Just Like Him - a short story by me

So I had a note on my phone for years telling me to write this and I don't remember why.

A diner is a restaurant where you dine, as opposed to

You wake up. 3:30 AM. Your wife and kids are still asleep, but something’s nagging at your mind, something you’ve forgotten. A static radio signal that keeps almost breaking into clarity. You run down your list of projects. Nothing comes to mind that needs your attention. Still, you can’t rest. Time moves slow towards dawn. So slow. You can almost hear the ticking of the clock by your bed, but every time you look over you see its glowing digital face

Eventually you accede to whatever this compulsion is. What time is it? It doesn’t matter. You need to get out of the house.

Starbucks is open, barely. At least it will be by the time you get there. As you start driving, the radio comes on.

“Ooh ooh, and you know I’m-”

You turn the radio off. You don’t dislike the song, of course. You’re glad it’s getting airplay, certainly. But not right now. Right now, you need to be alone.

And you drive, with no sounds but the road.

You pull into the parking lot. Starbucks is indeed open. You head in and are a little surprised by the line. It’s not that long, but... what time is it again? You don’t remember. Still, you’re in no rush. The static in your head is already starting to clear up.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

The barista’s voice cuts the static away completely, clear and cheery.

“Just a small coffee, please.”

“Sure. And can I get your name sir?”

“Rivers.”

“Alright. Hey has anyone said you look just like Buddy Holly?”

You don’t normally mind these jokes, but today it feels like a mockery. You shake it off, that’s not a healthy way to think about it.

“Haha, noooo, never gotten that.”

“I’m serious! Like you could start a Crickets cover band!”

You’re... less sure how to react to that. The young man behind you in line speaks up.

“Oh bro, yeah you look exactly like Buddy Holly! That’s crazy.”

You just laugh, a little more confused. You start looking around for cameras. Maybe it's a prank show. Maybe they were waiting for you, or maybe they just saw you and, well I guess they’re just good at thinking on the spot. But why would a prank show be here at... what time is it? You must have left your phone in the car. You look around the room for a clock.

“Small coffee for Rivers!”

That felt fast. Was that fast? It couldn’t have been more than a minute. You get your coffee and sit down outside.

The sun still doesn’t show as you sip your coffee. Weirder fan interactions have happened. It’s a weird morning. You take a deep breath and take in the calm of the world. Why were you so unsettled? Two people knew who Buddy Holly was and thought you looked with him. That’s why you wrote the damn song in the first place.

“Hi, sorry, um...”

You look up. A woman has stopped by your table.

“... Are you Buddy Holly?”

What?

“Uh... No.”

It was an old reference in the 90s! She looks like she’s younger than the Blue Album!

“Oh geez, sorry. You look just like him! I’m sure you get that all the time.”

“Is this a joke?”

You try to say it sardonically, but it comes out as earnest.

“No! Sorry, I know it can be annoying for people to stop you like this sometimes. I mean, people are always walking up to me and thinking I’m Mary Tyler Moore. I can’t imagine how actual celebrities deal with it!”

She does look a little like Mary Tyler Moore.

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure what you’re agreeing with anymore, but you nod and stand up.

“Oh hang on, your sweater is unraveling.”

You are confident you didn’t put on a sweater when you left. You head towards the trash to throw out your coffee cup.

“Buddy! Your sweater!”

You look down, and your cardigan - a familiar shade of tan, worn over a pressed shirt and tie - indeed has a thread leading from it, pulled taught. You follow the thread with your eyes. The woman who looks a little like Mary Tyler Moore is holding the other end.

“Careful, it was snagged on the chair.”

You look at your cardigan.

“Are you feeling ok, Buddy?”

You begin to hurry to your car, dropping your coffee on the ground. The woman who isn’t Mary Tyler Moore doesn’t release the thread quite fast enough. Your sweater unravels a bit more. You enter your car, not noticing the thread tangle around a branch of a nearby bush. Why would you care?You’re just heading home. You’ve had a weird morning, and you’re going to head home. Things will be normal.

You begin to drive.

The thread pulls. The sweater unravels. The thread pulls. The sweater unravels. The thread pulls.

Your wife is awake to greet the car as it returns to your home, but by then there’s no-one inside.

 

“Happy Days was filmed before a live studio audience.”

You stand on your mark, and wait for your queue.