Patchwork Freud

CHAPTER IN PROGRESS 11/17/04 8:14AM

The order cooks didn’t give her hugs. She’d never liked them anyway. But, when she’d told a couple of the regulars that that morning was her last day they’d upped her tips just a bit. And, Joe had made her a wonderful breakfast. And, she could still feel Bessie’s embrace from last night.

So, when Keaton came bouncing in,(well, as close to it as Keaton would ever get meaning nonstop hand fidgeting and feet tapping),Shawn was more than ready to spring on out the door right with him. Yes, her time here was done. And, there was something so right about her coming and her leaving.

“The Chicken Bits” had opened its doors to her, and to a million insecurities and truths about herself. She wouldn’t say she’d overcome them, but at least she was able to admit them. But, as much as she coveted the experience, when she took her apron off and threw the loop of its tied ends over the hook by the kitchen, she felt she’d shaken more lose than a light cotton addition to her outfit.

She was free again.

She found Joe in the back, hunched over some papers in his office. She waited at the door. When he didn’t acknowledge her she cleared her throat. And, then again, louder.

“Sounds like a nasty cold you got there,” Joe said, dotting “i’s”, crossing “t’s” and filling in the blanks in between.

“Just wanted to say my good-byes, Joe.”

He looked up at her. “Goodbye, Shawna.”

Shawn stilled. There was a rigidity to him that hadn’t been there since they’d first met. She was first embarrassed then upset to feel a pang in the corner of her eyes that forewarned tears.

“Goodbye, Joe,” she said, watching him and waiting for what would come next.

When he returned his attention to his papers she swallowed, then pressed her teeth together before turning and leaving “The Chicken Bits” to be visited under better circumstances.

If even then.

Keaton waited outside, a skinny white stick hanging out of his mouth. The graceful curves of white smoke danced from its tip and disappeared into the air.

“Okay, that,” she said, looking pointedly at the cancer rod, “is not going in my car, nor anywhere near me.”

He took a hard drag then pinched the stick between finger and thumb just before throwing it to the ground. “Knew that. And, it won’t.”

Shawn shook her head, watching as he smothered it with his foot.

“I hate smoke.” She declared as she walked away.

For all her former proclamations of loving all the chaos she had thrown herself into, at that moment, she felt like her heart had been tied to a rock and was sinking into the pit of her stomach. After Joe couldn’t even say bye to her properly…And, now to find out her self-invited road buddy would be stinking up her car with the ashy, grating smell of cigarette smoke. This wasn’t exactly the warm new beginning she’d kind of hoped for.

“Me too,” Keaton said as he bent to pick up his satchel. When he looked up she was already several feet away.

The wind propelled her from behind, and through it cut Keaton’s booming voice.

“Shawn!”

She turned to see him jogging up, and she waited until he stood in front of her, his breath intermittedly interrupting the otherwise clear air.

She tilted her head, turning dark eyes on him as she silently waited; he would continue after the next beat.

“Well, what? Spit it out man.” She’d never been very patient.

“Thanks.”

“Mmmm,” she grunted.

He smirked again. “Didn’t expect that?”

“Not really.” She inhaled deeply. “But, I’m learning to expect that.” She pursed her lips and turned back towards her car. “Beware Keaton, you will be at my mercy.”

He nodded catching up with her in a couple easy strides. “Can’t wait.”

Her glance flicked over to his profile and a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

She couldn’t imagine where this trip could take the likes of him and her—two nuts on a journey. She with little money and a borrowed dress; add to that a magical, depressing, creepy and smoking guru sidekick and things were bound to get interesting.

And she couldn’t wait, either.

You could have sane. She’d take crazy. As a matter of fact, maybe from this point on, she’d embrace it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~They’d sat together quietly for the first half an hour. Shawn could almost forget she had company, but not quite; she was very aware that Keaton’s posture seem to have straightened the farther they got from “The Chicken Bit” and the town it served.

While he was looking out the window she glanced down at his hand, his fingers patting his thigh in a wave like pattern. She sensed they were both far enough away from their pasts to speak again.

