag and wiped down a section of counter that nobody had sat at, and then another section, and another, slowly, all the way down.