The beginning of an adventure long in the making, I am a teller of stories. I’m that one over there, trying not to stare, but smiling all the same. Fear not, I will find you and you will see yourself here one day. The world is large but I am eager to find you all!
Okay, I’m starting over, doing this again, taking a new tack, rising to the challenge, getting after it, going FRESH! Help me, help me! I have so many stories, so many tales to tell, I want to burst for want of the telling!
First things first, I have to start from scratch. Wish me well!!!
“What can I do you for?” My gravelly voice sounds even worse this morning, but I am a-hopin’ my big smile aimed in the general vicinity of these hungry tourists will divert attention. Got to quit smoking. And even with that thought, I’m itching to get outside by the dumpsters and smoke a quick one. My mid-mornin’ break can’t come too soon. It was a long night, what with the baby cryin’ and the neighbors a-hollerin’. Fireworks till near midnight for the holiday travelers didn’t help matters either.
But here they are, my bread and butter, so…
I continue to smile prettily as they take their old sweet time checkin’ out the menu. How long does it take to decide on a short stack or regular, eggs scrambled or over-easy and runnin’ all over the plate? They don’t even take a sideways glance my way. I could slip away for a couple of puffs and they’d never even know I was gone.
Signs a’ life, now, though. The big one in the chair one size too little, the one I’m supposin’ will do the payin’, is coughing ever so slightly to get my attention. Like I’d chance losing a decent tip. Washer needs fixin’.
I direct my order pad his way and wait. He coughs a couple times more, takes a peek at the back of the menu listing the evening selections, then turns back to the inside. I sure hope he’s not startin’ over. But still, I wait. That’s what I do. But I’m on the ready, once the ordering onslaught starts.
Sure enough, one more cough, then, “Kathaleen, what’re you thinking?” So much for an order. The nearly see through woman with him simpers a little, then, “I’ll have whatever you’re having, hon.” Big Boy sure liked that, sitting up a little straighter, then with one more throat clearing, he begins in a deep sonorous rumble, like he’s reading a courtroom verdict. Not that I’d know anything about that…I’m just surmisin’, I suppose.
Says he, “We’ll have a stack of pancakes, bacon extra crispy, and two eggs, scrambled with cheese and pimento, ” Then, to make sure I understand English, he decides to look me straight in the eye, “That would be one for each of us,” Okay, slowly now. He continues on. “That would be one stack of pancakes for me, and one for Kathaleen,” Here he nods over at the still simpering female on his left, “That would be one order of extra crispy bacon for me, and another for her, ” He nods her way again, this time touching her hand so’s I’ll know just to whom he is referring. “And two eggs, two for me and two for her.” He waits, so I’m guessin’, rightly, here’s where he’d like me to read back his order.
I tilt my head just a bit, pretend to read the moronic scribbles I’d so diligently made on my notepad, and through my plastered-on smile, I begin the litany. “I have two orders each, ” I stress ‘each’ a little strongly, but Lord, does he think I’m dense? “That’d be an order of pancakes, extra crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs with onion and pimento for you, and…” Yes, he is expecting a replay, so here I go, “That’d be another order…, ” This time I stress ‘another’ for good measure, “… of pancakes, extra crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs with onion and pimento for the,” Ahem, “Lovely lady.” Not sure why I feel I need to suck up to the wimpy woman who can’t seen to cowboy up and order for herself, but I judged again, rightly.
Big Boy postures a bit for effect, smiles at Wimpy, who grins with great big teeth right back at him, then hazards a peek at my order pad. I’m sure hoping he’s puttin’ down his inability to read my scribbles to his own inability to read upside down.
“That’d be two eggs,” Oh no. “That would be two eggs for me, and two for her. Scrambled. With onion and pimento. On both. On both of mine, and both of hers.”
He waits expectantly. Again.
“Yes, sir. That would be,” Sigh. “One order for each of you. Pancakes for you. Pancakes for W-the Lovely Lady. That would also be an order each of extra crispy bacon,” Big Boy is starring me down hard, daring me to make a mistake, “One order of extra crispy bacon for you, and one for the Lovely Lady.” He relaxes ever so slightly. “I also have two eggs for each of you. Scrambled, with onions and pimento. One plate of two eggs for you, and one plate of two eggs for the Lovely Lady.” Alrighty then.