“So, how long you been there? All your life?”

Somehow, Keaton, the lone, sardonic, introvert didn’t seem to fit into that general consensus. But, maybe that explained his restlessness.

“It’s been about a month and a half now.”

A quick, surprised glance was thrown his way before Shawn returned to concentrate on the road. “One and a half months? And, you’ve already outgrown the town. What brought you there?”

Before he could answer she asked, “Do you do this often? Just up and leave and move? Where were you before your layover over there?”

He looked at her. The fur lining of Joe’s coat, which he’d let her have that morning, blocked the view of everything below her neckline. Yet, her face still revealed the swirl of questions that were still forming and readying their attack.

“At some point I’ll tell you exactly what brought me there. I’m not willing to do so just yet. But, I’ll explain what I can:

“I’d heard that sometimes the best place to find yourself was somewhere that held nothing familiar for you. I grew up in a large city, place full of competition, awards and a “hurry-hurry rush-rush to-get-where-you’re-going” attitude. Problem is I found out that where I was going was nowhere near where I wanted to be.”

He paused, and looked out the windshield before continuing. “So, I stopped it all and pursued a life-long goal, like some great hero in a comic book. Like I could just take off my glasses and open up my shirt to realize the invincible dream underneath.” He laughed at himself, his head inclining while he shook his head at his lap. Looking back up he leaned back against the seat and turned to regard Shawn. “I was following my dream, alright. But, it was some deformed, yet ironically well received version of it. But, it wasn’t me! I was so damn frustrated. You know? It made me question me, the people who circled around me.” He swung his head around to the passenger window.

“The frustration was changing me. And, yet, not. I was still cynical and haughty and miserable, but now that I was also able to see it I was also callous. And, I couldn’t believe—I can’t believe that that’s who I am. So, I left. And, I drove. And, I found this little diner with people who were working to live, not living to work. They didn’t expect praise; more often retribution. It was a slow town. A town where everyone knew one another and nobody knew me. I figured this was about as foreign a situation as I would ever find. So, I found a room to rent and a place to park my bike, and that was it.”

Shawn blew out a long breath. “Wow.”

He nodded, understanding his story was extensive.

“I’ve never heard anyone tell me so much and at the same time so little.”

He laughed. “Sorry to be so enigmatic.”

“’Spected nothing less. Tell me why you left. And, try to avoid beating around the bush as much as possible, please.”

“Hmmm, not much to tell, then.”

“Beat away.”

“Okay. It was smothering the life out of me. I wasn’t always a loner you know. And, after being there and coming appreciate solitude, I find that I don’t always need it. And, yet, I didn’t crave the superficial relationships I’d nurtured before. I started to feel like maybe there was no in between for me. Then you came in; a blustery ball of confusion, so lively when you weren’t lost inside your head. I knew I’d found a kindred spirit. Who better to take on the world with than someone else so desperately driven?”

Shawn was silent; amazed at how much sense that made to her. Hadn’t she been saying the same thing? The lack of genuine friendships, lasting relationships. How it’d made her feel like an outsider at all times.

“So, what’s your story, Shawn? Beat around as many bushes as you want. But, be honest.”

She glanced at him, her bottom lip jumping between her teeth as if hiding the thoughts that threatened to spill out at his simple request.

“Mmmm,” she began, noncommittally. Another peek his way showed her that he had turned his head to look out his window. And, an odd sense of relief washed over her at the sight of the back of his head. There was only the sound of the fresh air as it whistled past the thin opening of her door’s window.

The highway before her was the same as that which she’d left—dark pavement, white lines and green signs. Nothing had changed from the time she and her friend had taken a different path from Missouri to California. Years ago. The consistency of it made her wonder just how significant her search for self was. After she was dead and gone there would still be on ramps, off ramps. Maybe they’d be in the air, or on the moon. But, “The Chicken Bits,” or some variation would stand long after she had been laid flat for good.

In comparison to the persistence of the world around her her life seemed rather short, and time precious. It was because she only had one chance at this thing that she didn’t want to waste it. And, back there, after three years of not moving forward or backwards she needed to start moving…in any direction. Before she died old, secure and regretting not accomplished being…happy.

