Darla continued to look at Charles for some time. When she had looked at Penelope, it had not taken her long to see into her, to understand what had brought her with Simon to Fishs Eddy. For Charles, Darla took a long time. As she stared at her, the waiter returned with their breakfast. He placed four servings of eggs in front of the four of them. Next to the eggs was a brown gruel with brown sugar on its top. The eggs still steamed and the gruel, while appearing unappetizing, gave off an amazing smell. Simon breathed deeply until the smell enveloped him. It was as he remembered it as a child. It was delicious. This place had always been delicious.

Simon dug his fork into the eggs and picked up a forkful. He brought it to his mouth. It was steaming but not too hot. It was light and had a deep egg taste. The heaviness of the egg was contrasted by the lightness of the egg. Its texture tasted more like whipped cream than egg. It was as amazing as he remembered.

“This is incredible,” Charles said, echoing Simon’s thoughts about the eggs. Charles had lost interest in Darla staring at him and dug into his eggs and gruel. Charles was used to people looking at him. He cut quite the figure when he went into stores or ate at restaurants. He was infamous for his crazy stories, both in print and in person. It was why Charles spent time with Simon. Simon was not amazed by his stories because his own work brought him face to face with similar craziness. Charles was one of the few people who did not judge Simon for what he did. Most people laughed off Simon’s job, telling him it was nothing more than a Ponzi scheme or a way to take unsuspecting people’s money. Charles never judged him and had on more than one occasion offered to do a story on Simon’s job and company. Simon did not feel comfortable crossing that line. He enjoyed Charles’s strange friendship and he feared that if their relationship changed into a more professional relationship, he would lose one of his constant and local friendships. It was a friendship that brought him much job and satisfaction.

Simon nodded in agreement, as did Penelope, who seemed too engrossed in her eggs and gruel to even look up from her food.

“This gruel is amazing,” Charles said, incapable of eating without sharing his thoughts about how amazing the food was.

“You should try their grilled cheese,” Simon said, remembering the greasy toasted bread with the oozing cheese. It was his favorite dish in the entire world. If he could just eat that forever and ever, he would be satisfied. Unlike other greasy dishes, the grilled cheese did not become tiresome or leave him with a sick feeling in his stomach. The Three Star diner was the ultimate in food establishments. He was glad he had an opportunity to share with his friends.

After Simon had gotten over the amazing food, he looked around the restaurant. It was empty, much emptier than it should have been on a Saturday morning. Usually at this time, even on weekends, most of the town would wander over and sit down for a coffee or a pastry, or anything from the amazing menu of the restaurant. Today, except for Sandy in the front and whoever cooked this amazing food, there was nobody in the restaurant. Not one additional patron.

“Where is everyone?” Simon said, attempting to break Darla out of her reverie. “Why are we the only people in this restaurant at this hour?”

It was not easy to break Darla out of her concentration, and Simon’s questions did not move her. She continued to stare at Charles. Charles was oblivious to the question. He continued to shovel food into his mouth. Penelope stopped eating, however. She looked around the restaurant.

“Is this place usually crowded?” Penelope asked Simon.

It used to be, Simon knew. But there was so much that had changed since then. He was unsure how to respond or why it made such a difference whether the restaurant was crowded, or what Darla was doing by looking at Charles, what she was hoping to find out. The truth was that was not such a mystery. She really did have a talent for understanding people and what they would be good at. Even before she graduated college, she had a knack for talking to a complete stranger and helping them see what her calling should be. Simon and his mother had joked that Darla should be a career counselor. Darla had taken this suggestion very seriously, but had waved them off. I am good at it, she admitted. But that is not what I am the best at. Neither Simon nor his mother had understood her remarks at the time, and neither had the forethought to follow up on her strange pronouncement. Had they done so then, Simon realized, perhaps he would have better insight into the situation now.

“I do not know,” Simon said finally. “When I was growing up, this place would have been packed with people by now. But I do not know what has changed or what has remained the same. It is a strange sensation not to know these things in a place you used to call home. Everything changes. I know and accept that. It is just that some of these changes are beyond things that I can explain or have any idea of what is going on.”

Penelope nodded as if she understood. Simon did not understand, and was not sure how she could. Simon did not think on it more. Darla was still locked in concentration studying Charles. Simon decided to take the opportunity and eat some more of the wonderful eggs and gruel.

“They really should not call this gruel,” Charles said, his mouth still full with food that at first it was difficult to understand him.

“They do not call this gruel,” Simon said. “It is porridge, at least it was when this place still had a menu.”

“That makes sense,” Charles said, still stuffing spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth. “Although, I have to admit, this is not like any porridge I have ever eaten. I am not sure what exactly this is like. All I do know is that it is wonderful.”

