THE DINER WAS empty, except for an old man at the counter, holding a mug between his hands, and a waitress, a woman in her fifties, Jack guessed. The place smelled of old grease and burnt toast but it was warm, and right now, Jack needed warm. 

He shook the snow off his Carhartt jacket and stomped his boots against the mat, its rubber edges cracked with age. The man at the counter turned and nodded at Jack. 

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Jack slid into a booth and caught the waitress’s eye. “Coffee, please?”

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The woman--her name tag said Shelley--put the coffee in front of him with a small bowl of creamers. “Anything else, hon?”

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“No. Thank you.”

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A flag hung on the wall in front of Jack, the skyline of New York City in the blue field of stars, faded from twenty plus years of sun. 

“Hell of a wind out there,” the man at the counter turned in his stool to face Jack. 

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“Yeah and the visibility is shit.” He glanced at the man’s hands, rough and scarred from more than age. 

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“Where were you that day?” 

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Jack didn’t need to ask which day. “Fourth grade. Our teacher wheeled in a tv and we watched until our parents could get out of work to pick us up. We heard some fighters scrambling out of Fort Drum. We didn’t really understand what was happening.” And then almost as an after thought, “Did anyone?”

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The man nodded. His eyes sagged at the corners, as if his smile would never reach them again. “I was there.” He picked up the baseball hat that sat on the stool next to him and held it up for Jack to see the front. FDNY.

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Jack didn’t know how to respond. “Cool….I’m mean, sorry.”

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The man waved his hand. “Nah, just life. Someone had to be there but…” He took a sip of coffee and placed it back on the counter. “All that rubble, all those lives…what did we build out of it?”

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Jack shook his head. “Nothing. We went to war with the wrong country and twenty years later, what do we have to show for it?”

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“Lose anyone that day?”

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“Not really.” He took a sip from his chipped white mug. “My father enlisted because, ‘it’s what you do.’” He used air quotes and there was a bitter sarcasm in his voice. 

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“Did he make it back home?”

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“Yea, but…,” Jack sighed. “Not the same.” His father had come back different. Quieter. Heavier. And not able to return to his old job as a warehouse manager. He couldn’t handle the noise. He didn’t like being around people. Growing up, Jack had hoped for more than his dad had. But here he was working the same warehouse job, living in a small rental with his pregnant girlfriend. 

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“None of us are the same after that day. Whether or not it was the right decision…” The man stopped and looked out the window. “You ever get picked on when you were younger, by some older kids, hoping to make you cry?”

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“Yea, of course.”

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“What’d your dad say?”

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“Fight…” Jack stopped and a small smile crept onto the man’s face. “Fight back.”

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“Fight back. You didn’t always win, but you stood up for yourself and that bully thought twice about messing with you, didn’t he?”

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“That’s a little simple, ain’t it?”

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The old man stood and slid into the booth across from Jack. “What do you remember most from that time? From the days and weeks after?”

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Jack scanned the restaurant, seeing past the age displayed on the walls and floor to the comfort and warmth of the place. “The flags.” He looked out the window at the black sky and could see the flags. “Every house had a flag. Every highway overpass. You couldn’t find flags in stores, so people started using red solo cups in fences to spell out USA.” 

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The man held his mug between his hands, clacking his wedding band softly on the side of the cup, letting the silent conversation seep into Jack’s thoughts.

 

Outside, the snow spiraled against the night sky. Through the window of the diner, a retired FDNY captain sat at a booth with an expectant father. Strangers, trying to make sense of that senseless day but smiling at the days and months that followed, and hoping to get there again.