Vinnie's Diner

by Jennifer AlLee

  33

  Vinnie’s Diner

  Vinnie leans across the table. “What do you need to do?”

  “I’ve got to know how much of this is real.” I stand up and face the others, waving my arms to get their attention. Then I cup my hands around my mouth and shout out to the crowd. “Everyone who’s not an angel, it’s okay for you to leave now.”

  The whole diner changes. The posters and movie props vanish, leaving the walls a clean, sparkling white. The “WELCOME BACK ALLIE!” banner is gone, as is the juke box. The stools are gone, the kitchen pass through is gone, and the only booth left is the one Vinnie’s sitting in. The people disappear, gone all at once as if they’d never been there. This leaves Vinnie and me alone in a big, white, empty room.

  Except for one couple.

  They stand across from us where the pass-through window used to be. Elvis puts two fingers to his forehead and gives me a cocky salute. With one last crooked smile he says, “Take care, little darling.”

  Beside him, Marilyn holds her hand palm up in front of her lips and blows a kiss in my direction. “Bye bye, honey.” She threads her arm through the crook of Elvis’s elbow and then they’re gone, too, disappearing in a slow fade.

  Now it’s just Vinnie and me.

  “Disappointed?” he asks.

  I turn back to him, feeling slightly sheepish. “A little,” I say with a shrug. “Out of everybody, I was really hoping those two were angels.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, you know.”

  One corner of his mouth quirks up, and I wait for him to explain what he means. But he doesn’t. Oh great, we’re back to me pulling information out of him.

  I sigh. “What doesn’t work what way?”

  “Angels. They’re not people who died and went to heaven. People are people and angels are angels, and never the twain shall meet.”

  He is inordinately pleased with himself. There’s no telling how many times he’s had to explain this to others over the past hundreds of years, but apparently it never gets old.

  “Okay. So the people I met here weren’t angels. Then what were they?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  Maybe it’s time to take a different approach. I put one hand on my hip and lean the other against the table. “So why did you bring all of them here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate everything you did, even if it was a little over the top. But being an angel, I’m sure you could have done the job by yourself.”

  “Yes, I could have.” He stands up and looks down at me. “That’s why I didn’t bring any of them here.”

  I squint at him. “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “You mean . . .” I point upward.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “So if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t him, then . . .” I smack my palm flat against my chest. “Me? You mean I brought them here?”

  Vinnie nods, looking pleased. “Like I told you, you have more control than you realize.”

  This new information is difficult to digest. I think back over everything: Elvis’s fried peanut butter and banana sandwich, Norma Jeane’s fascination with jewelry, Mark Twain’s speech patterns, Einstein’s theory of time being relative . . . that was all information I already had. I try to pinpoint something, anything that I heard from those people that I hadn’t known before. But I can’t.

  “You mean it was all a figment of my imagination?”

  Vinnie crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “I never said that.”

  “But you said I brought them here. And they didn’t give me any new information. In fact, I told them things about themselves they didn’t know.” Now I’m frowning. “So I took all the trivia I’ve learned over the years, all the facts I’ve soaked up in preparation for the championship, and let it come to life.”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “You’re going in the wrong direction.”

  Good grief. A terrible thought knocks on the inside of my skull. “Was any of it real?”

  “Of course it was. Every thought and every feeling you’ve had since you got here is real.”

  “But . . . was Ba’al real?”

  He wrinkles his nose as if he can still smell the sulfur. “Yes.”

  “Was Jesus real?”

  “Absolutely.” His reply is emphatic. “Was and is.”

  Okay. Good. “And you? Are you real?”

  His expression becomes soft, warm. “What do you think?”

  I look him up and down. This is Vinnie, who’s been with me from the beginning. Who guided me through the convoluted labyrinth of my own fears and pain and baggage. Vinnie, who is more real to me now than some of the flesh and blood people who have strolled through my life. Of course he’s real. He has to be real.

  “Yes, I think you’re real. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  Lips pressed together, I take a moment to work up my courage. I don’t want to imagine it, let alone say it. “What if you’re just a drug- and coma-induced dream? How can I know for sure that any of this was real?”

  He holds his hands out in front of him, palms up. “Faith, Allie. Most of the best things in life are a matter of faith.”

  “So I’m supposed to blindly believe that you, Jesus, and Ba’al are all real?” There’s nothing funny about this, but a snort of disbelieving laughter bursts out of me. “It’s like the beginning of a bad joke . . . an angel, a demon, and the Son of God walk into a bar . . .”

  The look Vinnie gives me stops me cold. “Faith is never blind. But you can’t reason it out, and you won’t see it if you look with your eyes. What does your heart tell you?”

  I close my eyes and let Vinnie’s words sink in, through my pores and into the core of my being. And I know. Deep in my spirit I feel the rightness of it, the absolute certainty that what he tells me is true. I’ve experienced a miraculous event. It’s unexplainable and impossible to believe, except to take it on faith.

  I look around the empty diner, and something else becomes unavoidably clear. It’s time.

  “I have to go.” My voice catches in my throat. “I have a life to get back to.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Am I going to remember anything that happened? Am I going to remember you?”