Big Boy takes Wimpy Woman’s hand in triumph, the looks to have a new thought. “Hon, what would you like to drink?” And of course, “Why, I’ll just have what you’re having.”
He reaches out for the menu, laid by the wayside earlier, and struggles to find the beverage listing. I focus on standing stock still, waiting, but my smile muscles are starting to talk to me. I’m durned certain he reads each beverage, along with calorie content, price, and checks for spelling two or three times, reading top to bottom, them bottom to top, then down again, just to be sure. I watch his eyes, sure of it.
Cough, cough, “We’ll have coffee, each of us, that is, and orange juice. For the both of us. One coffee for me, and one coffee for Kathaleen, ” Sigh. ” And one orange juice for me, and one for her.” He pats her weak little hand, and me? I’m screaming silently in the back of my throat.
And he waits.
I do want to take a deep, raggedy loud breath, but hold off for later. Too many smokes. Deep breathing could bring on a raggedy coughing jag, one not so good for business. Did I mention the washin’ machine needs tending?
And so I up my grin, trying to be friendly and not cheeky, “Of course, sir. One coffee for you and one for the Lovely Lady. One orange juice for you and one for the Lovely Lady.” She seems to like the ‘Lovely Lady’ references, so I pile them on. “And what size juice would the Lovely Lady prefer? We have small and we have large.” Oh, why did I go down that road? One orange juice size, always had been. Lord.
Big Boy takes the reins. “Well now, I don’t see anything here on this menu about size,” Here we go. Big Boy’s found his moment. “Is there a difference in price? Because right here,” He pokes at the menu with his beefy forefinger, “It just shows one price, 1.99. Is that for the large or the small? Because I’m not going to pay more for the large than 1.99. It says right here.”
Big Boy is in the beginning stages of belligerence.
And so, “Oh, no, sir, it’s 1.99 for the large, ” It’s not. “We’re just offerin’ a smaller version and the menus haven’t been changed yet.” We haven’t and they won’t be. Costs too much for re-lamination. If we were making changes. And we’re not. Lord.
He sticks out his chin, battle ready. “You mean to tell me this is the price for a large orange juice?” He’s sure I’m planning to take him for all he’s worth and then some. No extra snow cones at the water park for he and his today, because that lowlife waitress at the pancake house misrepresented the menu to him. So much for that tip, I’m thinkin’. He squints at me, pretty sure he’s giving me his very best stink eye. “Is the rest of this menu here right? ” Clearly he’s now pretty sure it is not.
“No other changes I know of, ” probably the wrong thing to say, recovery needed. “If fact, I’m certainly sure everything you’re reading is right as rain. Just the larger orange juice is all.” Which is to say, there isn’t one change at all. It is going to be a day.
Big Boy leans in toward me, just enough to imply aggression. I lean in just enough to avoid seeming intimidated. I’m in too deep to bail out now. The smile remains. It’s a stare down full on and I’m not backing down. The smile is helping. Finally, finally, he leans back a bit in his chair and hands me the menus, both his and Wimpy Woman’s. I don’t recall if she even opened hers. Now maybe she can’t even read. An unexpected wash of guilt floods my heart for judgin’ so quick. But I do think the orange juice battle may just be sidelined. Dodged a Big Boy bullet, or so I hope.
“That’ll do it, then,” rumbles Big Boy. Still, he adds a parting shot as I pretend to dot my “i’s” for effect, “But we want those big orange juices. Big ones, now. One for me and one for her.” I nod sweetly, I hope, and this time my smile is for real, as I ready myself for my tableside exit.
But then. But then. I watch his eyes slide from me to the pancake house entrance. The double doors have swung open wide and children of all ages and sizes and genders and state of dress tumble through like so many bubbles out of an overflowing washing machine. My shoulders start to slide when those eyes grow round and happy.
