Not From Around Here

by 

William Clearlake

Copyright (c) 1995 by William Clearlake

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"You from around here?"
Tolac looked up from the worn Formica counter.  He caught the blank gaze of a tall, thin, middle-aged man in dark blue coveralls.  
The man smelled faintly of gasoline and his strong fingers were stained black with motor oil.  His long face was covered with 
rough salt-and-pepper stubble.  His graying hair was short but unkempt as though he had combed his hair with his fingers.  He was 
holding a full coffee cup in one hand and an uneaten bear claw in the other.  They hovered in his grasp awaiting a reply.

"Actually, I'm not,"  Tolac answered finally.  The waiter came down from the far end of the counter wiping his hands with a dingy 
white-gray dishtowel.  A tiny bell jingled as another customer entered, letting in the chilly morning air.  He was a big man wearing 
a green plaid shirt and a blue baseball cap with the word MACK in yellow across the front.  

"Would you like to see a menu, Stranger?" The waiter asked.  The man in overalls bit his pastry and drowned the morsel with a 
deep swallow of hot java.  The waiter pointed to a laminated menu that was wedged between a half empty catsup bottle and a 
greasy chrome napkin dispenser.

"He's from out of town, so treat him right, Jack."  The thin man grinned rotten teeth at the waiter.
"I'll treat him same as everyone, Mat.  Would you like some coffee while you're makin' up your mind, Stranger?"

"Yes, thank you," Tolac said, politely.  Jack turned to the stainless steel coffee brewer and poured a cup.  He set it on the counter 
in front of Tolac and pointed in the direction of the cream and sugar dispensers.  Tolac nodded.  Jack walked down to wait on the 
big man who had just entered.

Mat turned on his red vinyl-topped stool, "Well, you know our names now, Stranger, so what's yours?"
"Jeffrey," Tolac answered.  He smiled.  He liked the name.
"No shit?  That's my daddy's name," Mat replied.
Tolac was not surprised.  
"It is a nice name.  A friendly, personable name,"  Tolac said, smiling again.

Mat took another bite of the pastry and a gulp of coffee.  While he swirled the mass around in his mouth he muttered,  "So what 
brings you all the way out here, Jeff?"  He swallowed, then asked,  "I can call you Jeff, can't I?" 
"Yes, Jeff's fine," Tolac replied, then solemnly,  "I crashed my vehicle...  I'm stuck here."
"Stuck?  Hell, let me take a look at it.  I'll bet I can get your buggy runnin'.  I'm a mechanic - 35 years."  Mat stuck out his chest 
showing the name patch of "Mat's Garage".

Tolac looked back down at the counter, "It's stuck in a gully, miles from here.  The engine smashed through to the passenger 
compartment.  It's totaled"  His voice trailed off, "...I can't get home."

Mat looked sad.  He loved working on vehicles.  Cars were his whole life.  Three marriages and as many children were abandoned 
to axle grease and blown headers.  "Shit, sorry to hear that.  You're not stuck though, there's a bus station just down the road."

Tolac glanced up, "Thanks for the tip, Mat."
Jack walked back over, "So what'll you have? ... Jeff..., if I heard your name right."
Tolac hadn't looked at the menu,  but he blurted out, "I'll have the special - two eggs over-easy, hash browns and wheat toast."
Jack scribbled down the order without thinking and stuck it to the steel wheel that hung in the opening between the counter area 
and the kitchen in back.  Jack gave the wheel a quick spin.  It squealed like a stepped-on cat.  
"Order up!"

"So, where're you from, Jeff?"  Mat pointed to his cup and Jack filled it again.
"Back East," Tolac answered.
"Thought so," Mat replied.
Tolac ate his breakfast slowly and chatted with Mat and Jack until Mat excused himself to open his Garage.  During that time, 
Tolac learned more about himself.  He learned that Jeff was from New York's Lower East Side, that his father was a plumber and 
he had a sister named Natty and a brother named George.  Jeff worked in sales for a company that manufactured molded plastics 
(his samples were destroyed in the crash).

Tolac sat in the bus station gazing at his ticket to New York city.  He wondered what it would be like there - the tall buildings, 
busy streets full of rude, rushing people.  The noise, the bustle.  He decided that it would be a lot like home.   

Tolac watched people enter and leave the bus station.  He watch the cars driving by.  He was startled at the size and noise of a big-
rig as it rumbled past.   Overall though, things didn't seem so strange.  People with places to go.  Business deals.  Vacations.  
Wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends and children to get home to.  He had someone waiting for him too.   She had 
warned him about taking shortcuts.  But he was tired and decided to risk traveling through the rip.  He guided his vehicle between 
two spiral arms where space moves faster.  But he dozed off and when he woke, he found himself low on fuel, caught in the gravity 
well of a huge one-eyed planet.  He spent the last of his fuel pulling out of the near fatal orbit and instead crashed on a small blue 
world. 

The bus arrived and unloaded several worn-out passengers.  Tolac stepped up and stopped to check himself in the large side 
mirror.  There he was, young and handsome.   Smooth brown skin, dark eyes.  Jet black hair.  He straightened the tie of his 
borrowed suit.  He smiled at his image in the mirror - Jeffrey Tolac - of Earth.

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