Poetic Intermission

I thought you could all use a break from the 'Best of 2007' series. Enjoy.

Helen's

I grew up in a diner.
It was home to me, more than home was or is.
People gathered to eat, to drink, to laugh, enjoy each other’s company and to share their lives.
They were family, in a make shift sort of way.
Something that was missing at my house.
The smell of grease and polyester, bacon frying and pies baking.
The sound of ice clinking, the cash register and someone shouting, “Order up!”
The sight of waitresses rushing, customers sipping coffee at the counter and my grandmother fiercely cooking as the orders roll in.
The taste of fresh rolls, chocolate milk and eggs over easy.
Memories of a some-what happy childhood.
Those people and that place... saved me. It gave me a place to belong. A place where I felt wanted. To this day I feel more comfortable on a barstool than a couch. A booth than a kitchen table. Fluorescent lights than a lamp.
Home is not a porch or a garden, a living room or hardwood floors. It’s Formica and neon, fried chicken and day old coffee. And a sense of belonging.