“Why looky here, Kathaleen! Look here! It’s the kids! They made it! You made it!” I feel my shoulders drop another inch for good measure. His joy is my affliction. “Here!” Big Boy booms booms my way, scrambling as best he can out of his little chair, “Let’s pull a couple of these tables here together, we can all have breakfast like a family!”
And so, I pop my notepad in a hip pocket with a little more gusto than need be, grab the corner of the nearest table, angle back and pull hard. Big Boy’s directing traffic. “We can squeeze in eight over here, sure we can! Nancy, you over there. Sammy! Sammy, you set by me. Now, ” Yes, now. ” “What would you crew like to eat?”
Grabbing new plastic menus out of the bin, I remember to check my smile. My washin’ machine does need attention.
Mr. Green Jeans at the market! I see you over at the produce, a little smile playing on your cracked leather face. You look like my neighbor Mr. Price back home! Other than the times you’d walk back from the liquor store with a hitch in your get along, you were the nicest man ever. Talked to me like I was a real person, not just a little kid with a mop of curly hair. But then, most folks from back home treated pretty much everyone, young and old and in between with respect and dignity. They were raised right. Sure, I know you! I know your “overhalls” and your misty eyes. You need to get back to the house!
The Midwest is great place to be from, all golden waves of grain, no fences, plenty of room for a swing set (lucky you if you had a teeter totter AND a glider!), and an ice cream man heading down the street around 4pm in the summer afternoon, most afternoons. The “Ding Ding Man,” was his name at our house. When we heard him coming, streets and streets away, we’d beeline for the house and beg and beg for 35cents or whatever the going price was! We’d bounce up and down when we saw him at the top of the street, not running to meet him but durned near bouncing out of our shoes until he made it to our house! He saw us! He saw us! He’d bump slowly down the street, Ding Ding! My heart would nearly pop, my money a sweaty mess in my dirty little hand. He’d stop, lean out the window and our joy was complete! “Whatcha want, kids?” Ding Ding! Bomb pops, red white and blue ones, have always been my favorite, blue lips and all! Still make my heart sing, just thinking about them. And banana flavored pops…hated bananas, loved the banana ice! We’d wait our turn, then once he drove on by, we’d peel the paper back, stand in a sticky little circle and enjoy pure bliss!
There’s a singularily there, nearly a purity of thought. We’d do one thing at a time, till it was done. Right. We stayed with a task until there was nothing left to be done, or until dark. There’d be right, there’d be wrong, and there’d be jail. Pretty much covers all of living, the way I see it, and even now, now that I think of it, nuances just clutter it up!
I find when I think of my upbringing, I even think with an accent, albeit a small one. I’ve always wondered why, as folks get older, their accent becomes thicker. I’ve settled on the idea that we think about home, we need to feel it and hear it, even if in our own heads. We need to know where we’re from to know who we are and where we’re going and why we are where we are; we need to feel that kinship with the land and the Ding Ding Man!
We lived in a small town, not so small we knew everybody, but my dad sure did. Raised in an even smaller town, and a smaller one before that, most everyone he came across had some cross reference with a memory or a neighbor or was an uncle of sort. Everybody was a friend until they weren’t. But when I heard “Listen, Friend….” trouble was coming, and we’d be on high alert. Then, of course, there were the folks who looked at you crosseyed. We just learned to stay away from them, couldn’t trust them, they were up to no good. Smokers, too. A bad lot. Only went to church on Sunday mornings.
We didn’t talk to strangers, but there weren’t many of them. We waved at folks driving the other way on the road, even if it was just a raised finger. No, not that one. And if we didn’t get the return wave or nod, we wrote that cockeyed nitwit off. We’d remember, I tell you. Didn’t take much to know what a man was made of.
The dime store was a frequent pleasure, even with no money to spend. Bins and piles of green army men, pushup toys that went limp when you pressed the base, and buttons! Oh, the bins of buttons! I just loved digging my hands down the bottom and slowly bringing the bottom dwellers to the top, like a pirate with a treasure chest. I could dip my hands in for hours, buttons slipping through my fingers like so much gold. My mom always knew where to find me, at the treasure chest. And good luck to anyone trying to find a matched set after I’d been there!
