Aroma

These dark, gloomy, rainy days have always been the best. A veil of the red, illuminating glow of the open sign, coats every reflective surface of the diner. I sit here, at the end of this 24/7 diner, drinking in the mood and atmosphere. Retro and vintage decorum surrounds each wooden booth and sitting area. Old-looking records and black and white photos are hanged or displayed on the walls. Adding to the retro style is the black and white checkered flooring throughout the entire diner.

I was the only customer in the diner, considering it is 3 in the morning. The cold rain hitting against the glass helped fog up the window, causing water droplets leaving different streak patterns. The inner child in me draws two dots for eyes and a curve line as a smile to make a face. However, due to the condensed glass, the smiley face turned into a crying face in a few seconds. I found this amusing because it is an exact reflection of how I'm currently feeling.

I look at my watch, I see it is 3:29 am. There is only 1 more minute before I can leave. I sit up, excited but with sadness creeping in more. Looking around the diner, the feeling of nostalgia takes over.

I remember when she brought me here when I was 8-years-old. Before we can order anything, she asked me whether I knew who stole two dollars from her purse. I told her that I didn't know anything. She told me that if I knew anything, she would buy me pancakes instead of a salad. With my right leg shaking, I confessed that it was me who took it. She scolded me and told me that she was disappointed in me. Kneeling down at my eye level, she gave me a hug first but proceeded to tell me that it is better to never lie and steal. Taking my hand, leading me towards the stools, she continued telling me that by doing good things, come good rewards. Lifting me up, sitting me on a stool, she ordered both of us three pancakes. She grabbed the syrup bottle and began pouring the brown, sweet glycerin all over her pancakes. When she was done, the pancakes were floating in this pool of maple syrup. I copied her and did the same thing. Once the syrup gets absorbed by the pancakes, we both mimic each other and begin chowing down. Displaying our love for this breakfast, we savored every bite of the fluffy, buttermilk, syrup-soaked pancakes.

When I was ten, she took me to a booth to have a small chat about bullies. It was a beautiful, sunny day; spring just began. However, she just picked me from school because I had been suspended. I remembered that another student had punched me, so I proceeded to defend myself and hit him back. Again, she was disappointed in me. She proceeded to tell me that I can't go solving problems with violence or negativity. She continued by explaining how I shouldn't let my anger get the best of me, and how sometimes life will test me and provoke me to do bad things. I apologized for my actions and grudgingly accepted any punishments.

After the chat, we ended up ordering. I believed I ordered a double bacon cheeseburger with extra spicy cajun fries. The burgers in the diner were always thick. Every time a person takes a bite, a mixture of grease and juices oozes out and drips onto your shirt. Melted cheese slowly stretches into thin threads as you pull away from each bite. The combination of bacon, beef, and cheese causes a pleasurable groan to escape my mouth. Before I let another groan escape, a sweet familiar scent catches my attention. Looking over to her plate, she ended up ordering her favorite stack of pancakes again.

My favorite memory happens to be in the exact same booth I am currently sitting on. I was fiddling with the silver wear due to my nervousness. My heart was pounding like the drums. Sweat rolled down the side of my face as I kept my head down. She was sitting across from me, studying my moves, and waited for me to speak. I was silent for a few moments. The only sounds you can here were the clinging of silver wear on plates and mumbles of conversations happening around us. Placing the silver wear down, I exhaled and looked into her eyes. I confessed to her that I, a 13-year-old boy, who likes boys. She gave me a confused expression before looking down at her twirling thumbs. She pondered before looking back up at me. She got up, walked around, and gave me a strong hug. She reassured me that matter what, she will always love me. She sat across from me again and ended up ordering the very first meal we ordered in this diner, a stack of freshly made buttermilk pancakes.

My memory was interrupted by a server who was handing me a to-go bag with a stack of pancakes in a container, along with my credit card. I thanked her, and she returned to her job. Looking around the diner really brings tears to my eyes. It is hard to reminisce about good memories of someone special. Especially if that person has left. However, I'm happy to know that this diner was our special place. This safe haven was our place to talk about our problems, learn from our mistakes, indulge on special occasions, and make memories. I grabbed the bag and walked to the exit. Before I walked out, I paused for a moment. I look around the diner one last time. I inhale the sweet aroma of buttermilk pancakes.

Even though you didn't get to see me graduate, I wanted you to know that I always will love you, mom. I will make you proud. I will make sure to follow everything you have taught me here. And no matter what, I will make sure to save you a couple of pancakes for you; at our booth. So for now, I'll see you later, mom.