Yesterday I sat at their counter and watched the Rams win in the fourth quarter of the game.
The air around me was bustling with dedicated patrons eating, chatting and offering weak solutions, to anybody who would listen, about the pending situation which brought us all here today.
I, on the other hand, spoke to no one. I was an invisible observer taking in the energy and emotions of the crowd and overhearing stories of days gone by, much like the stories I could tell of when my dad would bring me here when I was a kid. He would entertain the staff with jokes and humorous wit. He would charm the waitresses with compliments and quaint little tales that would end with just a hint of nasty. The girls would blush and giggle with an expression of, “Oh my.”
Dad always said, “Any day you can put a smile on someone’s face is a successful day.”
The waitress asked me if I wanted a topper. “No thanks.”
I was just sipping at the last of my second cup of coffee before I’d pay my bill, tip the waitress, wish her well and stretch my legs.
As I stood from my seat I rotated, taking in the ambience of the cafe around me.
When facing the kitchen there was always a single row of celebrity old movie photos that looked like teeth and a big smile coming from the kitchen.
Now, recently, they’ve given away a few random photos and it looks like a few teeth have gotten knocked out. (Mind you, I was young when I envisioned the kitchen smile.)
I could also see the booth, by the window, where my wife and I often favored to sit when we’d treat ourselves to nostalgia and a good meal.
It was almost like I was witnessing the embryo and formation of a ghost filled with the memories of many. That ghost will gently haunt me and others for years to come.
I put my coat on and walked to the door for the final time.
Approaching the door I turned back for one last look.
As I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, all of the life and sounds of the busy chatter, water glasses clanging and the delicious smell of freshly cooked bacon and eggs with hash browns that were surrounding me just disappeared.
They’d evaporated. They were just plain gone. Like they’d never existed.
I had stepped through a portal and into a counter dimension. It was another world where the building directly behind me was irrelevant. I couldn’t see inside past the reflective windows or hear anything, festive or otherwise, beyond the walls.
I was standing outside on a sidewalk that didn’t resemble anything of where I’d just stepped out from.
All of that was now replaced with the sound of cars whizzing by, a siren in the distance, the fresh smell of plant life, what with the rain coming down steadily and even a train, with a heavy load, inching and rattling along on the tracks across the street.
By closing that door I had encapsulated all that will never be again, but I did have a meaningful last moment with the entire scenario. After all, I did have a good cup of coffee in hand whilst watching the Rams win.
The Saugus Cafe, open for 140 years, has on Jan. 4, 2026, closed its doors for what may be forever.
Steve Lee
Canyon Country
