Dream Cafe

The full moon lit the night sky, as a 1955 teal-green Chevy Nomad sped along the river. The city on the river’s edge was called River Sorrow by its citizens. The river, which ran along the warehouse district, got its name because it was where many often came to think about their problems. Consequently, many people over the years had committed suicide along its shore.

Bruce had come here to reflect on his life. He missed his close friend, a drummer, who had died of a drug overdose just a few months earlier. His eyes welled with tears, as he considered that it might be time to leave this cold and unyielding existence.

He spotted a 1950s-style diner up the road. He rolled the Corvette to a stop on its gravel driveway. It was dusk when he finally got out of the car. He could hear a spitting sound from the frazzled neon sign above the diner…Dream Cafe. He had been to the area many times, but he had never seen this place before. It seemed like a mirage. The inside was bright and inviting, with a cheery yellow and white motif – almost a shock to the system. Bruce took a seat at the counter.

For a minute or two he sat in silence. He observed a man wiping down the ice cream machine.

“Hello,” said Bruce.

“Welcome! You’re the first customer tonight, but believe me, it gets pretty busy in here at night.

“My name is Gabriel,” the man said, as he placed a menu on the counter in front of Bruce.
“Nice to meet you!”

Bruce could tell by Gabriel’s eyes that he did not recognize him. It was refreshing. Bruce reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Can I smoke in here?” he asked. “They say these things will kill you, but it calms the nerves…if you know what I mean.”
Gabriel let out a laugh and handed him an ashtray. “There are worse things that can kill you.”
Bruce wondered if this nice man could see through him. Can he see that I wanted to kill myself?

Through the diner window, Bruce noticed a long gold Cadillac pull into the parking lot. A beautiful curvy blonde and a heavy-set man wearing what looked like a sequined jumpsuit got out of the car. Bruce thought they looked familiar. The man was of average height with black hair styled high in the front and shiny with Vaseline. His companion led with her hips as she walked. Her black satin dress was designed to reveal her shape, yet still hold enough mystery to make men curious. Perfect.

They sat at one of the big tables as if they were expecting more people to join them.
“Hello Norma, Elvis, the usual?” Gabriel shouted to them as he lifted the coffee pot from the counter.
“You’re wonderful, Gabriel! Thank you so much, you’re so sweet,” said Norma in a breathy, suggestive, yet innocent manner. Gabriel poured their coffee as Bruce observed from across the diner. It was obvious to him that this place was pretty special. Others began to come into the cafe and, as Gabriel had said, it was becoming busy very quickly. Gabriel returned to Bruce and asked him if he was ready to order. Bruce wasn’t hungry, but he saw the photo of a burger on the menu and ordered it. Gabriel left to place Bruce’s order.

“I like to get to know my customers. So, tell me a little about yourself,” said Gabriel.

Bruce just looked at him.

“Or you can just tell me to go to hell,” he laughed.

Bruce felt unusually at ease with Gabriel, which was odd, considering his brooding nature.
“I’m a singer, songwriter, and composer. I’m doing what I love.”

“I started in my garage like most rock star wannabes. I’m sure my neighbors loved us.” Bruce smiled and took a drag of his cigarette. The memory came back to him.

“One day, I remember while we were practicing, a group of attractive girls who were driving down my street, parked their car, and asked if they could come in and listen. One of them really stood out. She was very tall, had red hair, and was bolder than the others. I can still remember feeling an electric sensation as I shook her hand.”

“I can tell by the look on your face that you miss those early days,” Gabriel commented.

“It probably sounds sophomoric,” said Bruce.

“It may, but that’s the first time you smiled since you arrived.”
Bruce took another long drag.

“But now, after a little success, it’s like you’re always in a box, and you’re an escape artist if you’re a creative person…period. You build your box, and then you escape from it. You build another one, and you escape from it. That’s ongoing.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“You know, Gabriel, I just wish I could’ve preserved the simplicity and purity of joy I had then. I got so wrapped up in the sudden fame.”

Gabriel went to the counter, returned with Bruce’s order, and placed it in front of him. “Well, where do you think it went?” asked Gabriel.

“Where do I think what went?”

“The joy.”
Bruce shrugged, took a quick bite of his burger, and put it on his plate.

Gabriel pointed to the burger on the plate. “There. That, right there, is a missed opportunity.”

 Truly confused, Bruce asked, “What the heck are you talking about?

“Bruce, do you even remember what that burger tasted like? Was it juicy? Dry? Bland? Flavorful?”

“It was okay, I guess. I dunno.”

“Indulge me. Take another bite and savor it. Think about the ingredients, and think of someone putting it all together,” urged Gabriel.

Bruce sighed, humoring him by picking up the burger and taking a bite.

“Taste the pickles? The onion...even the salt and pepper?”

With his mouth full of burger, Bruce nodded. He put down the rest of the burger and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Okay, I think I get your point. Pay attention to the moments of my life. Thanks, I needed to be reminded. As for the burger...it’s pretty good, but I prefer the way they make ‘em in Jersey.”

Gabriel smiled and nodded. “Fair enough.”

The jukebox came on. The sound of the piano was slow and moody, like a path to a mysterious destination. The door of the diner opened. Standing in the doorway, a man with short jet-black hair and mustache began singing with gentle angst. 

I’ve paid my dues

Time after time

I’ve done my sentence

But committed no crime

Elvis stood up, flared out his arms, stepped forward with one bell-bottomed, sequined leg, and sang the next verse:

And bad mistakes

I’ve made a few

I’ve had my share of sand

Kicked in my face

But I’ve made it through

Bruce didn’t know what was happening, but he did know that he was witnessing something very special in that diner in the middle of nowhere.

