text: The Wind in the Willow There is a tree, a willow tree in the middle of a field near a small pond. The branches hang low, the slightest breeze will caress them, urge them to dance. When she was a child, the tree was Leena’s refuge. She could hide under the veil of branches. Here she’d read fairy tales, dream of ever after and wish for magic and her very own prince. But like everyone else, when she grew older, she had to come out from under her tree and leave her dreams and wishes behind. At the edge of the field, near the street, is an old-fashioned diner. Formica, chrome and vinyl. Orange and turquoise, generously decorated with duct tape. The diner has been here for as long as Leena can remember. After all she was born there, in booth five. The story is that her mother had brought Mrs. Fishbach her patty melt, sat down across from her, apologized and gave birth. Supposedly she then got up and went back to the kitchen. There was always someone to change her diaper, give a bottle, rock the infant seat. Always someone to admire her crayon art, teach her colors and numbers, read her fairy tales and help with her homework, till they said she was too smart for them. As soon as she could walk, Leena would carefully carry a plate to a customer, maybe sneaking a fry on the way. As soon as she was tall enough to reach she’d fill tumbles with water and ice. As soon as she was old enough she learned to flip burgers, run the cash register, do inventory and order supplies. Calculate the payroll. In the spring of her senior year her mother shoved the tax forms at Leena and two days after Leena graduated from high school, her mother packed a bag, handed over her keys and left. “She’s all yours, kid.” That was forty-seven years ago. ~~~~ Behind the diner in the single wide, Leena is remembering. Though she’s looking out the window, she doesn’t see the shadows dancing, or the lone stray dog chasing the leaves the breeze is blowing around. She should be planning next week’s menu. She glances toward the kitchen where her mother used to sit, pretending it was just iced tea in her glass. Leena can still hear her mother’s voice. “Men can’t be trusted. Take my word for it. They only want one thing and once they got it, you’re worthless. Should have listened to my mother. Don’t let a man touch you without a ring and a priest to back it up. Wish I could do it over.” “ So, you didn’t want me? ” “ Och, you’re all right. But yeah, I could-a done without you. ” Leena closes her eyes. “Yeah, mom. Your live would-a been so much better without me.” She mumbles. About twenty years ago, Leena heard from a lawyer in Las Vegas that her mother had died. She hadn’t bothered mourning her mother’s death. After all, she’d had more than twenty-five years to say goodbye to the idea of a mother. The lesson she had been taught was that she was easy to walk away from. Not worth staying around for. She doesn’t watch the willow, or how the sun and wind play with the long strands of leaves. She doesn’t notice the family return from church. She isn’t looking at the shadows creep across the street. Is not aware of another dog join the stray, the two wandering off together in search of adventure and food. She is letting her thoughts drift back in time. She shakes her head at the memory. ~~~~ “What can I get-cha, sugar?” Leena is leaning against the divider between booths three and four. While she waits for his answer, she shamelessly takes inventory of the man in booth five. Not outdoorsy rugged, but solidly built, nonetheless. An open, boyish face, a small gap between his front teeth. Unruly straw-blond hair. “Do you have a menu?” he asks, smiling. She points back over her shoulder to the chalk board behind the register. “ Tomato soup, almost any sandwich, pork chop, mashed potatoes with apple sauce, --- pie.” “May I have a club and a coke, please? ” Leena has looked her new customer over and approves. She gives him a smile and a wink. “You bet, hon.” And walks to the passthrough window and shouts. “One club.” Not that there is anyone there, but she likes pretending. Ice in a glass, soda from the fountain. “You want your bread toasted?” He nods as he drains half the glass. “I’ll go tell him.” She pushes through the swinging door, fits the bread in the toaster and assembles what she needs for the sandwich. “You new in town or just passin’ through?” She’s semi-casually cleaning an already clean tabletop nearby. “I’m the new history teacher.” He nods. “At the high school?” She tips her chin west toward the next town. He nods around a bite of his sandwich. “I was told that houses were cheaper this way.” ”You bet. Who’d live here, right?” That was Gary. They had a lovely summer. He had been sweet, considerate and, in the end married. His wife had joined him just before school started at the end of August. ~~~~ Now why was she thinking about him? Because he had been her last? She had been forty-five that summer and he had been her last. She sighs. Not her first, by any stretch. What had been the kid’s name. The first one. The one who’d touched her under her skirt. Allan, maybe? And then there had been John, they’d fondle each other, behind the movie house, rarely saying a word and then they’d each go their own way. She had found a good man. A nice man, Bill was his name. Earnest, hard-working. She hadn’t felt worthy of him, though. He was fresh, clean, she was used, dirty. He had stayed with her for five years. Why couldn’t he see that she was trash? Not worth hanging on to. Not worth spending time with. Somehow, he thought she was something. What had he seen? Finally, he had thrown up his hands. “ You keep pushing me away. You’re so convinced I will leave. Okay, I’ll give you room, for now. One day. I hope that one day you see what I see. When you do, I’ll be back.” He had walked out. Like everyone else. Oh, he was