Chapter 5: Buffalo! Continuation 1
I remember we were sitting in the courtyard of that commune building where we were then trapped by the police. And it was a man who came from Alaska... what was his name... I don't remember. I forgot. I've been forgetting so much lately. I think I could have founded a new city and populated it with people I had forgotten. And it would have been bigger than Buffalo.
- Hey, isn't it time for us to eat? - Dean says, and I shudder almost without dropping my pen. I hadn't written my last diary, a notebook of a hundred sheets, in four years. In this notebook, all I do is stitch it up, it's so weird for me. I can't explain to myself why I want to document my journey with my brothers so carefully.
- We're stopping,- says Sam. He's driving. As I understand it, it's not a typical Winchester layout, so they're both angry. - I remember that in a couple of miles there will be a nice diner, where they seem to be feeding well.
- Yeah, and the girl behind the register was pretty bad, - Dean nodded.
- Dude, - Sam shakes his head, - it's been three years, and you're still remembering that cashier who just smiled at me.
- Yeah, and I left my phone number on the check, - Dean grumbles. He gets even more attractive when he's angry.
- If you hadn't thrown out such notes with numbers right after you received them, you'd be dragging them in a giant mail bag right now, - Sam said. - There's nothing to resent so much that I've had one too. I didn't call anyway, remember that case? I didn't have time for a phone at all.
Dean didn't say anything anyway. If I could draw, I would sketch it now, with a petrified jaw and a sharpened profile.
When we go into the "Wanderer's Shelter," I look at the cashier, and it makes me laugh. The girl has such huge pimples on her face that even I would not be happy if she gave me her phone number. Pimples are like volcanoes ready to explode.
The girl who waved Sam's coordinates must have already quit... But Dean immediately refuted my thought, frozen as if it had been dug in.
- Magda? - he asks uncertainly. Sam throws a surprised look at him, and even he doesn't seem to remember his own name, but Dean doesn't notice his brother's surprise.
The cashier nods, studying the guy. She probably doesn't remember the Winchesters either, but Dean is clearly interested in her. And she doesn't remember him in the way she thinks.
- Magda? - repeats Dean. - How long has it been with you? - he takes his hand to his face, hinting at her ugly growths. The girl suddenly wrinkles as if she were in pain, her eyes swell with tears and she sobbing loudly from the cash register, hiding in the utility room. It seems that this topic is very sick for her.
Because of the counter, a very large woman comes out, looks behind the cash register, dissatisfied with the visitors, and bark:
- Well, will you order something?
- We will, - mutters the confused Sam. - What happened to your partner?
It's clear from the fat woman that she has a strong aversion to her abusers and a great desire to tell the last gossip. I'm arguing with myself, betting that the second wish will win. And I beat myself. The aunt sighs picturesquely:
- Poor Magda, a week ago her engagement to Mark was supposed to take place, and Mark - the enviable groom. And here is such a problem - the day before the engagement, she has this nasty thing on her face. As on purpose. But Magda was so proud of her skin, she didn't even have a zit in her childhood. And here is such a thing. Mark looked at her, and ran away from home through the window. So what do you want to order?
The transition to the question is so sudden that I get lost. But I don't have to decide - Dean orders for the three of us. And we both get cheeseburgers and spicy Chinese noodles, and Sam gets something useful and green. For a second, I think it's also moving.
Tolstoy makes our table eat - now she doesn't sympathize with Magde sobbing somewhere, and is clearly angry that she has to work for two in the absence of her partner. She grumbles that some ladies wipe their dirty hands against their faces and then wonder at the consequences. I'm laughing, and Dean takes advantage of the moment and starts to wonder:
- Why, did Magda of this guy, Mark, intercept from someone? - he winked at me, and the woman's gossip girl mode is immediately activated.
- No, except for the fact that she stole Mark from the whole town - he was the only one who could give out advance payments. There was this girl who was killing herself because of her boyfriend, but she just didn't know what she was imagining. Mark gave her a couple of compliments, that's all. He even called me a pretty girl. And poor Hackie, black as a pebble, never said a good word in her life...
I don't understand why Dena would listen to her chatter, and I turn around to ask Sam in a whisper, but the little brother is so focused on killing something on the plate, blowing his forehead hair out of his head that I understand that this conversation isn't just a need, it's also important.
Fat woman waving her hand:
- Heckie... at home... Hekinomi... I don't remember, she has a pretentious little thing.