A Daily Order at the Diner
The elderly man pressed the edge of his fork against the scrambled eggs, splitting the portion directly down the middle.
He rested the fork on the edge of the white ceramic plate and looked up toward the server standing beside his booth.
The young server held a pen hovering over a small paper order pad, listening as the man gave his instructions.
He asked for half an order of eggs and two slices of toast, specifying that only one slice should touch his plate.
Evan, wearing a cream-colored collared shirt and a green waist apron with his name tag pinned to his chest, paused his pen.
He smiled softly and explained that the menu did not offer half-breakfast options to customers.
Evan lowered his pad and told the man that if money was tight, breakfast would be on him that morning.
The older man lifted his chin, shifted in his seat, and said he could afford his meal just fine.
He instructed the waiter to bill him for the full breakfast, regardless of how much food was served to the table.
The Brown Paper Bag
Once his plate arrived, the old man ate only the single slice of toast and the half-portion of scrambled eggs.
When his fork clinked against the empty side of the plate, he reached into the inner pocket of his heavy brown jacket.
He pulled out a small, flat brown paper bag and smoothed out the wrinkles against the edge of the table.
He picked up the unused slice of toast, placed it inside the paper sleeve, and folded the top edge over twice.
His fingers pressed the folded crease flat before he slid the paper package back into his jacket breast pocket.
Behind the counter, Evan held a glass coffee pot above a ceramic mug, watching the older man slide out of the booth.
The man walked up to the front counter holding his white paper receipt in his right hand.
Evan placed the coffee pot back on the warmer and stepped over to the register, looking across the counter.
He asked why the man felt the need to skip half his meal every single morning just to stretch out his routine.
The customer reached up, patted the paper bag resting inside his jacket pocket, and replied that he was not stretching anything out.
Steps to the Park Bench
The elderly man paid his bill and walked out through the front glass door of the restaurant.
As Evan gathered the dirty dishes from the booth, his eyes landed on a second brown paper bag left behind on the table surface.
He dropped the plates onto his tray, grabbed the bag, and pushed open the front door of Maple Corner Breakfast.
He jogged down the concrete sidewalk, calling out the customer’s last name toward the park across the street.
Underneath a large tree shedding yellow autumn leaves, the old man stood beside a dark wooden park bench.
He held a piece of toast in his left hand, using his right thumb and forefinger to pinch off small breadcrumbs.
A flock of gray pigeons moved around the toes of his leather shoes, pecking at the crumbs as they scattered over the dirt path.
Evan slowed his pace as he approached the bench, extending his arm to hand over the forgotten paper bag.
The older man took the bag, tucked it under his arm, and explained that his wife used to sit on that bench every morning after breakfast.
She had passed away three years earlier, but he continued coming to the park because she always fed the birds after their meal.
He looked down at the pigeons pecking near his feet and said that if he stopped coming, the birds would have nowhere to go.
A Prepared Table
The next morning, the glass door of the diner swung open as the old man walked back into Maple Corner Breakfast.
Evan greeted him from behind the counter and walked over to his usual booth carrying a large oval tray.
He set down a plate holding half an order of eggs alongside a slice of golden toast.
Right next to the plate, Evan placed a brown paper bag already folded neatly with a fresh slice of toast inside.
The older man looked at the plate, then at the brown bag, reminding Evan that he only needed one piece of toast.
Evan leaned over the table, rested his hands against the edge, and explained that the second slice in the bag was not meant for him.
He said he figured the birds at the park bench might be waiting for their morning routine as well.
The older man rested his hands on the table, looked up into Evan’s eyes, and smiled as he said his wife would have liked him.
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