LOCAL LIFE
The owners have played the same songs on repeat for so long now I don’t hear music anymore, just the scrape of utensils on tempered glass, words tossed back and forth between mouthfuls and the calm, rhythmic clinking of Reuben’s dishwasher. Music, I guess, of its own sort. The bell above the front door rings and voices inside conjoin in a choral mutter of welcome, friendly but worn. Sarah twists around the counter towards a red-rimmed linoleum table, coffee pot in hand. I swivel on my stool. Outside, Kamloops is waking up. She asks what I’m thinking about.
“Nothing,” I say, “Just life.”
“More coffee?”
“Read my mind.”
I’ve been coming to Reuben’s Diner every Saturday for the past nine years. If I miss a day my whole week’s thrown off. It started when Sarah first took up shift here all those years back. We grew up together, see. She’s always been my closest friend. First it was just an excuse to hang out, the two of us—the place is quiet on a Saturday morning before the lunch crowd wanders in. Now it’s clockwork: 6am I’m up, splash water on my face, tee-shirt on and I’m out the door to Reuben’s.
It’s just around the corner from where I live, above the Mattress King.