I learned to love cashews at the drugstore. They spun in a tasty little mound, round and round in a heated machine near the door, lit up just right to show the salt and sheen of the oil. ‘Twas the only nut I’d touch, no peanuts for me, nor pecans or almonds and definitely not walnuts. Tasted like dirt. My nose pressed against the spinning nut machine, I’d look longingly, but no, I didn’t ask. That was a sure way to NOT get a waxed paper twist full of salty delight.
Don’t even get me STARTED on onions! I could smell them cooking, even if they weren’t supposed to be there. I’d spend my entire meal picking them out of anything they were hidden in, slippery little white squares of creepy disgustingness. I’d pile them way away on the side of my plate, out beyond the ring where the food was supposed to be. Banished to the outland, the borderland, the frontier. Good manners meant I couldn’t pick them out with my fingers, so I’d toil and toil with my fork until I’d anihilated whatever my mama had prepared. I’d not EAT until my work was done. I often was left at the table with a plate of cold dinner long after everyone else had left. No desert for me when there were onions. As for me, I didn’t care. No onions for me, either.
I used to make rock candy to sell to my unsuspecting neighborhood friends from, yeah, rocks, covered with the most dark chocolate of mud I could find. Which was a chore, as most of the dirt in my arena was a red clay that cracked after it dried. Loved that clay. Looked like a giant road map. I’d trace the cracks with my fingers for hours, going places I’d never been, happy to crawl across my map, leaving knee holes in my wake. And if the ants found my map, well then, I’d be satisfied to let them take the journey, and just follow along behind. But if a cricket or grasshopper or any big old bug got in the mix, I’d squish it with my holey Keds (always white, no laces), watching the multi-colored ooze spread out on the clay. Yellow was the norm, so it was a good day when I squished out something green. Never touched butterflies or ladybugs, though. Not enough of those to chance squishing the last one. And creepy crawlies with legs, well, thank you, I just kept my distance from them.
A really, really good place to be from. Don’t know if I could go back. What’s that they say about never going home again? Frankly, I go back all the time, whenever I hear the Ding Ding Man heading my way!
Hey there, Tanya, noticed your name tag.
Email to Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestements.com d. 01/01/12
Yeah, so, it’s me. Tanya. I work down to the KwickMart out on the highway, you know the place? Just found your wallet, Mr. Banks, with your identification card inside and just wanted to let you know. Come by and get it, but make sure you ask for Tanya and nobody else. That’s kind of important. Figured you might want your cards and cash back. Cute kid, BTW.
Email to Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 01/03/12
So, you coming back this way, or what? That must have been some bender to forget your wallet at the coffee counter like that. That was one big drink of joe you were putting down. Needed some mind clearing, I’ll bet. A little damage from the French Vanilla creamer, but sure, that’ll clean, you know. I’ll try a little soap and water, but I’m not sure about the leather. How’re you doin’, man? You were a little bleary, but hey, that’s okay. You were nice enough, and putting a little cash in the jar never hurts, right? I mean, it was real nice, a guy like you stopping by. We don’t get a lot of folks like you around here, mostly wannabe artists and musicians and road construction types. Nobody in suits, even ones that don’t fit so good. No cash in the jar from them, you know? Come by, soon. I’ll have the wallet waiting for you. But just ask for Tanya. I wouldn’t put it past some of the others if they popped the contents (don’t you think a wad like that is a little much to be toting around? Looks like a mad amount!) in their saggy little pockets! Remember, Tanya!
Email to Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 01/10/12
Look, BurtonRJBanks, I’m holding your wallet, but you know, you’d better get your act together and get back here, you know? I cleaned the leather the best I could, but you know, it stained a little. But the cash inside is okay, all $3982.17 of it. I had to take it out to clean the sticky from the inside pockets, and yeah, I laid it all out nice and neat and careful. I never ever saw so many hundreds ever. Here at the store, we see lots of twenties, ATM spew, but not so much on the hundreds. Who carries that kind of cash, Mr. BRJ? Looks like you cancelled those cards, though, I checked them on our machine. That’s the right thing to do. You come get this wad, buy that cute little fellow something special. Tell him Tanya said so!
