Honor the space between no longer and not yet. 

- Nancy Levin -

***

"How long have you been waiting?"

The girl blinked awake as the monotone voice drew her out of the darkness. She had been dozing, but not yet fully asleep. She sat up in the uncomfortable, plastic chair against the wall of hot windows and pushed her sunglasses onto the crown of her head.

"What?"

The young man glanced down at his wrist. "I think my watch is messed up. The battery was already going on me, but I think it finally bit the dust."

The girl rubbed her eyes and squinted across the bus depot. The bland face of the clock over the emergency exit declared it to be 4:00 PM on the dot. The relentless sun behind her spoke of a dying day. Their bus should have been there already.

"I got here a little while ago," she murmured. "I think it was a little while ago, at least. I have been in and out, its just so warm over here. It's knocking me out."

"Long day?"

She shrugged. "Just traveling. It always takes it out of me. Even though I'm just sitting for most of it. Isn't that weird?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," the guy chuckled, smoothing a hand over his chin. A light layer of scruff spoke of long travels for him as well. "I've been on the road since... man, it's been a while."

She grinned, running her fingers though her dark brown hair and tucking her sunglasses into the collar of her white t-shirt. "A while, huh?"

"Yeah, it's all kind of blurring together."

"Tell me about it." 

Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but the vending machine had an out-of-order sign on it. The ticket counter was empty. She swore the Greyhound Trailways employee was sitting there before she had closed her eyes. Maybe he was taking an early dinner break. After all they were the only two passengers in the waiting area. The other rows of plastic, red chairs were empty. The loading docks for buses yawned vacant behind them. 

She slapped closed the paperback copy of Picnic at Hanging Rock in her lap. It was good so far, but she couldn't keep her eyes open. The heavy air was like a wool blanket, cushioning her in near silence. If not for those God-awful bucket chairs, she would have been out like a light instead of restlessly rousing every five minutes.

Stretching her arms forward while stifling a yawn, she tucked the book into her Jansport bag and unfolded herself as she stood. The guy flipped through his own book, a compilation of photographs from Time Magazine.

"I swear, I'm getting a sunburn on the back of my neck," she muttered, doing her best to rally.

"Indian summer," he said, flipping a page. "Just that time of year. Early September is like that in this part of the country."

The girl perched one knee on a seat and peered out across the street. It was a sleepy town with only a single blinking, yellow light at a four way stop between the town hall and Civil War monument. The heat of the day simmered along the faded pavement. Main Street was deserted, except for a beat up Honda and pick-up truck parallel parked in front of the post office. 

"Who died?"

The guy looked up with a vague smile, his broad brow furrowing. "What?"

"The flag in front of the post office, it's at half mast. Who died?"

Standing, he shielded his deep set, hickory brown eyes with a hand and squinted across the way. "Huh... can't say. That's a sad looking flag though, kind of disrespectful. The edges are tattered."

"I know, right? For a federal building, that's bad. But look at this place. It's seen better days."

"If it ever had them at all."

The girl hitched the backpack onto her shoulder as her stomach growled again. The diner across the road was awfully appealing, despite the healthy garden of goldenrod and dandelion fluff growing around the ramp entrance way. 

"I think I skipped lunch," she groused. "I don't want to miss my bus, but I'm so hungry."

"Me too. I could use a cup of coffee."

"Same here."

He crooked an eyebrow at her and picked up his black duffel bag. "You want to risk it? We can always make a run for it if we need to. It's just across the street."

"My stomach is about to start eating my backbone if I don't do something about it," she said with a sigh. "Let's do it."

"Here, I'll let the bus depot guy know that we want to catch our bus, we're just starving."

He strode up to the counter and rang the service bell, but no one came from out back. She joined him and rang it as well. He leaned his elbows against the counter and peered around the corner.

"The employee lounge door is wide open, but there is no one in there. What do you think?"

She rang it one more time. "We tried. If they want to rant at us about it later, let them. I need a sandwich."

The sun was still setting in a pale, cloudless sky, hovering over the edge of the sparse treeline. No breeze stirred the leaves, but the air was fresh outside the depot. The girl paused at the curb while the guy strode out into the road without a second look.

"Careful," she called out with a laugh.

"Yeah, don't want to get hit by all the cars," he muttered with an affable smirk in her direction. "What's your name, by the way?"

"June."

"Really?" He stopped in front of the diner door.

"Yeah, what?"

"I'm August."

She nodded with a small smile. "Nice to meet you, August."

"You too, June." The bell above the door rang as he opened it for her. "Now, let's get something to eat."