still in town. Every now and then, they’d run into each other at Walmart or Costco, He’d always ask how she was. Always had a spark of hope in his eyes. Tried to bank it, but ... And she always choked up when she walked away, feeling wistful and empty. Still wondering what he saw. But her bed had been cold after Bill left. So, she put up with Thom, who had cheated on her with his ex. Then Patrick, who just wanted her money so he could gamble. He had moved on when she didn’t give him any. Jason who had to “take a meeting out of town” and never came back. Rob, who had called her a cold bitch. Mark said she was selfish. Graham who had three-timed both his wife and her with his secretary. They all had proven that she wasn’t worth the effort. ~~~~ Since her mother left, Leena had managed the diner. First with a cook and a few part-time waitresses. But by and by she had to let them go. There just hadn’t been enough business. With the new college in the next town had come fancy coffee shops and pizza parlors. Yet, she had kept the diner open. Because there was more of a need now that the mill had closed. The university didn’t hire the people who had been laid off from the mill. Staring out the window at her wishing tree, she thinks of all those people carefully eating one slice of toast and cup after cup of tea, adding hot water to the same worn-out tea bag while making sure their child had a sandwich. Couples sharing one dinner plate. They had worried her; she had wondered what she could do. But she was nothing, wasn’t she? She was just one person. She had nothing. What could she possibly do? Patrick, Tom, Jason and all the others had told her she was cold, cheap, frugal, tight. Well, it had worked for her . She had saved her tips; hadn’t bought anything she didn’t really need. No, she had no flashy jewelry or a fancy car. And hadn’t bought a new winter coat in at least seven or eight years. But she had paid off the diner, the trailer, the worn-out truck and the field with the tree. She knew she had plenty of space behind the diner. She still had the few dollars her mother had left her, and her social security. She dreamed and planned, had looked at her bank books, tax statements, receipts. Researched the costs and benefits of her plans. Could she? Sure, why not? On her own? Yes, she could, but help would come, wouldn’t it? ~~~~ Now she has a greenhouse behind the trailer and a chicken coop. Every day, before sunrise she gathers what she needs. And each day at six am she unlocks the front door to the diner. “Hey, Sam, come on in. Help yourself to coffee while I make pancakes, will you?” Others troop through the door. It is always a steady stream. She sells breakfast and lunch at cost, one choice. Take it or leave it. It will take about an hour to run out of batter. But people wait till the oatmeal is made and later another crowd will fill the place and eat the soup or whatever she’s serving that day. One man starts to walk away without paying. Leena calls to him before he reaches the door. He looks back, she smiles and crooks her finger. “Hey sugar. How ya doin’?” “Good.” He sounds hesitant. “Your breakfast, was it okay, hon?” “I know, I’m sorry, Leena. But I need bus fare to the job place.” He mumbles, holding five quarters in his hand. “Sugar. If ya cain’t pay, you cain’t. But could you please carry your dishes to the kitchen? If I have to hire someone to do the cleaning, I’d have to raise the price of breakfast...” She cocks her head and shrugs, making sure he understands. “Yes, ma’am.” The man turns around and gathers his dishes. In the kitchen he loads the dishwasher and turns it on before he leaves. “Y’all come back naw.” She waves at a young couple with two school-aged boys. Somehow, it is working. After the breakfast rush there is always someone who’ll stay to clear and wipe the tables. Most days someone is willing to chop vegetables for a while. Sam eats free whenever he tends to the greenhouse or cleans the chicken coop. It is working. With her social security, the greens from her backyard and what she charges for a plate, the extras people sometimes leave her. Together they are making it work. No, she still hasn’t bought a new winter coat. And that’s okay. Slowly, she leaves the trailer and walks through the tall grass, parts the pliable branches and settles against the trunk of her dream tree. With a smile, she looks up in the tree. Up there, way up in those branches, are the leftovers of her dreams. Somewhere up there are the wishes she had to leave behind. She used to have such great dreams of escaping town, doing something big, being a good person. She used to believe in magic. And she used to have wishes of being worthy of her prince. Well, she didn’t get out of town, and she knows she hasn’t been a good person. She hasn’t done anything big. She shakes her head and smiles ruefully thinking of her childhood fancies. No, she can’t reach those dreams, but maybe she can make new ones... Did she hear something? Nah, she's just imagining it. Probably just the wind singing through the branches. Nobody comes on Sundays. Everybody knows the diner is closed. Though, people get hungry on Sunday too, don’t they? What if she offers a bowl of soup after church? It wouldn’t be that much work to make extra on Saturday and just heat it up, would it? She wipes away the hair that the wind has blown across her face. Lifts her head and parts some of the branches when she hears someone approach through the tall grass. Sees a familiar silhouette. “Bill?” Her voice catches somewhere halfway between her throat and her lungs. “Hey,” he says as he stops in front of her. “Just wanted to come and tell you that I think what you’re doing here is big, worthwhile. And that I’m still here. Still waiting for you.” He smiles, shyly. “You do? You are?” She blushes and pats the grass next to her.