Email to Burtonrjbanks@bankinvestments.com d. 01/10/12
Right, I know I already talked to you today, but I needed to let you know, I had a friend come by, more like my sister, you know? She ran out of gasoline for her generator over to the house? And so I lent her a $60 from your stash. She’s good for it, and you know I’m good for it, you know that, but I couldn’t take it from the register, you know that, too. So you’re down just a bit, but you know Tanya wouldn’t take money from a baby, so I’ll pop it back in as soon as I get paid. Thanks, Burt!
Email to Burtonrjbanks@bankinvestments.com d. 01/20/12
Wow, Burt, sorry I haven’t written, but Lord, I’ve been under the weather. Cough, hacking, croupy, runny eyes, nose won’t stop, choking on my dinner, it’s been a rough row to hoe, I tell you! Missed you, though! Had a lot of medical expenses, you know, decongestants, tissues, gallons on gallons of liquids to clear out my system. Hope you don’t mind, but really, I knew you wouldn’t. It’s like you were here, my own little guardian angel to provide medicine and comfort. It came to quite a bill, what with the doctor’s visits and the ambulance way out here in the desert, but I knew you wouldn’t mind. You’re a good man. Look at that kid of yours, you’re raising him fine, he’s a lucky duck., I can tell just by looking at him. Found some other pictures tucked in back behind–is that you in high school, BurtBoy? You were something, I’d guess! Kind of goofy looking, though. Lost the glasses and metal on those teeth. Spend all your time in the library, there, Burton? Get smartened up instead of toughened up? You did look a little lightweight when I saw you last. Protein powder, that’d do you. Got some here on the shelf. Hey, I’ll pick some up for you. I’ll have it behind the counter when you come back by! May have to remind me.
Email to Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 01/25/12
You are not going to believe the luck, Mr. Burton. Man, he comes in yesterday, bunch of kids snivveling behind him, asks for a handout. Right, like we’ve got anything to spare around here, but says his kids are hungry and their big ol’ eyes told the story, man. They were hungry and skinny and just looked at the spinning hotdogs with envy in those googly eyes. Like they hadn’t never seen round meat before! I told the man to go away, like we couldn’t have folks begging out here, it would cause a near stampede if word got spread out. But man, that man, he would’t leave, kept asking if he could do work, if he could sweep my durned floor! Then, like a lightening bolt from the good Lord hisself, I thought, what would Burton RJ Banks do? Why, it was like a miracle, what you did for those kids, BurtBoy! They took to those dogs like who laid a chunk, sat right down on the floor and sucked in those dogs right there and then. You made a family happy, sir, and on your behalf, I sent them on their way with some supplies for the next few days or a week or so. You’re a good man, Mr. Burton RJ Banks at BanksInvestments, you’re going to a better place after this life! Come see us out here, some time, your first Frosted Slushy will be on me!
Email to Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 01/30/12
My mama, my adopted mama, that is, up and died last week, Burt. Needed some cash for the burial, but you didn’t quite meet the bill, BurtBoy. Send $179.95 directly to the KwickMart here, in care of Tanya. I’ll be waiting. I sure want to do right by my mama.
Email to Burtontjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 2/1/12
Look, Mr. Banks, this is important. They funeral home won’t bury my dear old mama until you come up with the cash. She’s lying there in the deepfreeze on a metal slab, alone and cold. I handed over all we had in the wallet, but it wasn’t near enough. I gave the director your name and email address, so expect a pretty unpleasant letter from him on my mother’s behalf. He wasn’t very happy. I tried to tell him you were good for it, but he said he’d contact you himself.
Emailto Burtonrjbanks@banksinvestments.com d. 02/05/12
Deadbeat. You owe me $215.77, burial including expenses. I’m keeping the wallet.
The story of the woman who flung the receiver off the pay phone. I saw you.
He took the car! He blinking took the car again! I can’t stand it when he does that, not even caring to tell me! I could pull my hair out! What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with him?! What’s wrong with me?!
