Lynette took me for ice-cream at Mel’s Drive-In in West Hollywood. When I was younger it was my favourite place to go. A fifties diner featured in the movie American Graffiti, Mel’s served traditional American food like hamburgers, hot dogs and French fries. Best of all, Mel’s was open all night, and I had many fond memories of late-night excursions for banana splits and ice-cream floats. In the early days we never had anything to eat in the house, as Lynette was used to grabbing food at work and didn’t think to bring any home. She had tried everything to make me happy, even if it meant plying me with as many sweets as I wanted. When she saw me at the hospital, looking like a zombie and rubbing tears from my face, I guess she resorted to what she knew best. And as I pulled up a counter seat and ordered a double malt milkshake, I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel a hell of a lot better.
Lynette picked at some chilli fries as I downed the milkshake with three quick gulps through the straw. ‘Mmmmm,’ I said, slamming the glass on the counter. ‘That’s the ticket. Better than crack.’
‘You want another one?’
‘Hell yeah.’
Lynette ordered me another milkshake and I started to eat her fries. ‘Help yourself,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
We sat and ate and watched people come and go. A waitress rolled by on roller skates. ‘Feels like old times,’ Lynette said.
‘Sure does.’
‘Remember when we used to come here at least three times a week?’
‘Because you had no idea what to do with me.’
Lynette laughed. ‘I still don’t.’
‘Oh come on,’ I said, stuffing her fries into my mouth. ‘I’m not that bad am I?’
‘Not bad at all. You’re great.’
We said nothing for a moment. I shovelled more fries into my mouth.
‘So what’s going on, Hilda?’
I stared into the centre of my shake glass.
‘I feel like everyone leaves me,’ I said. ‘Or I end up having to leave them.’
‘I haven’t left you.’
‘But you want to, right? I mean, I’ve been a real bitch.’
‘We’ve both given each other a hard time.’
I heard her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She scooped it out and pressed the silence button.
‘I’ll take it later,’ she said.
‘It’s okay. It could be some innocent man sitting on death row, and for all we know you’re his last phone call.’
‘He can wait.’
I continued to shovel fries into my mouth, ravenous.
‘We don’t really talk much do we?’ Lynette said.
‘I guess we don’t.’
‘We never did really. Your dad didn’t like me “interfering”.’
‘You were pretty hard on him.’
Lynette gave me a surprised look. ‘How do you know?’
‘I remember things. Flashes. You two arguing about Dad letting me watch Revenge of the Nerds.’
‘My, you do remember a lot.’
‘Not a lot. Just some things.’
‘What else do you remember?’
I swirled a French fry in ketchup, made little patterns with the salty tip. ‘I remember Mom. She liked wearing kaftans.’
‘She sure did,’ Lynette said, laughing. ‘Your grandmother did too. The whole family was a bunch of hippies. I guess I was always the black sheep.’
To my surprise Lynette looked dejected. I’d always pictured her as strong and stubborn, not someone who would care what anyone else thought. She took her hand away from mine, started flicking through the jukebox on the table. No one in the restaurant had put a song in the jukebox for at least five minutes, and I could tell the silence was making everyone uneasy. Lynette opened her purse and took out two quarters.
‘You want to choose a song?’ she asked, tapping the coins on the table.
This was something else we did when I was a kid. One song each. There was something about a jukebox that meant making a selection was special. Anyone could just keep jamming coins in, without paying attention to what was being chosen. To be allowed only one song out of all those hundreds made the whole enterprise worthwhile, gave it some gravity. After making a selection I loved to watch the faces of the diners around me, see whether they agreed with my purchase or not. Some lady might screw her nose up in annoyance, but a biker might start tapping his foot under the table, making me feel like I’d found a kindred spirit. Out of all the people who had come to this diner, I had found someone like me. I gave one of the coins back to Lynette.
‘You first.’
Lynette put the coin in the slot and I heard it rattle down to the bottom of the machine. Her beautiful, manicured fingers pushed two buttons together, and the sound of Elvis singing ‘Hound Dog’ erupted through the diner speakers.
‘A bit obvious,’ I said. ‘Everyone likes Elvis.’
‘Nothing wrong with a crowd-pleaser,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it’s perfectly okay to be like everyone else.’
I pushed my empty milkshake glass aside. I was still starving. I wanted burgers and fries and pancakes and whatever else was on offer. I wanted to eat until I was so sick I couldn’t possible think of anything else but the discomfort in my stomach. Eating burgers seemed normal. Sitting in a diner was normal. It was more normal than being in a hospital, holding your friend’s hand while he told you he had some big terrible secret, like a dumb scene from the soap opera General Hospital. I didn’t want to know what terrible sins Hank thought he was hiding. Part of me wished he would die before he could ever tell me.
‘Hilda, I know living with me has been hard. I know I’m very different from your mom and dad, maybe a bit too serious, too forceful.’
‘Nah, you’re cool,’ I said, eager to wipe the hurt from her eyes. I’d never thought about how hard it might be for Lynette to live with me.
‘I don’t know what was going on back there at the hospital,’ she continued. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and I’m not going to force it out of you. We don’t really work that way. It’s something I’ve kind of prided myself on, letting you make decisions on your own. Just know that if you need my help, I’m there. Don’t be too proud to ask for it.’
‘Okay, Aunt Lynette. Thanks.’
‘And if you need anyone arrested, just let me know. I can get it done. I know people.’
I laughed. At that moment I wanted to tell her everything, open my mouth and tell her all about Hank and Jake, the places I visited every day, and what I thought Hank planned on asking me to do. I wanted to tell her about Benji, how he had changed. But something stopped me. Deep down I knew that if I told her what had gone on at the hospital, I might never get to hear what Hank had to say, and never have the chance to help him do what he needed to do.
I picked up the remaining quarter from the table just as Elvis finished. ‘My turn,’ I said, and put the coin in the slot. I pushed two buttons I knew by heart and waited. The familiar sound of the circus-like keyboard started and Lynette smiled.
‘“California Girls”. Talk about being predictable!’
‘Everybody loves “California Girls”,’ I said. ‘Remember, sometimes it’s perfectly okay to be like everybody else.’