  “Yes and no. Don’t worry, your salvation will stick. And the choices you made here will remain. You’ll feel differently, look at your life differently. But most of the details will stay behind. As it should be.” He reaches out, cradling my chin in one hand, smiling at me with fond consideration. Then he puts both his palms on top of my head, his touch light and energizing. “Never forget that you are a child of God. Go with him and live your life to the fullest, no matter what it holds.”

  I don’t know if it’s proper etiquette to initiate a hug with your guardian angel, but I do it anyway, throwing my arms around his waist. He squeezes me in return.

  “Easy now,” he says in my ear. “Watch the wings.”

  My fingers brush against something soft and I pull away with a gasp. I see Vinnie’s clothes have changed again. He seems much more the stereotypical angel now in a beige linen tunic that reaches to his sandaled feet. Peeping over his shoulders are the arcs of snowy white feathers. I give him a questioning look, and he shrugs.

  “That polyester suit was getting hot. And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how binding those waistbands are. How do you people stand it?”

  I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and shake my head. “You’ve got your wings!”

  “I’ve always had them,” he says proudly. “I just thought you might like to see them before you go.” He flexes his shoulders and they fan out behind him, making him resemble a big albino peacock about to strut his stuff.

  I laugh. It’s just as well I won’t remember most of this. If I did, I’d want to tell people, and no one would ever believe me if I did.

  I take a step backward and lift my han
d in farewell. “Bye, Vinnie. Thanks.”

  As I walk to the door, the walls of the diner become misty. When I reach for the silver handle, it’s almost gone. I’m ready to walk outside, but stop when a voice calls out to me.

  “Allie.”

  I turn. Vinnie’s gone. The diner’s gone. All that’s left is a bright, clear light all around me. But I hear Vinnie’s last message loud and strong as he sends me off. “You know that piece of tire rubber that hit your car? Truckers call them road gators.”

  I smile, and my heart feels as though it might burst with happiness.

  I never knew that.

  34

  St. Luke’s Hospital

  “Allie?”

  I blink. At least, I try to blink, but my eyelids have been cemented shut. I try to speak, but my throat is full of sand and no sound comes out. I try to move, but my arms and legs are strapped down. I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t see. Yet, I must have managed to make some kind of contact because the voices are going crazy.

  “She opened her eyes! I saw it!”

  “Nurse! Nurse, help!”

  “We need help in here!”

  I want them all to be quiet. There’s something I need to remember, something important. No, not something. Someone . . . Vinnie. I can just barely remember him, but it’s enough to know I don’t want to lose him. If everybody would only shut up, maybe I could hold on to the wisp of memories. Could hold on to the place I just came from.

  “Allie! Allie, can you hear me?”

  Jake. I hear Jake. His voice is anxious, deep, familiar. It touches a place deep in my heart, sending a zing through my brain, and I don’t mind the shouting quite as much anymore.

  Choose life.

  A sense of calm settles over me, despite the frenzied atmosphere.

  I choose life.

  It takes a concentrated effort, but I force one eye open, then the other. The light is so bright that I immediately want to squeeze my eyes shut again, but I resist the temptation. As I try to focus I can see the shape of a head leaning over me. I expect it to be Jake, but instead I finally make out the round face of a woman, her hair caught up in a ponytail. She looks very serious and before I realize what’s going on, she pulls back one of my eyelids and shines an even brighter light back and forth in front of it, then repeats the process with the other eye. Only when she’s done does she finally crack a smile. “Welcome back.”

  She looks over her shoulder, speaks to someone, then steps away. Another woman moves in to take her place, leaning over the bed and smiling. “Alexandra, I’m Dr. Frasier. Can you hear me?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is so dry and tight it seems to be collapsing in on itself. Rather than speaking, I end up gagging.

  The doctor puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Easy now. Breathe through your nose. You had a tube down your throat for a few days. It’s gone now, but it might be hard to talk for a while. Just give me a little nod, or a blink, okay?”

  I look at her. Blink. Nod.

  You’d have thought I just gave her the cure for cancer, her smile is so big. “Ah, I see we have an overachiever. Wonderful. Now I’m just going to check a few things and see how you’re doing.”

  She fiddles around, poking different parts of my body and making affirmative noises. More people have moved in, nurses who check the IV needle in my arm, change out bags of fluid, note readouts on machines. Finally, the doctor comes back up to my head where I can see her.

  “Alexandra, you were in a car accident. You’re in the hospital now. We’ve got a neck brace on you, just to be on the safe side, so you won’t be able to move your head very far. You’ve been unconscious for a little over a week, but it looks like you’re doing very well.”

  I want to say thank you. I try, but only manage to grunt instead.

  The doctor looks over her shoulder then back at me. “Your family has been worried about you. Do you feel up to seeing them?”

  I try to nod my head, but something pokes me in the chin. Oh yeah, I forgot about the brace. I open my mouth and squeeze out my first intelligible syllable. “Yaz.”

  I’ve impressed her again. She’s like a proud parent whose child has just delivered the valedictorian address. “Wonderful. I’ll send them right in.”