I’m pacing, for how long I don’t know, but back and forth, back and forth across the tiny apartment living room into the tiny apartment bedroom, and back again and again.
How’m I supposed to get out? I have places to go, you know! He knows that! What’s his bloody deal? I should have never given him those keys. I can drive, I’m competent, I’m capable. I haven’t had that much to drink. I’ve slowed way down, cut way back. I got no cash anyhow so where’m I supposed to get anything anyhow? I have a little something stashed in my cabinet, for emergencies, of course, idiot. Does he think he can control me by taking away my car?! Guess not, I sneer, and I head for that special cabinet.
Cozied up on the maimed and scarred nubuck couch, staring out at the empty street, mildly noting the skin and bones bum peaking into the rusty trash bin, I’m clutching my little bottle of something. That and an ugly gold silk pillow. I was feeling a little sleepy, but I’m coming alive now. Time to get up and get going. Got things to do, you know. How long have I been curled up here, anyhow? The day is dark! And that jerk still isn’t back with my car! MY car! My CAR! I feel my mouth dry and hoist my little friend still again. A little trickle doesn’t quite make my mouth and runs down my chin, adding more stains to the nasty pillow I can’t seem to release. Then, something in my chest begins to growl, no, howl!
Now there is no calm! No more cozy, no more curling up! Bye bye! My clothes are too tight, the room has no oxygen! Breathe! I can’t breathe! I’ve got to find him! He’s got my car! He owes me, you know! He really owes me! And my gas! Ooooo, he owes me big! Breathe! Breathe! I’ve got to get out of here and find him!
I fling the filthy pillow across the room. Something falls, something breaks, but hey, who cares? No one cares about me! Nobody! I’ll go get my car! I’m flipping mad! I am MAD! I AM mad!
I pummel my head with my fists! My black hair is flying everywhere and it hurts! No, it REALLY kills! I’ll show him! I’ll be bloodied and hurt and crying and dead and he’ll be so sorry! He’ll be so sorry he took my car! That bum! Who gave him those keys anyway? I’m not a drunk! I’m not a user. I’m not a crazy! I don’t do any more than anyone else. I use what I need, that’s all, and who doesn’t do that?
I throw a shoe at the window, then throw open the apartment door, I’m outta here! I’m gone, hear me? I’m not sure if I shout it, or if I just think it really, really loud! I notice a door down the way opens a crack, then closes with a bam.
Idiots! Go ahead, I think I shout, go ahead! Protect those kids from me! I’m dangerous, you hear? I’m dangerous and on a mission! Get out of my way! Stay out of my sight! I’m a scary mama and I’m going to find that flipping idiot who stole my car and my gas, and took all my bottles, and one of my shoes! I’m outta here! I may not come back! Not without my car!
I stomp unevenly down the stairs and onto the shadowed sidewalk. I think I’m running, but maybe I’m walking really fast. Who knows? My mind is racing, racing, and I’m trying to keep up. I limp faster, my one shoe rubbing a blister and my barefoot catching trash. Go, go! I am, I am! Got to get that guy, before he takes someone else’s car, you know? I’m saving the day here! I’ll get a commodation. I’ll get a Get out of Jail Free card! I’ll get my flipping car back!
I’m almost to the main street! I see lights of cars and stores and and I see dark people moving and dancing across my eyes. They know! I know they know! Hey, you up there, hey you! I’m thinking REALLY loudly now, it hurts my ears! HEY, YOU! Hey, Pretty Boy, yeah, I see you looking at me, then away. Lots of people do that, and I don’t care! I’ll just think way louder! You look at me when I’m thinking at you! Heads up! Eyeball to eyeball! Look at me, you freak!
And you know, I think he finally hears me! Crossing my path, Pretty Boy? Can’t run, now, can you? He looks my way, right at me, I think he’s talking to me, but I can’t hear him, my head is so loud! What? What? You say you’ve seen that inbecilic moron car thief? He took my shoe, you know! He stole my gas, you know? I’m gas-less, gas-free, shoe-deprived! Like my style, right? I got a way with words, gotta say. Don’t have ’em in my arsenal, make ’em up, on the spot, on the fly! Impressed, right? We’re bonding, right? Muskateers, right?
