The weight of a memory

Nostalgia is a word that can kick your ass and you'll never see it coming. I feel the same way about her as I do about fate. Step lightly. As I was driving in the early dark of this morning I passed by a little silver bullet of a diner. It was a brief glance back in time. The emotion was a swift kick to the gut, and I felt as if I were losing something vital. It couldn't have been more than six seconds, but in those six seconds I saw the red neon light in the early dawn that burned "Chet's Diner" into the lightening navy sky. The parking lot was full. And inside was a row of men sitting on stools, I imagined they were reading the paper and drinking their coffee, eating greasy bacon and scrambled eggs. Almost instantly, I remembered the Triple XXX.

The Triple XXX is an infamous diner in West Lafayette, Indiana. Home to the best sausage gravy and biscuits in the state. The orange and brown building sits precariously on the side of Chauncey Hill. I always imagined that one morning after a night of drinking I would walk down the hill only to find it at the bottom, having finally broken free and slipped down with a glorious "wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!" The diner is a "walking" excursion only, for the fact that there are maybe three spots behind it under the carport.

The rusty screendoor banged shut behind me every time. I always wondered why the owner had never fixed the hinges, or cleaned the grease filled screen for that matter. The walls were a dingy, muted yellow from years and years of cigarette smoke, the linoleum counters were cracked, and the floors were heaving up, angry after carrying the weight of so many for so long. It would be a dismal greasy spoon if it weren't for the liveliness at all times of the day and night.

Weekend mornings saw hungover college students, who stumbled down the hill for a bite to eat. Weekdays, the "regulars" a.k.a. "old-timers" were never far from the counter, strong, black coffee in hand. The lunch crowd was usually full of students, professors, and local businessmen. Dinners were usually a family affair with kids begging for ice creams and parents telling them to eat their burgers. The witching hour was always my favorite though. That hour right around three am. You never know who would be there. Sometimes I swear I saw the ghosts of Kerouac and Bukowski.

Since opening in 1929, the diner has not lost an ounce of its flavor. The building, owners and patrons may have changed, but the name and the nostalgia remains as strong then as it does now. Hmmm....and now I am nothing but homesick and hungry.

http://www.triplexxxfamilyrestaurant.com/index.html