It almost feels like I’m living someone else’s life—like nothing this exciting should possibly be happening to me.
“Ready for an adventure?” Jasper asks me, starting the Jeep and turning up the heat to stave off the chilly beach night air.
I nod and smile. “I’m ready.”
I don’t feel scared, or even worried, instead I feel exhilarated.
More than that I feel alive which is all I’ve wanted since all this happened.
To feel alive again is the greatest gift anyone could ever give me.
Jasper smiles back at me and, for a brief moment, his grief doesn’t exist and neither does my transplant.
He’s just a guy and I’m just a girl and we’re going to get something to eat. Something perfectly normal and innocuous and yet it feels like the world.
As we drive it amazes me how quiet the night is. There’s a peacefulness that exists while everyone else is sleeping. It’s like stepping into an alternate universe, one where only the two of us exist. Part of me wants to stay in this little bubble for as long as I can.
Jasper glances at me, but I continue to look out the passenger side, my hair blowing around my shoulders from the open Jeep. The heat he put on seems pointless but a little manages to seep into my bones.
I can’t help but wonder what he thinks when he looks at me.
Does he see in me what I see in him?
I cross my arms and lean out the window.
Occasionally we pass a house with a light on and I wonder why that person is up.
Maybe they’re taking care of a crying baby. Or they could be working. Perhaps, like us, sleep evades them.
I wouldn’t say I have insomnia, not in the normal sense, my guilt keeps me up at times, my guilt at being alive while someone else had to die, but sometimes I’m up because it’s like I’m afraid if I fall asleep I might miss something. With my transplant, I have so much life to live now. I don’t want to miss a single moment.
Within ten minutes of leaving my house, he pulls into the lot of a small diner. I’m sure I’ve passed this place thousands of times, but it’s never caught my attention.
The front is rather plain, with two large windows, the name of the diner stenciled on both in large bold letters.
MEL’S it reads.
Jasper parks and I follow him inside.
The place only boasts one customer, but it’s one more than I expected at this hour.
Jasper leads me to a booth beside one of the windows. The seats are black with white piping and the floors are checkered black and white title. The walls boast black and white photos of the owners and patrons through the years, along with other random memorabilia like a signed baseball glove and dominos glued to the wall in a floral pattern. On our right is a long black counter with round stools covered in blue vinyl upholstery. It’s weird and quirky and utterly perfect.
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” I say, my voice full of awe.
“It seems to exist in its own little world.”
He grabs two menus off the table and slides one to me.
“What’s good?” I ask him.
“Everything,” he replies. “You can’t beat the pancakes.”
I look over the menu but decide pancakes sound good.
The lone waitress appears. “What can I get you guys to eat and drink?”
Jasper points at me to go first. “A water and chocolate chip pancakes.”