The Road. Part III

Part III. Betty

Betty came back and dropped my plate on the counter with a thud that sent the eggs wobbling.
“Here. Try not to die eating it.”
“No promises,” I said, picking up my fork. The eggs tasted like they’d been cooked on a griddle that remembered Eisenhower, with grease thick enough to use as varnish. Still better than that gas station sandwich outside Tucumcari.

She leaned against the counter once the rush thinned out, pulling a cigarette from a half-crushed pack and lighting it with a practiced flick, casual and unhurried. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, curling through the broken light like it belonged there. Nobody told her to put it out. You could tell they’d learned better.

“You just passing through?” she asked, her eyes fixed on something far away.
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look’s that?”
“Like you’re already halfway out the door, even when you’re sitting still.”

I smirked, taking another bite. “And you? You don’t exactly scream ‘local institution.’”

That laugh again – sharp and brittle.
“Honey, I’ve been stuck here for fifteen years. Got the grease burns, bad knees, and a handful of regrets to prove it.”

Her words hit harder than I expected. Now I could see it – the way her shoulders carried a weight nobody offered to share. The way her voice hit that balance between defiance and exhaustion. Betty wasn’t soft, and she sure as hell wasn’t trying to be. Her hair was red, but her roots told a different story. She wore a simple white blouse and a skirt that fit her well enough, but not for show. It was armor, plain and simple, the kind you wear when you don’t expect anything good from the world.

“You ever think about leaving?” I asked.
She paused, taking a long drag before answering. “Leaving for where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
She blew out smoke, slow and deliberate, as if the words needed time to settle. “Sugar, this is America. Everywhere’s the same when you don’t have the cash to make it different.”

She crushed the cigarette against the counter, leaving a blackened circle that looked like it had always been there.

“You gonna tip me this time, or are we sticking to the usual routine?” she asked, finally turning her gaze on me, her eyes sharp and a little dangerous.
“You keep a tab on me?”
“I keep a tab on everybody,” she said, her voice low and steady. “That’s how you make it out here without losing more than you can spare.”


To be continued…