and Words
Out in the shiny night
The rain was softly falling
Tracks that ran down the boulevard
Had all been washed away
Out of the silver light
The past came softly calling
And I remember the times we spent
Inside the sad cafe
Oh it seemed like a holy place
Protected by amazing grace
We would sing right out loud
The things we could not say
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
After our move from the sunny island of Puerto Rico at the age of 10, I grew up on the southeastern coast of Florida. My childhood home sat about a 20-minute drive from the beaches of Fort Lauderdale. Having spent my entire life among palm trees and perpetual sun, I found little need to wander out onto the beaches. Early on, my life centered around my bicycle. As I grew older, video games filled my world.
On occasion, we would drive down to Miami to visit my father’s gravesite at a cemetery off Calle Ocho. For a while, we attended a Chinese Baptist Church in Miami, though that drive proved to be too long on each Sunday morning. However, we typically remained north of Miami. The southeast coast of Florida didn’t have a Chinatown where Chinese businesses clustered, like many other cities. Instead, they were scattered almost at random.
Though I struggled at the start of high school, I eventually righted the ship as I entered my sophomore year. I excelled academically, but struggled socially. I found kinship among the smart but similarly awkward friends. We were the figurative drawer of mismatched socks.
Shortly after graduation, I found my kin. On July 5th, 1986, I joined my sisters at a party. After that party, most dispersed, though some decided to continue into the night. We climbed into our cars and drove to a local Denny’s. Interstate 95 (I-95 for short) runs north and south along the east coast of Florida; this freeway is my Sentimental Street. This particular Denny’s sat mere blocks from the I-95 exit on Hallandale Beach Boulevard, the southernmost exit in Broward County. In most respects, this Denny’s was the most sensible choice; it was the midpoint of our coastal playground. While I allegedly have a good memory, I don’t possess eidetic memory. The only reason I remember that date is that we celebrated a friend’s birthday.
Most bars have closed, though most of us could not drink. About eight of us shuffle into a corner booth. I was sandwiched between two sisters of Honduran and Chinese descent, both stunningly beautiful and dressed to impress. Naturally, we ordered food, though it was more about enjoying the company of these young people than about eating. As the food arrived, I reached for the ketchup bottle. The thick Heinz ketchup settles, and I shook that bottle briskly. The familiar white cap went flying off.
Ketchup was everywhere like a gruesome crime scene. These two young women who sent my hormones into hyperdrive? They’re covered in it. Luckily, it missed their dresses, but there were remnants of it on their hair. They accepted my profound apology, responding with a comforting, “It’s okay.” They chuckled and spent the next few minutes carefully wiping ketchup from their hair. I cannot make this up.
We spent the years that followed chasing the high of the next party or club (when we could get in). One movie theater played Cantonese movies on weekend nights at midnight; we’d often attend those too. Our adventures were strictly nomadic; we didn’t have a designated place to congregate. When we yearned for more time together, we’d drive to that Denny’s. It became our home base of sorts.
‘The Sad Café’ plays from my familiar playlist. The first few notes already elicit a maelstrom of comfort, nostalgia, and melancholy. This song by The Eagles permeated my teenage years. As far as iconic songs go, it had the charm that persisted through those tumultuous high school years into college. Like many other songs from this blog, it strangely fit into the soundtrack of my life, if only by recollection and association with moments. I started listening to Eagles music through covers of their songs by Chinese artists.
Not this particular song, though; it has always played in my head as strictly an Eagles song. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, this song told the story that we had yet to live. Don Henley’s voice perfectly conveyed quiet optimism and passive, pervasive sadness. You can almost imagine the hoarseness of his voice as a result of his weeping. The accompanying saxophone occasionally weeps with him. The moderate pace of the song mirrors the flashback vibe. And thus the song remained this way in my mind, like an insect encased in amber.
Decades later, this song played on rotation off a familiar playlist. On this particular day, it sounded different. The familiar words from Henley no longer told his story, but mine instead. In a fleeting moment of imagination, I wondered if I had my own eponymous Sad Café; where would it be? Honestly, I didn’t have to think about it for very long.
Much like my own personal Boulevard of Broken Dreams, this Denny’s still stands. It remains a beacon in the night for people like us who need some borrowed space at an inopportune time, and possibly a little food. Nearly forty years have passed, and it remains like a temporal anchor to those lives from yesteryear. I can almost see the lights shine through the window onto the dark Florida night, much like the famous painting. I nearly expect to see Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Humphrey Bogart, and Elvis Presley off at a corner of the establishment.
Businesses come and go, especially restaurants. I’m at a loss to explain how it remains. Perhaps much like Henley’s voice alleges, it is indeed a holy place, protected by amazing grace. Though we didn’t return frequently, it remained a destination for our late escapades. It sat a mere 3 miles from the warm waters of the Atlantic, indeed, the beautiful shore.
This building bore witness to all that we were, from that magical night beginning with that ketchup bottle. And as the song alleges, sometimes we’d sing out loud the words we could not say. This all-night diner was another character in our story. For a handful of borrowed years, we maintained the charade of playing the role of student to eventual adulthood. We dreamt of what we’d finally become. Many even dared to play the game of love, as best we could, as teenagers. I played and fractured, but wouldn’t change a thing.
As quickly as we found each other, we all scattered. I graduated and began working at Microsoft. Others graduated and went to grad school. One of those two sisters with the ketchup incident? She passed away from an aneurysm. Those walls at that Denny’s captured our dreams and secrets, and yes, occasionally our heartbreaks.
I sometimes wonder if we were to all return, could we put Humpty Dumpty back together again? Is it indeed a ‘holy place, protected by amazing grace’? If I could come back and stay in that place and time, would I? Most times, I’ll rationalize that I’ve done too much growing up to put it all back. Occasionally, I long to feel like I did back then, even if bathed by fluorescent lights.
And yet, I can’t help but ask, “Why don′t you meet me at midnight, baby? Inside the sad café.”