It was the second day of cold and miserable weather. The kind of
miserable day that lasts too long and leaves the soul feeling empty and alone.
A day that took twice more than it gave. He was unloading the food from the trunk
of his car when the voice reached across the cold rain and asked “Sir? How far
is it to Route 2?
He slowly and reluctantly maneuvered his head
around the hood to see a boy, more of a young man than a boy, tall and so thin
that his wet and ragged clothes hung from every angle of him and dripped rain
on to the soaked gravel of the parking lot. From inside the bar, someone
flicked on the overhead sign and the words “Two Deuces Cocktails and Dining”
sprinkled hundreds of red and blue reflections across tiny stones of the lot.
He looked at the boy and then looked past him into
the blur of speeding cars that threatened to drown out his voice, so he yelled
‘About two miles, maybe more. Straight down this road. Route 2 crosses over
it”.
He noticed the boys sneakers didn’t match. Maybe it
was a fashion, he thought. He didn’t know anything about fashion. He didn’t
know much about kids ether. The boy, he figured him to be maybe
18-years-old, nodded his thanks, but in a way that let it be known that he was
already tired and didn’t want the long journey before him.
“You gonna use that?” the boy asked, nodding his
head towards the trunk floor.
“Use what?” he shouted back.
“That hat, that baseball hat?” the boy replied
pointing his long boney finger at the truck.
He looked down at his Twins baseball
cap. He’d bought at a game down in New York two years ago. It cost him a pretty
penny. He looked over at the boy and the hood that covered his head was soaked
through with rain.
“Sure, I’ll give it to you” he said leaning
into the car “Take it, it’s yours.”
“I’ll take it” the boy said with a nod
that seemed ever so slightly aggressive.
He reached into the truck and tossed
him the cap. The boy caught it, pulled down his rain soaked hood, placed
the cap on his head and pulled the hood over it. He stood to his full
height and shoved his thin bone white hands into his pant pockets a move that
caused the trousers to inch down precariously, forcing him to quickly move his
right hand around to the back and left hand to the front and pull the pants up
in one quick yank. Then he lowered his head against the rain and moved on.
He noticed the boy hadn’t thanked him for the cap
but still, for a moment, he pondered offering the boy a ride down to the road
because it was raining and cold and miserable and the traffic was
dangerous. But he was going to offer the ride because he was a kind man,
a good man, a decent man. So he pondered and decided against I because
more than once his worthy nature had caused him more grief than joy. So he
returned to the shelter of the trunk hood, lifted out the last of the grocery
bags and closing the trunk with a push of his elbow, he trudged across the
parking lot and pounded on the restaurants thick wooden door.
He heard the lock release from inside and watched
the door swing open to reveal the still dark dining room, vaguely silhouetted
in an ugly yellow glow from the kitchen light. The scene made him
slightly uneasy but for no particular reason other than he was a man who liked
things the way they were. He liked the undisturbed sameness of things. Routine.
Warmth.
“Did you get everything?” Brian asked lifting
his nose above the edge of the brown paper bags and searching inside for
everything and anything.
The question annoyed him, slightly, but it
still annoyed him. He was not a complete incompetent, he thought to himself, he
would never actually say something like that out loud. But, he added to
his thoughts, that he was enough of an incompetent to need someone like Brian
to run the place, to manage the details that he knew he was incapable of
handling because, truthfully, he just didn’t care.
When his father ran the place, he ran it alone,
but he wasn’t his father and that annoyed him too. Before he answered, his mind
darted back to the boy and the cap and he wondered if he had allowed the boy to
buffalo him.
“Yep” he answered as he handed the bags over to him
“Everybody here?.”
He prayed everyone was there. He didn’t handle
restaurant problems well. He was born into that business; he was not born from
it. It wasn’t a joy for him as it had been for his father. For him, it was
work, joyless work. Every morning he dragged himself across the parking
lot whispering “Let there be no problems today, please” and every morning he
recalled his father jogging across the lot, rushing inside to find a problem.
“Just about” Brian answered, “the girls are
in back, got all the tables covered, the cooks here” Both of them moved their
heads to the right looked past the open kitchen door. The short order
cook who was older than dirt and was bent over his counter in his kitchen, and
it was his kitchen, lost in the rhythm of a chopping motion and the dull thud
his knife blade pushing into a vegetable. He was a good man when he was sober,
and a bad man was he drunk and the busted bones and scars on his face testified
silently that he was more often drunk than sober.
“He okay tonight?” he asked, speaking rapidly to
get the cold out of his veins.
“Is he sober?” Brian answered slowly “Yeah, but the
night’s young. Talk to me when we close at 2.”
“Long as he gets us past the bar rush” he said, “I
don’t really care what happens after that.” And they both looked into the
kitchen again.
The dishwasher?” he asked hopefully.
