Good Old 'Everyoneelse'

Susie’s café stood at the end of main street, teetering between the newly-hip downtown and its ignored edges. The low-ceiling restaurant had been here since 1967, at least according to the sign out front, and at this hour of day was occupied almost solely by old men who’d been attending Susie’s for Sunday breakfast since they were young men.
I stood out amongst the diners, in my 20’s and dressed in khakis and the only button-down shirt I owned. Miniature swallows paraded across it in neat lines, white silhouettes against a navy background. Rich, who sat across from me, maintained the perfect and gruff picture of a Montana man in his mid-sixties. His jeans were well worn but clean, his belt buckle shined but was slightly obscured by a bit of a beer belly, with the look completed by a tucked in red-and-blue checkered shirt.
The men sitting at adjacent tables and the front bar seemed like they were all different versions of this same caricature; they sipped from cups of black coffee in worn white cups, read the morning paper, and laid thick compliments on the owner and hostess, Susie. The pictures that hid the majority of the wood-paneled walls that closed in the small space displayed images of the American West: bucking broncos, newspaper clippings featuring Rodeo stars, vast landscapes captured before white folks had put towns in the middle of them.
Rich cleared his throat. “So what’d you think of church, college boy?” he picked up his cup of coffee and sipped, waiting for my reply.
I shifted slightly in my seat, the red vinyl letting out a slight squeak. “It was lovely, Rich. Thanks again for inviting me.”
The older man narrowed his eyes, nodding. He’d taken to calling me ‘college boy’ since I’d showed up at the Flying K, the working-ranch-turned-dude-ranch we were both employed at. Only difference between us was that he’d been there since they drove cattle and I’d been there three months.
“What’d you really think of it? You grew up going, didn’t you?” he pried.
I sipped from my own coffee, contemplating how to reply. My relationship with church was not a rosy one. I started to regret accepting Rich’s offer: free breakfast if I went to church with him in the morning. The list of things I’d do for a free breakfast was long. Disassociating for an hour while people sang around me seemed like an easy ask for some pancakes and eggs I didn’t have to pay for. I hadn’t considered that the free breakfast part would also mean alone time with Rich.
I didn’t know Rich well, even though we’d spent the last three months working and bunking together. His language was typical of the other ranch hands, which is to say it was fouler than a sailor’s. His jokes were crass, and he always had a different conspiracy theory to bring up no matter what topic was discussed around dinner.
Still though, when he’d offered the free breakfast, I’d taken him up on it. “I liked the Gospel today, and the organ was a nice touch. And yeah, I grew up going, but haven’t been since I left home.” I kept it at that, no need to give my further opinions on organized religion.
“Seems like that’s what happens to all you kids!” Rich replied, a zealous vigor slipping into his speech. “You leave the barn, go off to college, and poof! No more church.”
I was used to this rhetoric, and gave the reply I’d already practiced on my uncles: “Don’t worry, I’m not a lemming. I didn’t go just cause other people weren’t going, I just didn’t want to go.”
Rich’s reaction startled me. He straightened up in his chair, swinging his coffee mug forward and allowing the hot liquid to spill in a tidal wave across its edge. He didn’t notice, and was about to launch into what was undoubtedly a fabulous tirade when Susie arrived, two plates in hand. One bore my pancakes and eggs, the other Rich’s cinnamon roll and sausage.
“Rich, darling, hope you’re not giving this handsome boy too much trouble.” Susie feigned disapproval as she set the plates down in front of us.
The ranch hand chuckled, adjusting his ball cap before replying, “Nah, Susie, none at all. This young man was kind enough to accompany me to church this morning, and I figured I’d reward him with the best breakfast in town.”
Susie smiled at that, patting me on the back as she left.
I dug into my eggs, and Rich turned back towards me. “So, lemmings,” he said.
I glanced up at him while I ate, the table manners my parents taught me not making an appearance as my hunger took over.
“Did you learn as a kid that lemmings jump off cliffs, commit mass suicide when their population is too big?” I nodded, taking a beat to douse my pancakes in syrup.
“Well, it’s a lie!” Rich proclaimed, holding his fork in his fist and raising it up high. A couple patrons looked over at him dubiously. I doubted Rich’s morning outbursts were an irregularity.
I waited, silent. Rich leaned over his sausage and started sawing through it, all the while narrating: “Disney made a nature documentary, White Wilderness, back in 1958. As part of that they drugged up a whole bunch of lemmings, brought them up to Canada, and threw them off a cliff! Filmed the whole thing, and from there, the image of lemmings spilling over a cliff to their demise has populated everyone’s mind. Don’t be a lemming! Don’t be stupid! Don’t run off a cliff if everyoneelse does!”
Rich paused for a moment, taking a big bite of the sausage before continuing, “But lemmings just migrate as a herd! They can swim! Any cliff-jumping involved is one of a reasonable height to water they can survive in. If lemmings understood English and analogies, they’d be pissed!”
I’m a fast eater, and was nearly halfway through my pancakes at this point. “So, I’m not a lemming?” I asked, interested to see where this was going.
“No!” Rich stabbed his fork in my direction; it hovered in the air between us, bits of sausage still clinging to its tongs. “No, you’re a human! Sometimes you’ve gotta run with the herd like the lemmings though. Just make sure you keep your head up and look out for filmmakers.” He laughed at this, finally deciding to tackle the enormous cinnamon roll that occupied his plate.
My pancake being almost gone and me in a considerably better mood because of it, I decided to test him a bit. “So, what about church then? Isn’t that literally blindly following?”
Rich looked up at me quizzically, seemingly interested. “For me there’s a difference between blindly jumping off a cliff and blind faith. Faith involves open eyes, open ears. Faith allows for doubt. For questions.”
The answer surprised me. My church-going days had been spent in a fire-and-brimstone church, no room for error, much less doubt.
“It’s good to be part of community.” Rich continued, unprompted. “We need people in our lives, and yes those people are incredibly fallible and any system we make is damaged, college boy.” He glanced up, a mischievous look in his eyes. “But we need them, just like the lemmings need their herd.”
The meal was finished, the bill paid. I got up and left, said thanks to Rich, and walked down the bitter-cold street to my shitty car. The wind whipped in devilish ways off the sidewalk, spraying my face with week-old snow.
When I closed the car door behind me, I pulled out my phone and Googled lemmings. Turns out Rich was right. I owed an apology to the species.
I turned on my car, desperate for the heater and knowing it was still a good ten minutes until I’d feel its warmth. I watched through my front windshield as Rich finished a long goodbye to Susie and sauntered back to his truck; I didn’t think Rich would get me back to church, but maybe I’d come to breakfast next Sunday. Suppose I could pay for my own pancake and eggs.