At the age of seven, I spent my summer tagging along with my dad’s two brothers, whose loose definition of babysitting was to cart me along and make sure I didn’t get into trouble. My two uncles, Robert and Hiram, didn’t have any children of their own. Robert married late in life, and Hiram remained a bachelor. They decided on the day I was born that their little brother was going to have to share his little bundle of joy. We quickly developed a close-knit relationship. Both of my grandfathers had died before I was born, so Robert and Hiram took on that role. One day around lunchtime the three of us loaded up into their big, red pickup truck and Robert drove us to one of the local coffee shops. “Edna’s Country Kitchen” was hand-painted on the big glass door in faded blue and white brush strokes. As the door was held open for me, I cautiously entered.
The red brick floor with black mortar was startling and unnerving. The creamy yellow walls crept out from behind paintings and wall decorations that had gone out of style twenty years ago. Dust clung to the thick, navy curtains hanging from wooden shelves above the windows that were home to Knick Knacks, such as Russian nesting dolls, ceramic cats, and empty Aunt Jemima syrup bottles. I took all of this in as I waited on my uncles to hang up their cowboy hats on a rack by the door. As I slid into one of the harsh burnt-orange booths, I began to inspect the other guests. It wasn’t very busy for lunchtime; there were only three or four other patrons other than us. An older lady walked up to our table and as she handed me a menu, asked, “How are y’all doing boys? I see you’ve got the boss with you today. Can I get you the usual?” They nodded their heads and gossiped about the local news with Edna as I read my options. Cheeseburger, country-fried steak, catfish. Sides: fries, cole slaw, mashed potatoes. Upon closing my menu, Edna asked me, “What can I get for you honey?” I placed my order and smiled quietly to myself with what I got away with ordering. My mother would not approve. When Edna returned, she was wielding a tray balanced with coffee, water, and milk. As she reached into her flour covered apron and handed me a straw, I couldn’t help but start to feel at home in this odd establishment.
While we waited on our food to be prepared, I continued to look around the restaurant and explore its many treasures with my eyes and imagination. Now that I could see the front of the room well, I noticed white latticework woven through with plastic ivy and studded with sunflowers. Sitting in front of the latticework was a gaudy, plastic, dark gray fountain. The tacky décor just got worse and worse. Next to the fountain was the register stand. It was pretty normal: register, calculators, notepads, pens and pencils. I noticed Edna walking empty handed back from the kitchen. She sat down in our booth and began to continue her gossip session. I recognized the other two ladies in the booth closest to ours: Jackie, the city librarian who had retired several years ago, and Carla, a retired schoolteacher. Their regal gray hair was freshly done and smelled of hairspray. These two ladies knew everyone in town, their life history, and what they did that weekend. They discussed candidates for upcoming elections, what family they came from, and things they had talked about that would be important in politics. I quickly learned that to be involved in politics your reputation must be spotless. “I heard that Bob Thomas was down in Birmingham just drunk as a skunk in one of those topless bars last Saturday,” Jackie would spout. They discussed several of the waitresses who worked for Edna, how young they were to not be married but have children, and their different life situations. I quickly learned to be a respectable young lady and to always take my studies seriously. Edna enlightened us, “She’s as sweet as she can be, but she dropped out of school at 17 and now she has five children, with three different last names.” Eventually they paused when the cook hollered, “Order up Edna, quit your yackin’!” I later found out that her husband was the cook, but this was humorous to my little impatient mind. While Edna was gone to the kitchen, Robert leaned down to my ear and whispered, “Well I’ll be, that’s why I want you to go on to college and get a good education, ya hear?”
Edna walked back into the kitchen and came out with two greasy cheeseburgers, typical of mom and pop restaurants, and two mountains of French fries. She sat these down in front of my uncles and went back to make a second trip to the kitchen. This time when she came out my mouth watered when she sat my golden grilled cheese and order of tater tots in front of me. The aroma and tastes of good southern comfort food filled my senses. She then picked up my empty glass, went to refill it, and came back with a pot of coffee to top off their cups.
Almost every day that summer we went to Edna’s Country Kitchen and ordered just about the same thing. By overhearing all of their small town gossip about everybody and anybody, I quickly learned that no matter what I did in this small town, someone would always know what was going on. Every time I drive home I pass by what once was Edna’s. Never stopping I haven’t been to Edna’s in over ten years. Since that summer it has changed owners and is now a seafood place so it wouldn’t be the same. My uncles have relocated to the local Jack’s for their coffee and gossip. Their crowd of little old men and women has since got more members, but they all meet up everyday at the same time, same place. A lot has changed, but then again it’s all the same. I’m sure their conversation topics are similar to those ten years ago, only more up to date. Sometimes when I see their red truck parked outside of Jack’s, I pull in next to it and go in and visit for a few minutes. Sitting there once again quietly listening to everyone catching up on their gossip, I smile as I go back and remember sitting at Edna’s when I was seven.
Brittany Coons - Digital Portfolio 