The big glass door at the Meadowdale Diner slowly opened, giving way to the pressure of Henry Brady’s right shoulder push. Once inside, he gave the place a quick once-over.
It was already filling up with the lunch crowd; many of the patrons were dressed in their business attire, having ducked in for a quick bite before heading back to the office.
But Henry?
He was wearing what appeared to be a mylar emergency blanket (with holes for his arms to go through) and light blue slippers.
Patrons began stepping away as he shuffled toward the counter.
“Can I get a cup of Joe?” he asked the young man working the register. “I don’t have any money on me but my co-workers will pay for it. They should be here in another 10 minutes or so.”
There was one small, open table in the corner of the restaurant, and Henry made his way over to it, easing into the hard, plastic chair and letting out a long sigh.
While most of the customers had already stopped staring – if you look hard enough you can see just about anything in the downtown of a big city – the manager kept his eye on the man, who had settled into his spot and had his arms crossed and propped on the table.
“Sir, are you OK?” said the manager after nervously walking toward Henry.
Henry looked up at him, saw that his name tag read “Jim,” and smiled.
“I’m fine, Jim … and I’ll be even better after I get that coffee,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
The manager leaned down on one knee.
“You just look – I don’t know – like maybe you wandered out of a doctor’s office or a hospital or something,” Jim said. “I just want to make sure no one is looking for you.”
Henry laughed.
“Ah, you just want to make sure I didn’t escape,” he said. “Trust me … I couldn’t even I wanted to. And really, I don’t want to … I’m just on my lunchbreak – like a lot of the other people in here.”
He then looked past the manager and out the window facing the busy side street outside the diner.
“That thing across the way … how long has that been here?” he asked while pointing.
“You mean the public parking deck?” Jim said. “I really couldn’t say. It’s been here as long as I can remember … 10, 20 years at least, I guess.”
Henry squinted to get a better look.
“Hmmm,” Henry said. “About 100 years from now … maybe not even quite that long … there’s gonna be what’s called a hover station. It’ll be a place where people can store their gliders. There won’t be any more cars, at least not how you think of cars now.
“But this place will still be here. Well, I don’t think it’s called the Meadowdale Diner anymore and everything is automated, but I can still come here and get coffee.”
Jim knew there was something amiss with Henry the moment he walked in, and his nonsensical rambling confirmed his suspicion. Perhaps he had wandered off from a mental health clinic down the block. Or, maybe he had undergone an outpatient procedure and had yet to fully shake off the anesthesia. There was a hospital satellite office less than a mile away.
“Sir, do you remember where you were just before you came in here?” Jim asked.
Henry nodded.
“Absolutely … I was across the street,” he said. “In fact, I was right in the middle of where that parking deck is – or was. After they started that energy pattern transmission company there wasn’t much need for gliders anymore. And then when scientists decided to mess around with time jumps, these quantum shops – the place where I work – began popping up all over the place.
“It’s been fun for me. Been with the same shop for about half a century now. As a tester I don’t go to a lot of different places, but I get to go to a lot of different times, which I like better. I get to see how the climate has changed, how people have changed, changes in infrastructure … then I file a report.”
Henry got up, stretched, and waved at the two men who had just materialized near the diner’s exit.
“Well, Jim” he said. “There’s my ride. If you can just give me my coffee to go, one of them will settle up with you. I don’t miss much about the 21st century but man, you guys did coffee right.”
