Last week was spent primarily eating delicious cheeseburgers at the Diner and working projectionist shifts at the drive-in. I knew I should be saving what little money I was earning for the radio, but those burgers were so damn good. Plus, I was sort of getting used to it here. I know it’s not home, but it’s not so bad, really. Maybe I’ve been starting to think I could stay here for a while.

  I kept thinking about the silver man at Al’s. I mean, I was grateful to him for saving my skin, but why would he? Why put himself on Johnny’s radar, and why for me? I hadn’t gone back to Al’s since then, something told me I should keep my head down for a while.

  I didn’t run into Elsie all week, which was simultaneously a relief because of Johnny and his greaser threats, and disappointing, because at the end of the day she was still the brightest part of Elk Valley, far as I could tell.

  One thing I’ve been missing is having friends. Someone I could talk to about all this, someone who would understand. Not that my friends back home would understand being transported through time via Willy Wonka’s Tunnel of Terror. What’s more, I was having trouble remembering the names of my friends. There was Stan, my best friend since childhood, and then… Stewart? No, that was the concessions guy at the Drive-In. I remembered last week having a rough time conjuring the name of Los Angeles, the city in which I lived, and I started to chalk this up to the head injury I sustained when I arrived in Elk Valley. I made a mental note to schedule a follow up appointment with Dr. Simmons.

  Ultimately, not having anyone to talk to about this whole thing was starting to feel incredibly lonely. As if to further punctuate this fact, Ricky Nelson’s Lonesome Town began playing on the radio at Starlight Diner, Sunday around 11 A.M. I’d spent the last few days lamenting my isolation, and it all came to a head, right there at the counter between the pies and the register. Ricky Nelson’s dulcet tones rang through the fuzzy silver speaker and I cried. Salty tears sogged my perfect potato bun and de-crisped my fries.

  “Oh hun,” I heard a voice from behind me. It was Sally, the 50-something manager at Starlight. “Come with me.”

  She grabbed my arm and led me to a locker room in the back.

  “You really shouldn’t let a gal get to you like that,” she said.

  I chuckled through the tears, which turned to a throaty cough. She handed me a clean dish towel to take care of both.

  “It’s not a girl,” I choked out.

  She paused. An intense look of concern engulfed her mousy, lipsticked face.

  “… a boy?”

  I let myself laugh a little more. It wasn’t that the notion was so outrageous, shit, I’d had my share of run-ins with the charmless sex. It was her uneasy, nervous whisper that set me off. The tension in her shoulders let out a little at that.

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  “Nothing like that,” I said.

  “Then what is it, hun?”

  “It’s my friends, I miss them. I guess maybe I haven’t really gotten acclimated to this town as much as I’d hoped.”

  “Gee, smart, charming fella like you without a friend?”

  I laughed at that, too.

  “You know, I’ve got a nephew that may just be in the same boat as you. Well, maybe a little different, but I’m sure I could set the two of you up!”

  I hesitated. As much as I wanted to make some new friends, there was still no way I could tell anyone about all this shit, they’d think I was crazy. She slapped me on the knee.

  “Oh, c’mon! I’ll tell him you’ll meet him here tomorrow at 11 like you usually do. The two of you could get a burger, on me.”

  “I don’t know, Sal—”

  “It’s a done deal, don’t even think about it,” she stood up and walked out of the locker room. “Take all the time you need, hun, I’ll have a fresh Coke for you when you get back.”

  As instructed, I showed up to Starlight at 11 A.M. The place was usually pretty empty before noon on weekdays, and today was no exception. There was, however, a kid in a corner booth, timidly poking at a root beer float. It was the same booth I’d sit in when I didn’t sit at the counter. He looked to be in his early 20s, skinny, huge Coke-bottle glasses, blonde hair, freckled face. I looked over at Sally behind the register. She motioned at him. This was the guy, I guess.

  “Breakfast of champions,” I said, trying to break the ice.

  “Huh?”

  “Rootbeer float? It’s not even noon yet.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Thought it might loosen me up.”

  I sat down. He seemed like an affable enough guy. He made a joke, sort of, and honestly that was enough for me to loosen up a bit. I sat down.

  “Emmet,” I stuck out my hand.

  “Fritz.”

  Fritz was a nice enough guy. Clearly a little on the spectrum, although no one tested for that back in the 50s. After a few minutes of talking he started to loosen up. He asked me how I’m liking Elk Valley, if I’ve made any friends or been on any dates. He seemed interested in my job at the drive-in, told me he never misses a week, some of the movies he even sees more than once. Unsurprisingly, the science fiction ones were his favorite. We talked at length about Invasion of the Body Snatchers and War of the Worlds, and it took everything I had not to tell him about Captain Kirk and Luke Skywalker. We were like kindred spirits, separated by about 70 years or some strange plane of existence.

  We had pie and burgers and I got so full and had such a good time I almost called out of work. It was the most fun I’d had since I got to Elk Valley, and I thanked Sally profusely before I left. That mood carried me through my walk, my shift, and my walk home. It felt like nothing could ruin this feeling. Then I got home.

  I snuck into Grady Manor, as I always did after a shift. It was always just past curfew, and although part of me was sure Mrs. Grady would make an exception for work, I didn’t want to chance it. I had no idea where I would go if she kicked me out.

  I tiptoed through the hallway and into my bedroom, quietly closing the creaky door. Does WD-40 exist yet? I should look into that. I flipped on the lights and flopped onto the bed, which was also creaky, letting out a deep exhale. I felt a little less lonely in that moment, a little less afraid. I sat back up to take off my shirt and get ready for bed when I noticed a little folded up piece of lined yellow paper near my door. Did Mrs. Grady get tired of my late nights? I should be so lucky. The elegant cursive handwriting hit me like a baseball bat to the back of the head.

  I know.

  Evergreen Park.

  Midnight.

  - Emmett Brewer, fucked.