The Stranger

 Taylor waited tables in the diner. In a small town, she knew everybody who came in, probably by name, and often saw them other places. Sometimes travelers using side-roads came by, but the town was a few miles from the highway.

A stranger with pointy ears and thin features entered just as she was heading for the door to lock it. Normally, Taylor did not close by herself and did that night because her aunt was sick. She did not particularly mind the extra work, as her aunt paid her for it.

“Sorry, we’re closing,” Taylor said. She wanted to study for the National Latin Exam, not wait on one person at 9:00 at night, and then spend the next hour cleaning. “There’s a McDonalds in the next town north, or Pete’s sells food. He’s down the road.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your work, but I am thirsty and hungry,” the stranger said.

Taylor inwardly sighed and rolled her eyes, but outwardly smiled and said, “The cook just left, so...”

“I have a proposal for you.”

“For...”

“I was jolted out of my very comfortable world and into this world. If you allow me a place to sleep and left-over food, I will work for you.”

“Sorry, my aunt owns the place.”

“I will wash the tables and put up the chairs for some water.”

“Pfft, you can have water anyway,” Taylor said and poured him a glass. “The church can help you. I have the pastor’s kid’s number.”

“The church does not—or has not—helped my kind.”

Taylor assumed then he was gay. She looked around the kitchen for something that did not require cooking, and made a ketchup, mustard, and pickle sandwich for the stranger. The stranger had drunk the water and was wiping the tables and stacking the chairs.

Taylor wondered how she would empty the till—even though she did not feel he would rob her, she thought it would be insensitive to count money in front of a homeless man.

“Here’s a sandwich. I bet there’s a homeless shelter somewhere,” she said.

The stranger paused for a few seconds like she did when figuring out a new word was a synonym.

“I bet my dad can take you there,” Taylor said.

“I don’t have to live somewhere like a homeless shelter yet,” the stranger said.

“You’re begging pickle sandwiches.”

“Thank you very much for it.”

“No problem.” She texted her dad, Dude won’t leave. “I’m going to clean, okay?”

“I will,” the stranger said.

“Nah, you take it easy.”

Almost two minutes later, her dad squealed into the parking lot and did not bother to shut the truck door. “Taylor!” he hollered as he burst into the diner.

“I texted you because he’s homeless,” Taylor said. “Relax. Sorry for being vague.”

“Oh,” her dad said. “Hi!”

“Hello,” the stranger said. “Did I scare your daughter? I’m very sorry.”

“Well, she’s fine, so...Let me talk to my wife about giving you some money.”

“No, no, no!” The stranger backed a few steps away. “I have to stay in the town.”

“Okay, okay! Sorry.”

“I will work for you in return for a little food. Perhaps a blanket, assuming I work well?”

“Let’s see if we can find you what you need. What’s your name?”

“Rick,” the stranger said.