As ink blots are interpreted differently by each viewer, so are the text blots from The RawShock Tales

 (#7) The Oasis Diner

by

John P. Cater

Copyright 2006

Mister Walter Moony awoke to a normal day, as every other day, with a breakfast of two eggs, two slices of bacon, two pieces of toast and two cups of coffee. It was his perfect way of starting his just-another day. After finishing his meal, he put the plates in the sink, kissed his wife goodbye and headed out for his normal day of work at the Internal Revenue Service. You see, Walter is a tax man, living a hum-drum life but making a good enough living for a pleasant retirement some day in the not-too-distant future. He works with numbers constantly but he doesn’t mind the repetition. In fact he thrives on the monotonous nature of his work and hates surprises. Unfortunately for Walter, today will hold an unfathomable surprise and require an unexpected journey into the unknown.

At the end of his work day, Walter packed his briefcase for the long holiday weekend and started for the door. The phone on his desk rang, drawing him back into his office.

“Hello, Mr. Moony?” a rushed voice inquired.

“Yes, this is Walter Moony.”

The distant voice on the other end of the line continued, “This is Loretta, Dr. Silvan’s receptionist.”

“Yes?”

“Dr. Silvan wanted me to call and tell you that your father, Richard, suffered a massive heart attack today. He’s in surgery now, but he’s not really expected to make it through the night.”

“Oh, my God!”

“If you want to say your goodbyes, you may want to get here as fast as you can.”

“Wha... where is he?”

 “San Diego General... in California. He’ll be in ICU after surgery— if he makes it.”

Walter looked frantically at his watch. “I’ll be there. Tell him to hold on when he gets out of surgery.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll try. Goodbye, Mr. Moony. I’m sorry to bear such bad news.”

Stunned, he sat at his desk and made several phone calls in rapid succession.

❋ ❋ ❋

Walter Moony had been driving far longer than his mind—and body—would tolerate. The more exhausted he became, the more he cursed the airlines for their holiday overbooking policies. He had pleaded for a single seat on any flight from anywhere in southern Texas to San Diego, but every flight was full. In frustration, he jumped into his car and took off for San Diego General. He had begun to regret his decision.

Spooks were jumping out of the hot night desert air from all directions. A large barn owl, taking flight from the roadway shoulder, flew directly over his windshield causing a momentary blackout of his vision. He jumped and repositioned himself in his seat. Then he looked down at the speedometer. It indicated 80 miles per hour—perfect for the long desert interstate through New Mexico.

With his adrenaline rushing, Walter overcame the encroaching roadway hypnosis. He drove on, renewed, along the dark lonely highway. Glancing at the dashboard clock, he noted it read 11:15 p.m. He looked back through the windshield and saw the same scenery he’d seen for the past six hours: Darkness and headlights. The drive was monotonous but not particular disturbing for Walter, he just wanted to stop for a short rest. Thoughts of his father’s condition had been overtaken by thoughts of his own.

At 1:30 a.m. Walter’s mind was screaming for him to stop. His legs were aching to be straightened and his back was burning to be stretched. Staring out into the repetitious Arizona darkness, he spotted a small neon sign off to the right, several miles ahead. His heart raced as he approached the glowing establishment. He slowed and pulled off the road into the parking lot of a small well-lit restaurant. The sign out front beckoned him in. Under the large Oasis Diner neon sign was a smaller sign: An All-Night Haven for Travelers in Distress. He parked his car in the strangely vacant parking lot and, walking stiffly, approached the front glass doors. He yawned and stretched for several seconds before finally opening the door.

Once inside the diner, Walter felt he had stepped back in time. His first impression was that he’d stepped onto the set of Happy Days. The diner was meticulously art-deco, replete with chrome fixtures, soda fountains and the black-and-white checkered floor. A new Wurlitzer juke box in the corner was playing Elvis Presley. Everything was sparking clean and tidy. He scanned the room and realized that he was alone.

Suddenly a voice from the kitchen yelled, “Take any seat, mister. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He jerked at its suddenness and sat at the nearest table, creating a loud echoing screech as he slid his chair over the shiny floor. Seconds later a bubbly buxom blond, order pad and menu in hand, approached his table. He noticed a small mole off to the left side of her mouth; she strangely resembled Marilyn Monroe. He also noticed her obviously pregnant condition. It made him smile.