  She gives my shoulder a quick rub, then talks to the nurses in the room, giving them instructions about fluids, ice chips, keep an eye on her . . . I want to look at them, but I can’t turn my head that far. Why does it feel like it’s locked in place? Oh yeah, the brace. Why can’t I remember that? My head hurts. I don’t know if that’s good or not, but at least I can feel it. What about the rest of me?

  I try to move my hands. They don’t go far, but I can flex my fingers. Now, my legs. When I try to move them, it’s as if someone has set fire to my lower body. Tears well up in my eyes. I’ve never felt such pain before. It’s awful, but it’s wonderful, too. Because even though I can’t make them do what I want them to, at least I can feel my legs.

  “Oh, Allie. Praise Jesus!”

  I hear Aunt Bobbie before I see her. Her footsteps lumber across the floor. Then she’s hanging over the bed, about to fling herself on top of me when someone stops her.

  “We need to be gentle with her for awhile, don’t you think?”

  Jake.

  Aunt Bobbie nods enthusiastically, then stands calmly beside the bed, a Cheshire cat grin taking over her face. Her made-up face. I squint, making sure this is my aunt I’m looking at. Yep, it’s her. Not only is she wearing makeup, but I think she’s had her hair done. I’ll have to talk to her about that later.

  Jake stands next to her, looking almost like I remember. Handsome. Solid. Eyes sparkling behind his black rimmed, Clark Kent specs. But he’s got one goofy grin on his face.

  Next to Jake, standing the farthest away from my head, is my mother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her out in public in such bad shape. Her eyes are bloodshot and sunken, she’s wearing no makeup, and her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in a day or two. But besides the obvious physical difference, there’s a different quality about her. A vulnerability I’m not used to seeing in my mother.

  There’s something I need to remember about her. Something important. I try to pull it up to the front of my head, but it won’t come. What I do know is that I’m happy to see her, which is surprising in itself.

  “Mom.” My throat is raw and ragged from the exertion of forcing out that one word, but I have more to say. I can’t remember why, but I know it’s important. “Love . . . you.”

  She bites her lip, blinks hard. She nods and takes my hand in hers, squeezing it twice before letting it go. Somehow I know that’s all she can do right now. It’s enough. As she pulls her hand from me, her fingers brush my skin, and I feel the edges of her nails. They’re sharp and ragged.

  She’s been biting them. If I had the strength to laugh, I would. For now, all I can manage is a twitch of my lips.

  Aunt Bobbie is stroking my forehead, pushing aside clumps of my oily hair, which I can tell is quite in need of a wash. Despite that, Jake continues grinning down at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. My heart constricts. I hurt him, but he’s still here, still by my side. I focus on his eyes, and push out one more excruciating word.

  “Sorry.”

  He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they really are the windows to his soul, just like the old saying says. “It’s okay. When you’ve gotten your strength back, I’ll let you make me dinner.” He smiles. “Or something.”

  I twitch my lips again, hoping I look better than I feel.

  “We’ve been praying for you, sweetheart,” Aunt Bobbie says. “All three of us have.” She leans a little closer to my ear and adds quietly, “Even your mother.”

  My eyes shift to the end of the bed. Mom nods. Her cheeks are marked with the tracks of the tears she hasn’t bothered to wipe away.

  “Wha . . . what . . . happened?”

  I want to know what h
appened to these three while I was otherwise occupied. Why has Aunt Bobbie spent any attention to the way she looks for the first time in years? And why is my mother so emotionally raw that she doesn’t care what she looks like? And after the way I treated Jake, why is he still so attentive?

  But he doesn’t know that’s what I mean. He answers the more obvious question. “The EMTs said the truck ahead of you had a blowout and it threw off a piece of tire rubber. It slammed into the windshield of your car and made you lose control. It was a freak accident.”

  “We’re just so happy you’re back with us, safe and sound,” Aunt Bobbie says. Then she claps her hands together. “Oh, and I learned a nifty new bit of trivia. Do you know what the truckers call those pieces of tire rubber that are all over the highway? They call them road gators. Isn’t that great?”

  Road gators.

  Striped suspenders.

  Red bow tie.

  Paper banana boat hat.

  Vinnie.

  I smile. Try to nod my head but can’t and then remember the brace again, so I make an affirmative noise instead.

  Yes, now I know.

  Group Discussion Guide

  1. Allie describes her dog, Grimm, as “the ugliest beast in all of California, and most likely the entire West Coast.” What does it tell you about Allie’s character that she would adopt a dog that everybody else looked past?

  2. Allie has driven Interstate 15 often enough to be familiar with the roadside sights. Is there a daytrip you’ve taken so many times you know exactly what to expect? What would you think if a strange building popped up out of nowhere?

  3. When Allie and Aunt Bobbie talk about Marilyn Monroe, Allie says that Marilyn had it made because of her looks. Aunt Bobbie calls her beauty a curse, and we find out that Allie’s mother thinks a woman needs to use her body to get what she wants. Is beauty a blessing, a curse, or something else entirely?

  4. When the EMTs pull Allie’s body from her car, there’s no doubt that Vinnie’s Diner is not your normal food joint. What do you think the diner represents?