Elvis approached the man and they both sang:

And we mean to go on and on and on and on

Everyone in the diner was smiling. Swaying side to side in unison, they all sang:

We are the champions, my friends

And we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end

The man walked over to Gabriel and kissed him on the cheek.

EVERYBODY!

We are the champions

We are the champions

No time for losers

‘Cause we are the champions…

Suddenly, the man abruptly cut them off. He walked over to Norma, who was seated at the table. Kneeling, he cupped his ear with his hand.

Just above a whisper, Norma sang:

...of the world

It looked to Bruce as if they did this all the time.

Gabriel shouted over the jubilation. “Hey Freddie! Milkshake?”

“Of course, sweetheart! But remember to top it off with a strawberry, not a cherry.” Freddie winked. He noticed Bruce at the counter and raised his left eyebrow. He smiled broadly as he approached, displaying a pronounced overbite. He was wearing light denim jeans and a wife-beater tank top.

Freddie seated himself next to Bruce and offered him his hand in greeting.

Bruce shook his hand. “That was fantastic! Do you guys do that often?”

“When the mood strikes…I haven’t seen you here before. I’m Freddie. And you?”

“They call me Bruce.”

“You’ve got quite a head of hair there, honey.”

Feeling slightly awkward, Bruce answered, “Yeah, I was thinking of freshening up my look. You know, keeping it short.”

“Yes, dear, things are changing. I simply adored my long locks. But I look around at the trends and I see what the ladies and especially the men respond to.” Freddie winked. “Personally, I like to create the trends. Here.” Freddie untied the bandana from his neck. You should wrap this around your head when you perform.” 

Bruce accepted the bandana from Freddie. “Thanks! It’ll keep the sweat out of my eyes. “Hey, it works for Hendrix.”

The crowd was singing along with the jukebox.

We are the champions

No time for losers

Cause we are the champions

of the world

From across the diner, they heard a piercing, fuzzy, yet dreamy guitar sound. A light-skinned black man playing a white V-shaped guitar came into view. With a broad toothy smile, Freddie said, “Speak of the devil! He can’t resist a solo opportunity.”

“Is he playing that thing upside down?” Bruce asked.

“Yep. That’s rock ‘n’ roll, baby!”

Jimi took the diner’s patrons on a musical ride. It seemed as if the notes were coming out of the end of his fingers rather than from the guitar. There was a sense of wild, reckless danger emanating from him. Jimi’s psychedelic, crazy personality bled through his playing.

At the end of the solo, everyone applauded. Bruce motioned Gabriel toward him.

“This is not your garden variety diner, is it Gabriel?”

“You have no idea. You can always find Jimi by the trail of beatniks.”

Freddie stood. “Come with me. You have to meet him.”

Bruce followed Freddie to a corner booth, where they found Jimi sitting with a half dozen enraptured friends.

“Bruce…this is Jimi.”

Bruce smiled and nodded at Jimi.

Jimi waved his cigarette in greeting.

“Is this an open rap session? Can Bruce and I squeeze in?” Freddie asked.

Everyone scooted over in the circular booth.

“Thanks,” said Bruce.

Freddie and Bruce took the seats that were offered. Freddie lifted Norma’s hand and gave it a gentle kiss. “Where did you get that heavenly dress, my dear? It’s simply divinely wicked!” 

Norma fluttered her lashes. She turned to Elvis.

“Elvis, sweetie, what were you saying?”

“I was just saying that I always thought of ambition as a dream with a V8 engine. I never expected to be anybody important. There were too many people that depended on me. I was too obligated. I was in too far to get out.”

“I’m just a musical prostitute, my dear,” bemoaned Freddie.

Bruce weighed in, “I’ve spent my life judging the distance between American reality and the American dream.”

“Damn white-collar conservatives flashin’ down the street, pointing their plastic fingers at me! They all assume my kind will drop and die. But I’m gonna wave my freak flag high!”

“Jimi, your freak flag ain’t the only thing that you’re waving high my friend,” teased Freddie.

“Bruce, did you know that Jimi here has a monkey named Charlie Chan?” asked Norma.

“Not anymore,” said Jimi. “He passed away. Man, I haven’t felt this dark since Buddy Holly died.”

Elvis sighed. “Yeah, it’s all very sad. His albums still sell like wildfire.”

Jimi looked at his friends and shook his head. “It’s funny how most people love the dead. Once you’re dead, you’re made for life.”

“No offense guys, but it seems that music has gotten so much angrier these days,” lamented Elvis.

“There’s a lot more to get angry about. The question is, are you experienced? You have to show up in life. You can’t just bury your head in the sand. The goody-goody clean music no longer has a place in society. God’s broom is drearily sweeping up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life.”

“I guess it’s hard to catch up with everything that’s going on,” said Norma.

“Honey, it’s just about paying attention,” noted Freddie.

Suddenly, Jimi leaned in over the table and said with a deep, soulful voice, “Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens.”

After talking for hours about life, love, and music, Bruce stood up and said his goodbyes to his new friends. There was a word or two about doing it again. He took his wallet from his back pocket and approached the counter.

“How much do I owe you, Gabriel?

“It’s on the house. You have a good night, Bruce.” Bruce shook Gabriel’s hand, thanked him, and walked out the door. He got into his Chevy Nomad and drove away. He smiled, as he thought he could see Janis Joplin from the corner of his eye walking into the diner.

The doctors told Bruce he had been in a coma for weeks, and that he was lucky to be alive after they had found his car in the river. His recovery was long and difficult, but he felt that he was a better soul for the experience. Gabriel had told Bruce to savor every bite of life. Bruce was savoring. He wondered though, if it was all a dream, because he was never able to find the Dream Cafe again. But then Bruce remembered what Jimi had told him.

Knowledge speaks, but wisdom listens.

Bruce was listening.