“I’m just trying to figure out what makes me happy.” She thought out loud. “It sounds so simple. But, I have this urgency to do it before my time runs out. And, I know I’m young, but how long will that last? And, I’ve been sitting on my ass for three of those youthful years not pursuing anything!”

She paused, blinking away a gathering lake of tears. She took a couple calming breaths, swallowed and continued. “The problem is I don’t even know what happiness consists of. Is it money? Is it family? Is it success in your career? I could beat a path to the door if I knew which one I was seeking.” She let out a choked laugh. “And, I’m so damn lost that I have no clue. No clue where to start. And, certainly no idea where to end.”

“So, one day, I just got up and I got in my car and I started taking the long way home. Didn’t plan to stop off at a little diner, nor to be serving truckers. Or to pick up someone else whose seems to be on a similar road.” She finally chanced another peek at Keaton, and when her eyes met his she knew that she was understood on a level that she’d never imagined for her. And, that was a new and strange gift. And, in that moment she could see his whole story. All the hurts in the lines of his face. The joys, the fears and insecurities. She didn’t know the details. She’d never have to. They were as clear to one another as prescription glasses.

She turned back to the road, relieved that those seconds hadn’t caused a wreck. She’d wanted this kind of relationship all her life. And, now that she was on the verge of it she began to realize just how unique it was. Maybe what she’d had were real friendships. Maybe what she’d wanted was something beyond even that. Because she’d never be able to categorize what connection that had already developed between them.

“You’re really creeping me out, Keaton.”

Without looking she knew that he’d turned back to watch the scenery pass by. She heard a light thumping and imagined his thumb creating a beat on the door’s arm rest.

“The feeling’s mutual, Shawna.”

“What an ass,” she murmured, though her smirk belied her remark. “You know you really know how to ruin the moment.”

“Was that a moment?”

“It was.”

“Well, then I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

The car’s motor filled the tranquility that followed for some minutes.

“You know, I saw a sign not too far back. Mentioned something about the largest something or other in the world. We should check it out.”

“How far?”

“About thirty-miles south.”

“Sounds good. I haven’t seen enough something-or-others to do me good, anyway.”

They drove, sometimes talking, sometimes not. The sign for the “largest ball of wire” fast approached them off from the side of the road. They followed the exit and the ensuing signs onto a road that seemed to have lost the fight against all the dirt that had seized it. But, after a mile the pavement became more visible and the traveling less bumpy. What once had been a grayish brown now sported tan shoots that at one time probably contributed to green lawns in front of the cozy little cottages that began lining the street. A few more turns, thanks to more well placed signs and there, above the pointed tops of shedding trees, glinted a silver rounded surface. It was looking at a massive pinball through a squat, tangled wall of wooden limbs.

“I think we’ve found our man,” Shawn mumbled.

Pulling up, her car glided to a squeaky stop by the edge of the curbless sidewalk. Their car doors rang loudly in the still air as the two occupants emerged, both looking upwards at the massive, metal sphere that peaked from behind a quaint, well tended yellow house. Deserted garden beds lay were on either side of the centered steps. They looking empty and sulking without their more colorful companions. The screen door was closed but after Shawn and Keaton made their way up the path and their footfalls reverberated across the wooden planks of the porch, the curtain at the right window was pulled back, a small face appeared in the triangle created between the fabric and the sill.

“Mom!” they heard as the curtain lost its support and was left to swing back into place. “Strangers!”

Keaton grinned at Shawn. “That would be us.”

My NaNoWriMo 30 Day Novel

2004-11-16T13:32:00.000-08:00

PATCHWORK freud

Table of Contents

Prelogue

Chapter 1: first session

Chapter 2: The boogey man and other excuses

Chapter 3:second session

Chapter 4: Living it up, then down, then a little to the left

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8: Birds and their feathers

Chapter 12:

2004-11-16T13:30:00.000-08:00

Shawn stretched over the table, leaving a damp arc across its surface with the wet cloth she held. Wiping down that table and the next one that had just recently become unoccupied, she thought about her time with Joe.

