Horace sat in a small booth at Frenchy’s Diner and worked on his cheeseburger. Grant, his best friend, usually joined him; however, he had to take his wife into Phoenix for a doctor visit, so Horace ate alone. The day was pleasant. A slight breeze blew, which cooled down an otherwise hot afternoon. Horace enjoyed the quiet time to himself. That is, until Travis Klein, an acquaintance from his neighborhood, walked through the door, spied, Horace, and decided to join him.

 “Hello Horace. Mind if I join you?” Travis asked, as he took a seat across the table.

“Yes. But go ahead anyway.” Horace replied.

Horace wasn’t to particularly fond of Travis. Over the years, Travis has shown himself to be an opinionated, righteous, windbag. Horace knew that, once Travis opened his mouth, the peaceful feeling he enjoyed would cease. It didn’t take long for Travis to prove Horace right.

“How about those elections?” Travis muttered.

“Let’s not talk politics.” Horace said. “You know we don’t see eye-to-eye, and I don’t really want an argument. I just want to enjoy what’s left of my burger.”

“So be it.” Travis responded.

Horace hoped Travis would move on, but good fortune was not in the cards. Travis ordered a plate of fried chicken with fries and a large pop. Horace commented on his order. “Didn’t Doc Aundebay recommend after your last heart attack that you eat healthier?”

“It wasn’t so much a heart attack. More just a murmur. Don’t worry about me.” Travis quipped.

Horace promised he wouldn’t. Travis sat quietly for a moment, scanning the faces in the diner. He caught a glimpse of a couple who had recently moved into the area. The middle-aged couple sat at a nearby table. He was dressed in white pants and shirt, and wore a red turban. The woman was dressed in a similar colored, floor length, saree. They looked quite elegant, and somewhat overdressed, compared to the others in the diner.

Travis nodded toward the couple and said to Horace “There’s that Arab couple. Don’t know why they come here.”

Horace replied without looking back “Maybe they’re hungry. Or maybe it’s because this is America. Just a guess.”

“We got too many Arabs around here. They should go back to Iran or Iraq or wherever they’re from.”

Horace grew impatient with Travis. “Just so you know Travis, Iranians and Iraqis are not Arabs. Those two countries are not on the Arabian Peninsula. You need to know a little about geography before you start talking. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

“Well, they’re Muslims anyway. I thought we were at war with them.”

Horace shook his head. “They’re wearing turbans. Not Muslim dress. I actually believe they are Sikhs.”

“What’s the difference?” Travis asked. “They’re not like us. I mean, look at his beanie. And what’s with that dress she’s wearing. It’s just a fancy burka. Why do those men make their woman wear clothes like that? What are they trying to hide?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask Sister Mary Rachel next time I see her.” Horace replied.

“What makes you an expert?” Travis asked.

“Well, for one thing, I read. And I watch more than one TV station.”

“We got too many immigrants in this country. It’s getting where you can hardly find true Americans anymore. People like us, who have been here since the beginning.”

Travis was really showing his ignorance, and Horace wanted it to stop.

“That would be the indigenous people. Besides, aren’t your grandparents immigrants themselves?” Horace inquired.

“Yeah, but they were different. They were from Germany. We’re not at war with Germany.”

“Not any more. That’s it. This conversation is over.” Horace announced. “Finish your cholesterol-rich chicken by yourself.”

Horace stood up and walked to the front counter to pay. He looked over at the Sikh couple and smiled. He then looked back at Travis, shot him a nasty look, and mouthed an unpleasantly. He paid his bill and walked toward the door.

Horace was almost out the door when he heard a commotion. Travis started to rise when he suddenly grabbed his chest and fell to the floor. Horace knew that this was no murmur. He started back to the table, but before he could reach it, the Sikh man rushed to Travis and began administering CPR. The woman immediately called 9-1-1.

After a minute of chest compressions, Travis’ eyes opened and he started breathing again. The Sikh man waited by Travis’ side until two EMTs arrived. The Sikh filled the EMTs in with details.

“I noticed he was looking quite pale. I was going to ask him if he was all right when suddenly, he collapsed. He had a heart attack for sure. Mild, but he needs to be evaluated.”

Larry, one of the EMTs responded. “Thanks Doctor Gurneet. He’s lucky you were here.”

The EMTs loaded Travis into their ambulance and drove off to the hospital. The patrons in the diner all applauded Doctor Gurneet as he sat down to finish his meal with his wife. Horace smiled again at the couple, and then made his way out the door.

Two weeks later, the neighborhood held a Happy Hour. Horace and Grant were there with their wives. A tired looking Travis showed up. Horace hoped Travis would not notice him. Travis looked over and walked toward Horace. Instead of stopping, he walked past Horace and over toward the Gurneets. He extended his hand, and smiling, thanked Dr. Gurneet for saving his life.