Page 53 of Reluctantly Abducted
"Sit anywhere, hon," the waitress calls without looking up from her phone.
I slide into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat cracked and patched with duct tape. The laminated menu is sticky with years of syrup and coffee spills. I scan it without really seeing the options, my mind elsewhere.
"Know what you want?" The waitress appears at my table, order pad in hand. Her nametag reads "Darlene." She looks tired in the fluorescent lighting, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from standing on your feet for hours serving strangers food they'll barely remember eating.
"Just coffee," I say automatically. "Black."
"That's it?" She raises an eyebrow. "Kitchen's open. We got a pretty decent Denver omelet."
The word "omelet" sends an unexpected pang through me. Ry'eth in the nutrition center, studying my cooking with scientific fascination. His surprise at the flavors, so different from his world's food.
"Sir?" Darlene prompts, pen poised over her pad.
"Sorry. Yeah, the omelet sounds good." I hand back the menu. "Thanks."
She nods and heads toward the kitchen, shouting the order through a small window to someone I can't see.
I stare out at the empty street, watching the occasional car drift by. The normalcy of it all is surreal after what I've experienced. Three days ago, I was on a spaceship with an alien who could light up his skin with emotion. Now I'm in a rundown diner at 3 AM, waiting for an omelet that won't taste anything like the one I made for Ry'eth.
My coffee arrives, steaming and bitter. I wrap my hands around the mug, seeking its warmth. The sensation is nothing like the cool touch of Ry'eth's skin against mine, but it's something. A small anchor to the present.
"You working third shift somewhere?" Darlene asks as she refills the trucker's coffee.
"No," I reply. "Just couldn't sleep."
She makes a sympathetic noise. "Know how that goes. My husband's got insomnia something awful. Doctor's got him on all kinds of pills, nothing helps."
I nod, not sure what to say. The easy exchange of personal information between strangers, it's so human. Ry'eth would have found it fascinating, this casual sharing without clear scientific purpose. I can almost hear him asking questions, see him taking mental notes for his report.
"You military?" she asks, nodding toward my posture.
"Was," I admit. "Not anymore."
"My son's in the Army. Third year now." She pulls out her phone, showing me a photo of a young man in uniform. "He's in Germany. Says the beer's amazing but the food's weird."
I smile politely, looking at the picture of her son, so impossibly young, so normal in his human concerns about beer and food. What would he think if he knew there were worlds beyond ours with beings who could manipulate atmospheric composition with a touch of their fingers?
"Here's your omelet, hon." She sets the plate in front of me. "Hot sauce is on the table if you need it."
The omelet is nothing special, yellow eggs, diced ham, bell peppers, onions, and cheese melting over the top. Standard diner fare. But as I take the first bite, I'm struck by how... Earthly it tastes. The specific combination of flavors that could only come from this planet. Flavors Ry'eth experienced for the first time when I made breakfast on his ship.
I eat methodically, not really tasting it after the first few bites. My mind drifts back to the ship, to the hydration pool, to Ry'eth's surprised delight at the pancakes I made. To his precise questions about human cooking techniques and the way his skin would glow when something interested him.
"Need anything else?" Darlene asks, interrupting my thoughts.
"No, thank you." I gesture to my nearly empty plate. "It was good."
"Glad to hear it." She sets the check on the table. "No rush. Not exactly fighting for tables right now."
I glance around the empty diner. The college students have left, their booth now occupied by a solitary man in a rumpled suit, staring into his coffee as if it holds answers to questions I can only guess at. The trucker is gone too, replaced by a woman in scrubs, probably just off a hospital shift.
Strangers passing through the night, each with their own stories, their own worries, their own small joys. None of them knowing that aliens exist, that there are other worlds with atmospheres different from ours, that there are beings with skin that glows with emotion.
None of them knowing that I've touched those beings, kissed them, held them close in the quiet hours of a ship's night cycle.
I leave cash on the table, including a generous tip for Darlene. Outside, the sky has shifted from pitch black to the deep blue that precedes dawn. Soon the city will awaken, traffic will increase, people will go about their ordinary lives as if the universe isn't vastly stranger and more wonderful than they can imagine.
I check my watch, 4:05 AM. Still too early to do anything productive, too late to hope for meaningful sleep before my interview. I decide to walk a while longer, letting my feet carry me where they will.
