I’d always had a feeling there was a special reason why we went to that little, out-of-the-way diner during the long drive home…
Foster’s Diner was like a place that only appeared when we needed it, awaiting us at the end of a tree-lined road that seemed to go nowhere.
The Diner was like out of a Twilight Zone—it had a timelessness about it that made one want to go back to a place one had never been.
Beth and Gerald Foster were friends of the family, yet they had never met my mother. Somehow, I knew she wasn’t supposed to know about them.
Only David knew where the Diner was; if I tried to find it myself, I’d be as Gretel, lost in the woods. David was the magic that made it appear.
Years later, I would learn that Foster’s Diner wasn’t our hideaway, but the hideaway of its owners—for the woman David loved hated them.
Twas always summer at Foster’s Diner—the magnolias with their fat, white blooms creating a green canopy like a time capsule, preserving it.
The foliage surrounding Foster’s Diner was thick, so even when it was summer day, it felt like winter night. We were always the only patrons
Leaving Foster’s Diner was like a drive-through car wash, but with leaves scraping our windows, like fingers trying to keep us there.
The light always blinded me so when I tried to look back, I could no longer see the diner, as if it had been a mirage—one David and I shared.
I’d accepted the mythical nature of my and David’s whimsical retreat long ago, never once thinking I’d try to find the answer to its mystery.
Only David and I knew of the Fosters—of their little diner in the big woods. When we left this earth, their memory would die with us.
Foster’s Diner was our Brigadoon, except it did not appear for a day out of a century, but for us only, for the time we were there.