“What’s his name? Juan…..” he drew a blank.
“Juan, Don Juan, Don Corleone, I don’t know, anyways, not
here” Brian answered shaking his head “and probably won’t be either. If you
want, I’ll wash, you cover the floor”
He had hired the kid. It was Brian’s job, but
he had leaped into the middle of things and hired the kid without Brian’s
consent and now he was gone with no signs of returning.
“No” he answered with a long sigh that was
drawn mostly out of resignation for his inabilities “No. You’re the manager,
you manger. I’ll wash”
“I’m sorry” Brian said with a tilt of his head.
“It’s not your fault.” he answered feeling somewhat
condescended to and looked down at his white shirt and blue tie “I’m going to
slip home and change into something more dish
washy.”
“All right” Brian answered in a way that was intended to
be uplifting but felt oddly out of place “I’ll get this stuff in the back, see
you in a bit”
Back in the safety of his car, he drove slowly
through the increasing darkness of the day, agitated that the dishwasher,
what’s his name, had taken his last paycheck and not returned. Son of
bitch. No work ethic, that’s the problem. No manners. No respect.
A mile down Wolcott Road, peering through the brown
mist on his windshield, he saw the tall, rail thin boy sluggishly making his
way through the rain. His chin was held close to his chest, his hands buried
deep in his pockets. He pulled the car up alongside the boy, lowered the window
and felt the cold air invade the car. The boy bent over and looked into the
car.
“You still going to Route 2?” he asked.
It took the boy a few seconds but when he
recognized him from the parking lot a surprisingly warm smile came across his
face.
“Oh!” he said “Hi”
“Come on” he said “Get in, I’ll give you a ride”
“I’ll take it” the boy replied. “I’ll take what I
can when I can”
He climbed into the car and sat,
stretched out his two long legs and rode along silently, looking out into the
rain swept street. They drove along for several miles without talking, the boy
adjusting the seat to fit his long legs and then leaning it back, far back, as
though he intended to sleep until they reached Lakewood Road. He didn’t
like that the boy moved the seat without asking. He thought about saying something,
but didn’t instead he reasoned his way out of it. People had to be comfortable
after all. It was human nature.
“So” he asked without looking over to his passenger
“Where you going today?”
“The car wash up on Route 2” the boy replied
without bothering to look at him “They had an ad in the newspaper. They’re
looking for people and I need a job”
“What are they paying?” he asked.
“Minimum wage I suppose” he answered lazily and
then turning to him with a wry smile, the boy added “Moneys money, right?”
That’s right” he answered, and they returned to
their mutual silence. Common sense told him there was something not right with
this boy, that he was trouble. That he had a slight but obvious bad attitude.
But his better angels, he had many of them, pushed those thoughts aside and he
reasoned that poverty and hard times would make anyone a cynic, make them
harsh. The boy just needed a break, he needed to see that there was goodness in
the world.
“So, where do you live?” he asked the boy.
“Up on Binary Road” he answered.
“Binary Road” he said repeating the boy’s words. He
knew the area. It was a bad. There were trailer homes on some of those lots
that were older than he was.
“That’s near my place, my restaurant he said and
then added “You know, it’s a good haul up to route 2 for minimum wage. I’ll
tell you what, if you wash dishes, I got a job for you. It’s a lot closer than
all the way up here. Free meals too. And we’re stable. We’ve been there for
fifty years now”
“If you want, sure” the boy said as he were doing
him a favor.
“Yeah, I think it would be good for the two of us”
he said and turned the car around and headed back to the bar.
Late the next morning the weather was
equal miserable when he pulled into the parking lot. Brain and the cook walked
across the lot to meet him. They never did that. Never. Something was
wrong. His stomach tightened. The center of his chest hurt, but just slightly.
He stepped out of the shelter of his car and walked towards them.
“White trash is all he is” the old cook
grumbled “Just plain white trash. I knew it the minute I laid eyes
on him”
“What happened?” he asked, “What the hell
happened?”
“We were robbed” Brian answered “Burglarized. Wiped
us out”
“White trash is all he is” the old cook grumbled
again “Just plain white trash. I said that from the get-go. But did anybody
listen to me? No”
“Where’s the kid?” he asked but he knew.
“I been in this here business longer any you been
alive” the cook said too loudly. He was already drunk.
“He’s not coming back” Brian said with a look of
sympathy across his face.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, but he knew.
“Because he broke in last night. He must have left
the back door unlocked before he left. We got him on the house camera. Took the
strong box with him, about $1,000. He cleaned out the register for another five
hundred. All of our steaks, another $500 at
least”
“I gave him everything” he said.
“It’s not your fault. Its human nature is what it
is” the cook said to him “You got yourself two kinds of people in this world,
the givers and the takers. That’s all there is. He seen you a giver and he
took, noth’n you can do about it. Just Human nature all it is”