“Hi, I’m Kitty, your waitress. What’ll it be this morning? Coffee?”

“Yea, sure,” he answered. “Let me look at the menu for a minute.”

Shortly, Kitty returned to pour his coffee, “Decided yet?”

“I think I’m too tired to read this,” Walter said, handing the menu back to her, “I’ll just take the Oasis Special.”

Kitty took his menu, smiled and yelled back into the kitchen, “Hey, Rick. I need an Oasis Special.” The voice answered, “Sure honey, coming right up.” Then she started a conversation. Blankly staring at the cars passing on the Interstate she began, “Don’t get many customers this time of night. What’s your name?”

I replied, “Walter.”

“Hmm... nice name. I like that. I’ve been thinking of a name for my kid. Maybe I’ll call him Walter.”

Walter smiled graciously in response, “That’d be nice. Never had anybody named after me before.”

“Then Walter it is. Walt. Just like that Disney guy. Maybe my kid’ll be famous too some day.”

Nodding politely, Walter turned his attention to the steaming cup of coffee. As he began to sip, he stared at the nothingness through the window wondering what awaited him in San Diego.

Five minutes later Kitty returned with the coffee pot and his Oasis Special. As she poured his second cup of coffee, his face lit up as he saw in front of him a large plate with two eggs, two slices of bacon and two pieces of toast. He thanked her and immediately devoured his food. When Kitty brought his bill, he studied the total figure for several seconds. There at the bottom of the green check was a total of one dollar and thirty eight cents. He chuckled, dropped a dollar bill on the table and met Kitty at the cash register. As he placed two one-dollar bills on the glass counter he commented, “You folks aren’t gonna make it with these prices. The Special was great, though.”

Kitty handed him sixty-two cents in change with a smile. “Well thanks, Walter. We thought they might be a little steep. Maybe we’ll lower them a bit.”

Walter chuckled again. “You’re a great kidder, aren’t you?”

Kitty smiled inquisitively, “You have a safe trip, Walter. Watch out for the desert spooks.”

As Walter pulled out of the still deserted parking lot and onto the freeway he was thinking of his weird experience at the Oasis. He was only a mile or so down the road when he looked into his rear-view mirror and saw the lights of the Oasis go off, one sign at a time. Then the entire building melted into the darkness. Suddenly there was nothing but darkness in front, and behind him. He shook his head, “Too much coffee.”

At 7:45 a.m. Walter pulled into the San Diego General parking lot. He raced past the front desk, asking directions to ICU. Several minutes later he approached his father’s bed. Richard was barely conscious and breathing in short labored breaths.

“Hi Dad, I’m here,” Walter took his Richard’s hand and squeezed it. It squeezed back.

“Hi son... thanks for... coming. How did... you get... here?”

“I drove all night from Texas. It was a longer trip than I expected. If it weren’t for that Oasis Diner in the Arizona desert, I probably wouldn’t have made it.” Walter squeezed his dad’s hand again. “ That place saved my life. Run by a nice couple named Kitty and Rick.”

Walter’s dad chuckled feebly and opened his eyes more alertly, staring directly into his son’s eyes. His breathing stabilized momentarily. A strange calmness came over him. “Funny, son, back in the fifties I worked at an Oasis Diner in Arizona when I was sowing my wild oats. I worked as the cook with a beautiful young waitress named Kitty—she looked just like Marilyn Monroe.” Richard paused and then continued, his voice wavering, “ She’s your birth mother, son. I’m sorry I never told you that. I took you when the Oasis closed down in 1958.” His voice faded.

Walter stared in disbelief at his father. Could it be? Was his father having near-death hallucinations—or some other psychosis? “Dad, I met the Kitty that looked like Marilyn Monroe at the diner... she was there—and pregnant. The cook was named . . . . Oh, God! I love you, dad.” Walter hugged his father and started weeping, uncontrollably.

As he wept, his father took his last breath, passing peacefully away. Quitely, Walter stood rethinking his strange Oasis experience, then abruptly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sixty-two cents change he received from Kitty. There in his open palm were six shiny new coins: two quarters, two nickels and two pennies, all with the date 1955 on them, the year of his birth. Walter smiled. He finally knew the truth.