I came into the Carl’s jr, hungry and with a near-dead cell phone. I put in my order. An older man sat alone in the dining room, reading a book.

I’d just sat down, plugged in my cell to see that magical, relieving lightning bolt on the battery icon. The old man kept reading.

The woman hustling to work the counter and drive-thru called out an order. The old guy’s head lifted.

“I think your order’s ready,” I said.

He looked toward the counter. “She said she’d bring it to me.”

We waited a few moments. The drive-thru bell chimed again.

“I think she’s busy with running the drive-thru.”

The man grunted. He set the book face-down on the table, slowly got up and shuffled toward the counter. He retrieved his tray. “She said she’d bring it to me.”

“Whatcha reading?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“I saw you were reading.”

He brought the book to where I could see the non-fiction title about the Roman Empire.

“Hmm. I’m tempted to ask what you think of our country in light of last night’s election.”

He gave another light grunt. “It’s a turning point.”

My order was called. I grabbed it quickly, returned to the dining room. “It’s a turning point you said? How was it a turning point?”

He shook his hand. “Well, I don’t know what your politics are, but I’m a conservative. In fact, I’m only here because we don’t have any power on my side of town.”

I nodded. I took my food, went back to my table. I rechecked the status of the charging phone, opened my laptop and checked my email. I had a nice chat with the counter woman and her helper, who’d returned from his break. He told me about the power being out near his house, the wildfire nearby, the line of news helicopters in the sky.

When ten o’clock rolled around, the counter woman hustled into the dining room with a set of keys and locked the doors around us. The old man got up, hiked up his sweatpants, straightened his faux leather jacket, shuffled toward the door and got into his gray Civic, in a handicapped spot, wind-blown leaves swirling around its tires, its grill. With a smile toward the overworked, I left as well.

I criss-crossed the city, having my usual adventures. Around 2am I was hungry again and, lacking imagination, returned to Carl’s drive-thru for a late chicken sandwich. The same assistant handed the bag out the window and asked if it had been busy for me tonight. I shrugged. We chatted a few polite moments. I drove off. There are timers on his side of the window.

Rounding the building, there was the same dark gray Civic, still in its handicapped spot. I pulled in alongside the old man; he was now reading his book by the light of a dome lamp. Well past his bedtime.

We rolled down our windows.

“Power still out?” I said.

He grunted affirmatively.

“Could get a hotel room.”

He slid his eyes back toward the book. “They cost money.”

“So do trips to the ER from sitting in the elements.”

He gave a grunt I recognized from my grandparents. “Let me worry about me,” he said.

I nodded. I know about leading horses to water. I gave a slight wave, but being the last word type I said “Enjoy your turning point while it lasts.” I engaged the clutch and drove away. The news copters had left the sky for the night.

Three blocks later, I’d already forgotten the old man. When he returned to my thoughts, only the streetlights blowing leaves and debris along the streets might have seen the slightest flick of my brow.

Sometimes, people make it OK to not care.

~
MATT McGEE writes in the Thousand Oaks, CA area. His story ‘The Legacy of Jose Padilla’ appeared in Gnashing Teeth’s ‘Grease’ issue in 2019 and ‘Be it Dead or Alive’ in the 2024 ‘Making Room’ collection. When not typing he drives around in rented cars and plays goalie in local hockey leagues.