No Anchovies - 1. The Sighting

No Anchovies - The Sighting

I stood outside the diner and looked in the window. As I suspected, it wasn't busy with just a couple of tables occupied; hardly surprising really as it was getting late and not far from closing time.

I stuck my hand in the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a handful of coins and small bills. I checked them over – yeah there was enough, but I knew that already, so why was I delaying I wondered to myself. Just then my stomach rumbled and the decision was made for me. I walked toward the door, pushed it open and entered.

The waitress looked up from where she was leaning on the counter reading a paper and signalled with her head that I should find a seat. I looked round the room, picked on a booth that didn't seem too close to anyone else, and sat down. She was over in a couple of minutes, pot in hand, and poured me a cup of coffee. I guessed it was probably stewed, but at least it was still hot judging by the steam that came from the cup.

“Know what you want?” she asked.

“Yeah, a slice of pizza please.”

“House special?”

“As long as it hasn't got anchovies!”

She chuckled, “We don't put them in the house special – they're extra!”

She turned and walked away, back toward the kitchen. I reached for the creamer, added that, some sugar and stirred. I heard a crying child and looked across the room to where a woman was sat nursing a baby. I say 'woman' but she was little more than a girl, thin and shabbily dressed. The baby though appeared better clad , or at least the blanket I could see looked both clean, fluffy and warm. She was trying to get the baby to drink from its bottle. I wondered if it had indigestion and needed burping. My mind went back some years to when I'd spent many a night walking round the apartment with our baby cuddled over my shoulder trying to get it to burp and settle down. My reverie was interrupted as the waitress returned with my order.

I looked at the plate as she set it in front of me. “But I only ordered one slice?”

She looked down at me with a half smile around her lips. “I know, but it's nearly closing time and it'll only go to waste.”

“Thanks!” I said – and meant it.

It was good pizza too, plenty of cheese plus salami and pepperoni and a hint of basil. I spent a while savoring it. After I'd eaten the first slice she came back with the pot and refilled my cup.

“I don't wanna rush you, but we're closing soon and I've got a babysitter waiting for me to get home.”

I looked at her properly then. She gave the appearance of being tired and careworn; probably doing a double shift to help make enough to live on. No wonder her face was wrinkled, but there was a kindness showing in her eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll not let it get cold, but it was too good to rush.”

“Yes, Angelo makes a good pizza.”

With that she left the tab on the table and went across to the girl. She slid into the bench seat next to her, kissed the girl and made a fuss of the baby. Was this the babysitter and if so, whose was the baby?

Another of those little mysteries that would never be solved I decided. I finished the pizza and the coffee, dug in my pocket and pulled out enough to cover it with a more generous tip than I'd intended, or could really afford, before getting up from my seat. I looked across the room and met her eye. We exchanged smiles. I gave a little wave and mouthed my thanks before heading to the door.

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By the time I exited the diner the streets were quieter, the traffic had lessened. Most people were either in their homes or somewhere else enjoying themselves. The wind seemed to have got up and I pulled my jacket around me as I started walking.

I'd gone a block and then I saw him stood there on the corner of the street, looking lost and forlorn. He appeared to be about average height, thin, and with a mop of dark hair. The light from the street lamp reflected from the pair of glasses he wore.

Although it was night and getting cold I could see he wore only a tee shirt. As I drew closer I noticed that the tee shirt was torn around the neck and at the side. I guessed that once it had been white, now it was apparently a sort of grey. The torn tee shirt sort of went with the ripped skinny black jeans he was wearing, but while a lot of kids wear ripped jeans these days, few wear anything else that is ripped or torn. Ripped jeans are some sort of fashion statement I gather, although I have no idea why people would pay good money to buy jeans which have supposedly been ripped by some fashion designer. When I got to within a couple of feet of him I could see that below the jeans were a pair of sneakers that were dirty, scruffy and holed at the toes. It was hard to tell if he was wearing socks or his feet were bare inside them.

He heard my steps on the pavement and half turned towards me, an expression on his face that I couldn't quite place. Was it hope, fear, desperation – a mixture I decided. As I drew level he changed his position slightly to come upright rather than leaning against the wall. I sensed he was now looking directly at me, so I checked my stride and turned to look at him. His expression changed, the fear perhaps no longer quite so evident.

“How's it going kid?” I asked.

He shrugged. “The fish don't seem to be biting tonight,” he replied.

“Hope your luck turns or you're gonna be hungry tonight.”

I started to walk away when he spoke again.

“It won't be the first time, dad ...”

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