Wednesday, May 1st, 1962
Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey
8:34 a.m

A red convertible slowly rolled into the nearly deserted parking lot of a beachside diner. It was a clear, Wednesday morning, the air was clear and filled with the smell of ocean mist. Families roamed the beach and couples strolled along a nearby boardwalk.

Stanley Pines stepped out of his car, taking a moment to breath in the fresh air. His muscles relaxed from the stress of the previous night. He stretched his limbs before slamming the door closed. He rubbed his back, which still ached from having to sleep in the backseat.

The door of the diner chimed when Stanley walked inside. A blonde-headed waitress in a bright blue uniform smiled and lifted her hand in a welcoming wave. (Stanley would've found her very attractive if it weren't for her wild, permed hair, bright blue eyeshadow, and cherry-red lipstick.)

"Good mornin', sir!" she greeted him with a thick Jersey accent as he slid into the booth beside the juke box. She spoke in between syllables to smack her bubblegum. After every sentence she blew a bubble and let it pop before attempting to speak again. She grabbed a pot of coffee and filled the empty mug in from of him, then took a notepad from her pocket and patiently waited for Stanley to place his order.

Before he could even skim over the menu, the waitress said, "you know, you're our first customer besides the kid in the back." She nodded towards the 12-year old girl sitting at a table in the very back. "Poor kid's been here for over two hours diggin' up change from in between cushions and floor tiles just to pay for some pancakes."

Stanley lowered the menu to examine the girl the waitress had described, and sure enough she was on her hands and knees trying to find some change. The table in front of her had quite an impressive amount of pennies along with a crumpled dollar or two. The guilt of watching the scene settled in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll get the classic breakfast," Stanley said. He slid a dollar and a few quarters onto the table. "And I'll pay for the kid's ticket."

The waitress's eyes widened in surprise. She blinked before accepting the money.

"Sure thing, sir. . ." she turned to the cook's window before yelling,"pancakes and a classic!"

Stanley stared out the window. The mesmerizing waves rolling back and forth along the sand drifted him away into a day-dream sort of a trance. Something inside of him, like his head and his chest, felt hollow. How could someone feel so empty yet simultaneously feel like the world had settled it's weight on your shoulders? He shook off the negative emotions that flooded his mind like a pesky fly. His hands fumbled for one of the complementary newspapers and Stanley forced himself to focus his thoughts on something else for a change.

"Here's you meal," the waitress said after setting down a plate of eggs and bacon.

Stanley thanked her, picked up a fork and began shoveling mounds of food in his mouth. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the second he got a taste of food for the first time in what had to be a day or two. After he had finished, he watched as the waitress proceeded to serve the little girl in the back of the restaurant.

"Here you go, honey. You don't have to worry about payin'."

"Woah. . . then who did paid for these?" she asked in awe.

"The gentleman up front."

Stanley quickly ducked behind his newspaper, only lowering it just enough to watch what would happen next. The waitress had returned to her position behind the counter, but the girl was gone.

Stanley's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He shrugged it off and returned to reading. After a minute or two he heard the shuffling of feet, the clatter of silverware and the scraping of a plate onto the table.

Stanley looked back up to see the girl sitting in front of him. She hadn't touched the pancakes. She slowly set them down on the table, right in the center.

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

The girl shrugged. "Yeah, but I wanted to thank you first." She finally picked up a fork and began to eat.

"Nice to meet you," she said through a mouthful of food. She swallowed "My name's Mabel. You?"

"It. . . it's Hal." he replied hesitantly. The name was a lie, of course. At his current state, Stanley wasn't sure of who to trust anymore and decided it was best to lay low, which meant using his current fake identity, Hal Forester. He lifted the newspaper once more in hopes that the next time he peered over the text she would be gone.

"What's the date?" she asked.

Stanley grunted and lowered the paper.

"It's Wednesday."

"No. . . like, the full date."

"It's Wednesday, May the first." Stanley showed her the date printed in bold just above the headline.

Wednesday, May 1st, 1962

"See?"

Mabel let out a tiny gasp. "Fifty years," she whispered.

Stan frowned and stared down at her, bewildered.
"What'dya mean? What does thirty years mean?"

Mabel looked down at her shoes. "You wouldn't get it. Everyone else has looked at me like I'm crazy."

Stanley shrugged. "Okay then. Don't tell me."

"What'cha reading about?"

Stanley slapped down his newspaper, causing the table to shake and his mug of coffee to vibrate.

"What's with all the questions, huh? And where's your parents? Didn't they ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"Well, technically they haven't. . . yet," Mabel muttered to herself. "My parents. . . are. . . away. Faaaar away."

"Then what the heck are you doin' here by yourself? What are you? Twelve?"

Mabel sat up. "Actually I'm thirteen."

"Okay, then what's a thirteen-year old doing out here by herself?"

"Ha. I was joking, you got it right the first time. I'm twelve."

Stan let out a long, annoyed sigh. "I don't have time for this," he muttered to himself. "Look, kid. The best I can do is take you to your parents. Do you know where they are?"

Mabel paused before nodding slowly.

"Could you give me directions while I drive?"

"Yup."

Stanley took a swig of his coffee and slid out of the booth. He gestured for Mabel to walk ahead of him. She skipped across the parking lot to his car. When he took his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, Mabel wasn't staring at the car in wonder.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's just that I know someone who has a car that kinda looks like this." She reached for the handle for the passengers seat when Stanley slapped her hand away.

"Sorry, junior. Kids take the backseat."

Mabel frowned. "No fair."