Flight by Anya Konecki

Flight

Clark sat down in his booth when Jenny called from the register, “Do you want the usual today?”

“Sure Jenny, don’t forget about the raisins in the oatmeal.”

“Okay, coming right up.”

“No hurry, Jenny,” Clark said. His base voice resounded in the small room.

Giggles erupted from the other side of the wall. Clark popped his head over the divider and was met by a strong scent of flowers from a nearby table of girls.

“Can I help you ladies with anything?” Clark said. His dark hair fell into his face and he looked out at them from under it

“No, sorry.” One girl said. All the girls blushed.

Jenny came with breakfast and sat down with Clark. “Whatchya thinking about?”

“Flying.”

“Oh yeah? Where to? You going on a vacation?”

“No, nowhere, I was just thinking of how it used to be,” Clark said. He picked up his newspaper and hide behind it.

“I brought your breakfast, Clark.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem sweetie,” she said. Jenny patted the man’s hand where it lay on the table, clutching an unused napkin in his crooked fingers.

Clark began eating in small carefully measured bites. When he finished the oatmeal and pushed the bowl away. He looked up at his waitress, then at the door to the diner.

“Jenny, I gotta go.”

“Okay, Mr. Kent.” Jenny said with a faint smile on her face.

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

Clark heaved himself up onto his walker and forced his legs to shuffle to the door. The wind outside the diner was strong. Clark steadied his legs, closed his eyes, and stretched his arms out straight ahead; his hair blew behind him. Years ago his cape would have been flying out behind him, too.

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