My mother worked the lunch counter at a small diner outside Kokomo for twenty-two years.
She knew who wanted coffee before they sat down, who liked pie warmed up, and who came in mostly because they were lonely. She wrote orders on green tickets and kept her tips in an envelope marked “school shoes.”
When I was little, I thought she just served food. Later I understood she was holding people together in the middle of ordinary days.
Indiana gave our family work, neighbors, and a place where being steady meant something.