Simon nodded and spooned some porridge into his mouth. It his him immediately. It had been so long since he had this amazing food. It was thicker, thicker than even a good stew. And yet its texture was varied. It could go from crunchy to more than smooth in the same spoonful. Even with the brown sugar piled on top, it was not sweet, or at least not too sweet. Its balance of flavors were so perfect that it was difficult to call it anything along those axis. It was very filling, and with only a few spoonfuls, he felt his stomach warm and a sense of calmness envelope him. He had not felt this content in a long time, since before he had left Houston for this adventure. It brought back so many memories: they were mostly memories of his childhood, happier times during his childhood in Fishs Eddy. He rarely recalled such memories. But with the porridge, they descended on him almost unbidden. He saw himself spending Sunday mornings in the diner. So many Sunday mornings with his entire family, this was before his father had died, and before he realized that he as different from almost everyone else in the town. He remembered that he had been happy back then, as happy as any moment in his life, with the only exception being his time with Penelope.

Darla looked up suddenly. “I understand,” she said, still looking at Charles.

“You figured me out already?” Charles asked, curiously amused at the potential that anyone could figure him out. “If you could enlighten me that would be great. Many times I am not sure what it is I am supposed to be. I tell you this even when I am alone at night trying to figure out that something special that I bring, besides the wonderful news stories and absolute truths—truths, mind you, which nobody seems to understand or accept.

Darla laughed. “Yes, I can see that,” she said. “Ah, when did the food arrive? This looks fabulous.” And without another word she dug into the eggs and porridge.

Everyone did the same and for many minutes the only noises in the restaurant was the clatter of fork and spoon on plate. They ate and ate, and there never seemed to be an end to the food. When it had arrived, Simon had sworn that it had been a small serving. He smiled as he remembered the same thing happening every time he had come to this place. The servings always looked small until you dug into them. Once you did, something amazing happened. They grew to fit your appetite, and what more, that appetite seemed to increase as you ate more. You never felt full after eating, at least not uncomfortably so. But by the time the plate was empty, you could swear that you could not eat another bite. It was a sense of fulfillment more than a painful stomach-popping feeling. He knew he would reach it as soon as he approached the end of his dish. They ate in silence for many more minutes.

All four of them finished their dishes at the same time, which was very strange since Darla had started eating so much later than the rest of them, and she seemed a slow eater, savoring each mouthful. As the finished, Sandy returned to the table and cleared the dishes.

“Amazing as always,” Darla said. The rest murmured their agreement, although none of them were able to put together full sentences. They were not used to the food, and it left them in a surrealistic state. They sat around and patted their full belly. Simon could not remember a time when he felt more satisfied or more relieved by a meal.

“I bet there is much you want to know from me,” Darla said to get them started again. Simon nodded in agreement.

“There is much we need explained,” Simon said. “What is going on in this town?”

“ Simon, you were very young when we left,” Darla said.

“You were only two years older than me,” Simon began to protest.

“True,” Darla said. “But as mother always said, there were things I seemed to know that always felt unnatural for someone my age. It did not feel unnatural in Fishs Eddy, of course. But anywhere else I would have seemed out of place. That is part of what I am talking about. People here have always been a bit strange. The strangeness, you have to understand, is what makes Fishs Eddy such an important nexus point.”

“This sounds like the start of many of my newspaper stories,” Charles said. He picked up his pen, which he had discarded when the food had arrived, and licked the ballpoint end of it. It was not necessary, but Charles said a dollop of ink on his tongue always made him ready for the big times.

“You have not heard the half of it,” Simon said. “I have never told you the stories that Darla and my mother told me after we had left Fishs Eddy. I never believed them. I thought they were fancies of a bygone time. A way for them to remember fondly a time I had a terrible situation with. I sometimes figured that the reason they tried to convince me that these stories were true was to get me to not have such terrible memories about this place. I used to have so many bad dreams about Fishs Eddy. Eventually they gave up and accepted that I would never have good memories about this place and stopped telling me stories. This was when I was fifteen or so. We have not spoken about Fishs Eddy in a long time. It is strange, however. A very strange place with a strange story behind it.”

“It is as strange as any story you have heard,” Darla said. She took a large drink from her glass of orange juice and started in.

Word count: 2,074

Words total: 39,438

Words remaining: 10,562

Today was a good writing day. My exposition continued and the words came quickly. I finished early to be done before a free work dinner. I was left with only the last hundred words and this summary for when I returned home. Because I was not home to cook Doolies dinner tonight, we now have a full duck roasting in the oven. I won’t be awake when it’s done (or when Doolies turns it over four more times and coats it with the Chinese basting sauce), but Doolies will eat at midnight. For now, I am going to post this and head to sleep. The day before a vacation always means lots of work to finish.