Ground Beef, Eggs, Gravy

Hunger. Driving me further down this desolate street. Everything unappetizing until…a small diner advertising authentic Hawaiian food, “generous portions at a good price.” The place was silent as I walked in and sat at the bar, in front of the kitchen. An older man, seeming of Asian decent but not necessarily Hawaiian, came up to me and asked if I would like anything to drink, “Tequila on the rocks,” I replied and began to peruse the menu.
Startled by my response he began to stumble over his words, “I’m…uh… sorry…hmmm…we don’t…uh…serve alcohol…May I get you a soda?”
I thought patiently for a moment, “No, water will be fine.”
He poured the water into a small glass directly from the facet and placed it in front of me. “I’ll try a loco moco,” I said.
“Loco moco, okay, anything else?”
“Nope, that should do it.”
He turned and began calling back my order to a woman standing five feet away. She made no reply and began preparing food. Her face was hardened with a loss I could never imagine. Her features appeared to have once been dominant and beautiful, but now have become sulken and her eyes hollow. After gathering the necessary materials, she turned around to the small stereo system and began playing what sounded like native island music.
I read the newspaper and silently drank my water. A young couple came in and the man began smiling ecstatically. They both ordered chicken sandwiches, to-go. He took their money and turned to the grill.
The newcomers were talking amongst themselves, inaudible from my distance, at a table by the door. The soft sound from the stereo surrounded everything in the small restaurant. It seemed to dance across the floor, weaving around invisible patrons and avoiding everything that was tangible.
My meal was presented to me almost simultaneously as the others order to-go. “Thank you,” I said to the woman as she set the plate in front of me. A slight smile touched her face as she nodded her head and without saying a word walked away.
As I ate my food she stood almost perfectly still leaning on the oven, listening to the sounds that filled the room. The music began to move away from the vacant tables and across the room. Swirling and slipping around the kitchen, presenting a hand to the maiden which she kindly accepted. Slowly tilting her head back as if basking in the forgotten sun, and there she was –
Running wildly through the warm streets. Her hair flowing out into the salty air like seaweed in deep water. Children beside her, their tan faces beaming out across fields of sugar cane. Every care washing away like designs etched in the sand.
“Can I get you anything else?” The voice brought me back to the diner. “Sir, would you like anything else?” the older man said again.
“No, this should be fine.”
He set the bill in front of me and walked away. The woman still leaning on the kitchen equipment. Still wanting something more. Still wanting what she has lost.
I laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar and looked towards the woman, “Thank you, again.” And turned to walk out of her island fantasy.