“The Purple Chinchilla” was blared into the soft twilight in astounding violet neon by a small unassuming restaurant. As Ann pulled up in her tiny, yellow car, she thought of how much it had changed from the last time she had been there. The sign was flickering more often than it had used to, and the light blue paint of the building itself was flaking. Ann looked inside at the warm, welcoming lights and smiled, relieved that at least that was the same. As she stepped out onto the cement walkway, Ann watched two tiny children blast past her and into the restaurant, laughing and enjoying themselves. She paused, biting her lip as bittersweet memories came rushing back. She and Cory racing down the sidewalks on the warm afternoons, feeling the welcome sun on their backs and inhaling the sweet Pacific breeze. That had seemed so long ago. Was it? Shaking her head and fighting back tears, Ann opened the door to the Purple Chinchilla and was greeted with toasty air.

The restaurant was one of those places that looks smaller on the outside than it is on the inside. The walls were painted with a warm yellow, and the floors were tiled with a ‘50s black and white. A counter spanned the entirety of the left wall, paneled with a now clouded mirror. The bar stools were a calming lavender, and clearly well loved. Hugging the right side of the Purple Chinchilla were booths with curtains that had the restaurant’s mascot printed on them. Near the back, a few long, plain tables were elegantly placed among a gumball machine and vintage jukebox.

   Ann took her first steps with caution. The familiar floor suddenly felt like it couldn’t hold her any longer. Panic set in when she remembered she knew many, many people that went here that would want to talk. No, she thought. I won’t take your pity anymore. Indignation building in her chest, she kept her head down and made her way to the very last stool in the back corner. The table it sat next to was not in use, thank goodness. Slumping slightly as she took off her black rain jacket, Ann sighed. She breathed gently on the glass and drew shapes with her finger, recalling good times.

Two tiny, chubby figures pressed up against a familiar countertop, tiny noses being squished. “Look, Cory!” breath clouding the mirror.

“What?”

“We can draw!” Almost bouncing up and down.

“Huh?” face, as squished as a toddler’s, can be.

Clumsy fingers traced a sloppy shape in the clouded glass. “It’s a kitty, Cory!”

“Can you teach me?” eyes full with wonder.

“Of course!” …

   Ann was interrupted by loud humming. Shocked, she straightened up and wiped away the pattern with her sleeve. Looking around for the source of the sound, she locked eyes with a large and welcoming face. The face belonged to an equally large woman, who regarded her with a mix of fondness and excitement. Putting the glass she was drying aside, the woman hastened over to where Ann was seated. The woman leaned over the counter and embraced her with a bear-like hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you, honey.”

“Hello again, Lena” Ann whispered, leaning her head against Lena’s shoulder.

After what felt like forever, Lena released her grip. “Well, well, well, what have we here?” She gently held Ann’s shoulders at an arm’s length, as if observing her closely.

Ann blushed, suddenly self-conscious once more. “Well, not much, old friend.” She sighed and looked at her surroundings.

“So, are you done with college?”, Lena commented. “I heard you went to one in Nebraska, pretty top notch, from my research.”

Ann was suddenly interested in the gumball machine. “Oh, that. I dropped out two years ago, I just couldn’t handle… everything”

Lena could see she touched a weak spot. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I know it hurt you a lot. We all hurt, you know you’re not alone.”

“How’s the business here, got a raise?” Ann fumbled, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Oh, the usual. People drift in, people drift out. Some buy, some don’t. And only a few ever come back.” They both smiled, knowing that Ann and Cory’s family’s used to be regulars. “Speaking of business, can I get you a drink? A purple chinchilla special perhaps?”

“Uh, no thanks Lena, just water for me. Those crazy days are over.”

“Alrighty, I’ll be right over with some H2O, just give me a minute.”

Once Lena left, Ann brought in on herself to wander around, just for a moment. At this point, most of the customers had drifted out or were about to. Ann suddenly felt like a stranger in practically her childhood home. The management had even changed hands, with Lena being the only member of the old guard still there. Lena was always her favorite anyway.

She ambled along the back wall, gazing at the pictures that lined the walls. Some of them were what you would expect, just random people trying to eat without having their picture taken, and even a few renowned singers. Mostly cheesy country musicians, who had never set foot off of a paved road in their lifetime. She came to the end of the string of pictures and stopped. It was not very different from the others, except for the frame. It has a plated frame, it might even have been real gold. It was a picture of something that was very familiar to Ann. There was a teenager,  his dusty brown locks in a messy pile over his hazel eyes, chugging a purple chinchilla. A Purple Chinchilla was the restaurant's specialty, a dense smoothie with a half grape on the rim, served on the house sometimes if you could drink it in one go. There was another figure in the photograph, a young girl with straight black hair and hideous bangs. The two were having the time of their lives, just being best friends at an old restaurant in the middle of nowhere.

Why did I ever have bangs? Ann cringed as she tearfully looked at the picture. She was about to move on when she noticed a well-worn sticky note that read Come home, we miss you A realization hit Ann like a slow-motion wave. She had left these people, her friends, her family alone just because she felt like she couldn’t bear being here anymore. They couldn’t leave. And Cory could never return.

“Hey” Lena called, across the empty restaurant. “Your drink’s gonna get cold”

“But I asked you for water.”

“Well, my shift’s over and it’s almost closing time. I thought we could use some hot herbal tea.”

“God, you’re wonderful.” Ann sighed and trudged across the room toward her friend.

Lena patted the bar stool next to her and held out a warm mug for Ann. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah, the last time we saw each other was at the…” Ann paused, afraid to say the next words.

Both women looked at the marble-topped counter as they took a long sip of tea. The funeral. She had seen Lena four years ago at his funeral.

Lena suddenly spoke up. “Ann we’ve been beating around the bush for too long. Just because he died doesn’t mean you have to.”

At this point Ann was in tears “He wasn’t your best friend! I lost everything that day! All you lost was a customer. A source of money.”

“Ann! You’ve been coming here your whole life, and he came here just the same. I was practically your second mother. Don’t you think I felt the pain? I still do. And on top of that, you just left! You just ran away from your problems and you left. You left us to drown in our sorrow without a second thought! Why did you think I put up that note by your picture? Why did you think I used all my money to frame it? Because I care. That’s why.”

Ann was crying too hard for tears, all her grief was leaking out of her face. “I know you care, Lena. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought there was nothing for me here. Not after he died. I was wrong. I thought I had to bear the weight on my own. I was too scared to come back until now. I was foolish, Lena.”

Lena wrapped her arms around her almost child and let her sorrows leak into the purple shirt she wore for table waiting. “Ann, I’m always here. You’re not alone, you’re never alone. I can always lift that burden from your shoulders. I care. We all care, your community is here for you. You lost Cory but you didn’t lose me. I am always here for you.”

The lights of the restaurant softly clicked off as streams of moonlight brushed the faces of two mourners, finally together again.