It was the typical place for a quick meal across the street from a bus depot. A series of booths ran along a wall of windows, facing a lunch counter with leather upholstered stools. They slid into the first booth, across from each other. June picked up a laminated menu, the corners peeling plastic.

"What do you think they could make quickly?" she asked, running a red nail down the list.

August clucked his tongue thoughtfully. "I'd go with a sandwich."

"Tuna melt?"

"That would be a good option."

"What about you?"

"I'm a vegetarian so this is going to be interesting." 

August brushed a swath of golden curls from his temple, revealing a prominent scar. Almost like a cigarette burn, but the size of a quarter. She hid a wince and tried not to consider how he had gained it. Instead, she looked down at his shirt.

"That's an awesome t-shirt," she said. "Is that an actual concert tee?"

He smoothed a hand down the Alice in Chains logo on his chest. "Yeah, my older brother got me hooked. He saw them a bunch in when he was younger and got a shirt for every concert. I snagged this one."

It was vintage, either '91 or '93. Definitely from when Layne Staley was still alive. The band had recently reformed and had a new album due out soon. She still wanted to see them live.

"I wish I could have seen them back in the day," she said.

"I know, my brother gave me all their CDs when I was a kid, even though my mom didn't approve of me listening to them at 13," August laughed.

She scanned the restaurant. When they had walked in, she thought she had sensed the presence of other patrons. Shadows at the counter and in the corner booth had registered in her brain. But now, she realized that they were the only ones.

It was eerily quiet. Except for the clanging bustle of line cooks in the kitchen, the same stillness filled the diner as in the depot. She peered over her shoulder.

"That's cool." She rose from her seat and approached an old jukebox in the back. "I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid."

She hit the tabs to flip through the different options. It was mostly selections from the '60s and '70s. August came alongside her, looking over her shoulder.

"They've got some good ones in here," he murmured, jingling change in his pocket. "You got the quarters?"

"Can you spot me a couple?"

"Only if you pick something good."

She tapped the edge of her chin thoughtfully. "Fleetwood Mac?"

He slid fifty cents into the machine. "Let it rip."

The familiar opening bars of 'Dreams' filled the diner, dispelling the strange atmosphere with Stevie Nick's clear alto.

"Now, where is the waiting staff around here," August said, wandering down the edge of the lunch counter. He paused at a newspaper laying open beside the abandoned cash register. He twirled it with his fingertips to face him and read the headline. "Hey, come check this out."

He pushed it towards June. She scanned the front page. "Wait... am I reading that year correctly?"

FBI ADMITS SPREADING LIES ABOUT JEAN SEBERG was printed in bold letters across the top. A date was marked above it. September 1979, exactly 30 years earlier.

"That's kind of cool," August said with a crooked grin, displaying a faint dimple on his left cheek. "I wonder where someone dug this up. It looks new."

June ran her fingers over the print. "Yeah, cool. But kind of weird."

The song faded out leaving only silence. The clatter in the kitchens had ceased. June rubbed her arms as they broke out in goose bumps. August idly flipped the front page over, absorbed in their discovery.

"I love stuff like this. I'm majoring in journalism."

June forced a smile. "Where?"

"At State. I'm a freshman."

"Me too."

He met her eyes, cocking his head to the side. "You like it so far? I mean, first semester just started, but what do you think?"

June nodded. "It's alright. I had a little bit of a panic attack when my parents first drove away. My roommate got there late so I was by myself for most of that first day, just wandering around. I had never understood that saying about feeling alone in a crowd until then."

"That first day was rough."

"Did you just go home for a quick visit?"

"My mom's birthday and mine was yesterday so I stayed a couple days past Labor Day. We always celebrate together since we share it. You?"

June chuckled bashfully. "I was a little homesick."

"I'm sorry." The response was perfunctory and simple, but his tone was sincere, arresting her attention. He gave her another crooked smile. "I bet you'll end up enjoying it though, the longer you are there."

"I hope so." Even though they had just met, August gave the impression that he was more adventurous and adaptable than her. She was a little jealous. She stirred, breaking the moment. "Hey. Isn't it weird that no one has come to take our order yet?"

August straightened from where he had rested his elbows on the counter. He glanced around the room as though noticing it was empty for the first time. His eyebrows narrowed as he looked towards the kitchen doors.

"I swore I heard activity back there like five minutes ago."

"I did too. It stopped after the song was over."

He rapped his knuckles against the front page of the vintage newspaper and strode around the counter like he owned it. August punched a couple keys on the register and twirled the metal stand where the waitresses' orders were hung. He peeked through the long window where the plates were put when food was ready to be served.

"So. I'm starting to get freaked out here," he stated blandly.

"Why?"

"Because there is no one back there."