They welcomed me after a long day from school.

From a broken heart.

From college.

From work.

From the hospital with a new baby.

They greeted me with the sweetest tea and Best. Crushed. Ice. Ever.

They offered me corn nuggets with creamy insides so hot the roof of my mouth would turn numb and I was happy for the experience.

Once, I made my husband take a quick detour from a funeral procession to get five iced-cold Cherry Cokes for the passengers in our station wagon on a hot summer day.

It became my weekly pilgrimage in my thirties and emotional lifeline in my forties.

It was the place I’d bring friends who would raise a skeptical eye before biting into a hot, salted crinkle fry and pledging a lifetime vow of commitment.

It was peanut butter milkshakes.

It was the iconic drive-in with the dilapidated facade and cash-only requirement.

Linda would always ask me how I was doing and if my headaches were any better.

Danielle said my sister just came through (“Which one?”)

Gladys would yell from the grill that my monthly tab was low, but not to worry, I could pay next time.

Ah, Gladys. She began as the cook in the late 1970s and eventually bought the business. She seldom missed a day of work even when she didn’t feel well.

Like last month.

Linda, her sister, finally made her go to the doctor. The drive-in could manage a day without her.

Gladys died five weeks later of cancer.

Linda said Gladys worked her way through the pain. The Bear needed her.

Gladys’s daughter, Angie, will keep the drive-in open, welcoming patrons after long days from school, work, funerals, broken hearts, and life in general.

Sweet tea will be our solace.

So will corn nuggets. And Baby Bear burgers. And Cherry Cokes. And Linda and Danielle and now Angie.
The Hungry Bear lives on.