Am I weaving? Pretty Boy hold out his hand, like he wants to shake on a bet or something. What, my head shouts, you think I’m easy pickings? You think I’m going to fail? You think I’m going to lose?! My head’s detonating! Oh, right, make a call on your Iphone smartphone, TELE-phone! Oh sure, ignore me! Right, walk on down the street! Bet you’re going to that burger joint over there! Bet you are! You meeting someone?! You forget to ask? You can’t talk to me anymore, I’m shrieking? I know my lips are moving now, because he’s practically running away from me!
You think I can’t see you, Pretty Smart Tele-boy? I see you reading the red letters on the menu. It’s a red-letter day for all of us, you and me! I see you through the greasy fingerprints on the door. You can run but you can’t run faster than me! I shake my fist, feet shredded. You got my car, don’t you?! YOU GOT MY CAR! I know your address, you know! I know your flipping phone number to your flipping DUMBphone! Yeah, that’s right! I’m funny! I add a noseprint to the collection. I see your shoulders shaking at me! You laugh while you inhale your Big Mac Daddy burger or whatever it is you eat! Think to ask me? I like the old fries better, by the way! Lots of salt! LOTS OF SALT!
Who does that Pretty Boy Cretin think he is, running away, ignoring me? I’m marching away, I got a purpose, after all. A lone woman, on a dark street at night, asking for a little help, what’s his flipping DEAL?! Breathe! In! Out! In! Out! He’s got my CAR! He’s got my gas! I’m so mad! Call the police! Call the police! They’ll call him on his DUMB Cretin-phone and haul him off to jail! Vehicular lootification! I’ll get a million dollars from him! Write the check, baby, write the check! I’m calling right now! I’m calling the police! I’ve got my own smartphone, Smart Cretin Boy! I’ll call them right now!
Yeah, so, no PHONE! It’s blinking in my gassed up CAR! I’m out of my mind MAD! My face is wet, my eyes are blurred, OUT OF MY WAY!
Hey, I turn, you got some change, some cash? Got a call to make, payphone up by that Cash Checks On the Spot, with all the flashing light and shiny metal, looks like it’s going to take off? Jeez, I shrug, having a conversation, playing the part, only payphone in town and I got no cash! Hey, you think that’s a joke? Yeah, I’m no deadbeat, I got money, I had a job, I get a check sometimes, got a degree from junior college! Left it all in my CAR! My CAR!
Whoa. Is that coinage on the ground under the phone space capsule? Dropped it, did you? Great timing! Right there, right in the that wet spot, all wet.
See ya! I got this!
Sloppy, slippery, just like a lousy dream, I can’t quite see the money, can’t quite reach. I think I’m on the ground, but I’m not so sure. Time is slow, now, lights are weaving, and the wet sidewalk is filled with pretty little sparkles and bumps. I can feel them, each one, scratching my face. Strange other worldly sounds fill up my head, pings and pongs and crashes and splashes. I manage to get upright and lean back against a cold metal pole, the bottom of the space phone. The cold hurts a little and I focus on that, trying to jump start my brain. Why am I here? I think I’m looking for something, did I find it? Where, there? I’m even slurring my thoughts. I think I’m opening my eyes, but like that dream, I can’t quite see.
A tingle between my shoulders elevates my stupor, if only a bit. Ringing, vibrating, is that the phone? Hello? HELLO? It must be for me! I’ll get it! I’ll get it! No, hold on, I’m coming! HELLO!
I grasp the pole with two hands smeared with wet sidewalk slime and haul myself up. I lunge for the handset, fumbling ever so slightly, and HELLO? You got my car? You got my CAR? Speak up, dimwit! What?! Speak UP!
Flippin’ idiot, I mutter, and toss the buzzing phone to the end of its metal tether. It bounces back against my hip, but I’m already gone.
Already gone.
I have places to go, he knows that! What’s his bloody deal? Where’s my flipping CAR?!
Already gone.
Belles and Whistles 