The
Inwood
(A
Walk in Memory)
Barely
old enough to remember it, but
I
wasn’t old enough to stay by myself
Away
from home, away from Mommy,
Even
with Nana, as I was proving
In
this memory. Who would have known
Then,
I would later live here, learn here,
Learn
to lead here in my path of following?
But
here I sit in the very spot, in what is
An
early landmark in my life. Do I
Remember
it or have I just been
Reminded,
at every event of meaning
That
followed: toasts at my wedding,
Jokes
at gatherings, the needlings
Of
love, made solid by time and stories
Like
these? I was excited, or as Nana says,
“You
were so proud, teasing your sister,
“I
get to stay with Nanny, I get to stay,”
In
that high pitched nasally twang of
Little
brother sassing, “and you have
To
go to school!” We had so many plans
You
and I,” she would say. And we did.
We
went up in the attic to get my uncle’s
Toys,
and we went shopping to get all
My
favorite snack foods, Mommy liked
To
limit, and she bought me a record,
The
kind that tells a story and comes
Folded
in the story book. Aristocats,
I
can see it clearly. She also read me
A
book before bed, “Jerry so liked
The Sugar Hill Gang.” Sometime after
Bed
and story and the tucked in kiss,
It
started—the fit. Tears flying, sadness,
Anger,
“I want my Mommy! I want
My
Mommy! You’re not my Mommy!”
And
the phone call was made. “You
Have
to come get him. . . Silence. . .
Can you meet me half way. . . Silence
. .
. The Inwood. . . Silence. . . Yeah,
Right
there in Gordonsville.” Click,
And
with that click the tears were
Gone,
and the smile returned. Nanny,
And
I on a road trip. My memory
Is
foggy on the rest of the story, maybe
Because
the embarrassing parts have
Already
been told, but I remember now,
As I
sit here awaiting my cheeseburger,
Sipping
a sweet tea, in this spot, something
Cemented
in my mind. I see here in what is
A
perfect picture of what was, etched enough
Into
my mind’s photo bank—more like
A
negative than a print—this very place,
And
I can testify to its sameness, not from
Some
ignorant knowing prejudice of its
Old
fashioned simple style, nor from the wear,
The
years have left—scars, scratches, marks,
Faded
paint and curtains—but from true
Experience,
too young to bring to mind,
But
deeply felt. It makes you wonder just
How
much of an impact places have on us,
Places
connected to narratives of our lives
To
which we have no words. I only can
Bring
this forward because returning here
The
words and feelings have collided. Wow,
And
all I was seeking was a cheeseburger
To
fill my belly, tickle my tastebuds, and
Defy
my ever closing arteries one more time,
During
my lunch break from bulletins
And
sermons, or care notes and phone calls.
I
look around, trying to fill in the negative,
To
enter the dark room, to process the image
And
develop the print into something I can
Share.
To walk in here is to go back in time,
Lunch
counter, where you can see the griddle,
Hear
the sizzle, and smell the bacon frying.
It
actually hits you in the face, the aromatic
Collection
of decades of grease. Green plastic
Leather
barstools—I can feel myself sitting
On
one as we waited for mom and dad, and
You
can’t sit without spinning, and I distinctly
Remember
a wobble. The footboard is raised,
Metal,
sitting below faded—is it pink and peach
Striping?—though
the stain is black from years
Of
patrons and their feet. “The Inwood Restaurant
Welcomes
You! God Bless You! In God we
Trust,”
and a reference to Psalm 118. I think,
“May
we all give thanks. May we take the time.”
An
old white sign still hangs on the wood
Paneling;
in red 80’s t-shirt letters, “We are
Not
a fast-food restaurant. We appreciate
Your
patience, while we prepare your meal,
Especially
for you!” and then in personalized
Script,
“Thank You.” I think to myself,
“I
can make that trade—my time, a few
Moments
for a meal prepared with loving
Thanks
especially for me.” I can’t help but
Wonder
how many hurried people, unwilling
To
make the trade, were impatient enough
To
predicate such a firm statement from those
Loving
angels, as another sign rightly dubs
These
cooks and servers. I feel sorry for hurried
People
living in a world that moves so fast.
When
did It happen? When did life speed up
And
pass this place by? Though not all of life,
Surely,
has passed her by, for thankfully,
Here
she still stands. Another faded poster hangs
To
the right, ironically, stubbornly, beautifully,
Standing
in the face of the arrogance of progress;
A
picture of a dogsled team of Huskies saying,
“If
you can’t run with the Big Dogs, stay on
The
porch.” The old girl knows she is still big
Enough
to keep running after all these years.
“Nothing
stirs the soul like the face of Irony,”
Keep
fighting, old girl, somehow we need you.
Below
and around the sign are the pictures
Of angels
past. The faces fade left to right into
The
present: bangs and curls, puffed, and big
To
flat pulled back ponies, the tails and tshirts
Of
today, intermingled with baby portraits. Are
These
kids grown? Do they own one of the
Pulled
back ponies? Have they become the new
Generation
of angels? Are they adults, who
As
children were marked by this place by more
Tangible
memories than I? Around the pictures,
Below
the sign and poster are fire and police
Patches,
from all over, spanning time and place.
They
stand as merit badges, exchanges of service
And
respect. I tried to count them, as I started
My
food came, but there must be at least forty,
No
probably fifty. Nah, a number like forty-seven
Or
fifty-three is more likely, more random than
Square,
for these were gathered over time, with
No
set plan. It started with one simple gesture,
And
grew as these things seem to do in real life.
To
the far right just below the empty space
Where
more patches could be placed, is the
Salad
bar, complete with iceberg lettuce, pickled
Beets,
and the red colored crunchy bacon bits,
And
another sign that prohibits salad sharing,
And
another one reminding you to always use
A
clean plate. Experience in life leads to many
Rules
I guess because these signs are all over
The
place. They stand as loving reminders, as
If
to say, “Though we are angels, we just won’t
Put
up with no foolishness. Don’t let these
Halos
fool you. There are limits to the notion
That
the customer is always right, so stay
In
your lane, and there won’t be any problem!”
Remember,
“Seat yourself!” “No Smoking!”
“No
Checks!” “No one behind the counter,
Except
Employees!” It is fair enough, and we
As
customers should be willing to give that
Requisite
respect, at the very least. Delicious,
My especially
for me made cheeseburger
Was
delicious, and it came with a smile.
I
don’t think we ate, Nana and I, as we
Waited
all those years ago, but maybe we
Had
some sweet tea. It warms my heart
To
know in a world where so much spins
Daily
out of control, a few simple things
Stay
the same, and allow us to realize how
Interconnected
our lives truly are, and the
Retracing
of our steps can give us insight
Into
who we are, no matter how fragmented
Our
lives seem, and how spread our travels
Take
us. It is just a blip on the map, a road
Side
restaurant, where many have eaten,
But
for me it is more than that, it is a living
Memory,
and as Psalm 118 reminds us,
I
shall of course ever remain deeply thankful.
Pastor, Gordonsville Presbyterian Church
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