His face has displayed a depth of expression that she wouldn’t have thought possible from such a gruff man. Never was it more lively than when he spoke of his intentions to enter college, or of his children’s’ successes after having done so.

What a stark contrast his mood had been when talking about his father, mother, marriage. She shook her head. “And, to be so eager to get away from it all,” she murmured to herself.

Joe wasn’t happy. And, Shawn wondered if he would have been if he’d been able to count himself an alumni of some university. Would that have contented him?

Never know, now.

So, what did it mean if family didn’t mean instant happiness? Or, as in Jean’s case, if a longed-for career didn’t equal it? Maybe there’s no one answer, no once size fits all ingredient.

Damn it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~The day went by in a blur, really. Autopilot was a gear that Shawn was happily surprised to find she now possessed. She’d learned that her sharp tongue could be loosed on the hardened drivers that frequented the diner. She’d also learned that they rather liked it. So, her thoughts whirred and whizzed, just as her body went through the motions.

It wasn’t until a certain leather jacket dodged the corner of her eye that her mind seemed to snap outside of itself.

She couldn’t have helped her neck from rotating to follow him. Keaton met her gaze, smiling enigmatically as he went over to the empty counter and claimed a stool. She returned her attention to the customers she’d been ignoring and finished jotting down their orders.

On the way to the kitchen her eyes scanned for Bessie; she usually dealt with the customers at the counter. A tap on the shoulder triggered a small scream from Shawn. She turned around and faced a smirking Bessie Jamison.

“I’ve got to visit the ladies room, Shawna. Cover the counter for me, will ‘ya?” the young/old waitress winked at her before brushing past her.

“Bessie!” she hissed at the swinging bathroom door.

Smashing her teeth together Shawn finished her trek to the back, sent up the order and turned around to serve the customer at the bar.

“Okay, Keaton. What’ll it be?”

“I’m celebrating my last night in town. So, surprise me.”

“Spam and eggs it is,” she said, scribbling on the pad she ripped the sheet off and placed on the ledge to be picked up.

Keaton could hardly speak past the mighty grin that pulled at his lips. “Perfect. Exactly what I would have chosen. Now, about our trip. Where do you think we should go next.”

He leaned forward, his forearms forming a triangle on the counter, his loose fists being its apex.

Shawn fought the chuckle that threatened to mar her reproachful expression. Her tongue was about to expel the word ‘crazy’ from her mouth when she remembered the pensive, tormented expression that had shadowed his face hours before.

And, she decided that maybe she was just as lacking in sanity. Because she’d known exactly every infintescimal hurt, and doubt and want that had flittered across his eyes.

Stepping forward she raised her hands until they rested on the counter’s edge.

“I don’t understand why you want to go, Keaton? Why with me? Why not just take that bike of yours and ride off into the sunset like every good, strong silent type is supposed to do?”

“Problem: I am neither good. Nor very strong.”

“And, that should convince me to risk your company?”

Keaton licked his lips, glancing down at her hands before looking back up. For minutes they watched each other breath. At last, Keaton answered her.

“I think you’ll inspire me, Shawn. And, I feel like I lost that a long time ago. And, I need it. And, I think you need me. Because, when you stay inside your own world too much, you tend to lose grip. And, you are. We both are. Neither of us are very strong, you see.”

“I think you’d depress me, Keaton.”

“Funny, not just a minute ago you were fighting not to laugh.”

She smiled then.

“Besides, you depress me, too.”

Her brows lowered, and her smile turned downward. “Damn, Keaton, you can’t just let a good moment stand.”

The triumphant look on his face annoyed the hell out of her.

“Besides,” she said, “I’m not the one trying to dig into your head.”

“You don’t have to try, Shawn. Not with me. And, I don’t have to try with you. Either way, we make each other think more than we want. But, in directions we hadn’t thought of. That’s the point. We understand each other. Two strangers who aren’t so strange to one another.”

He shrugged and held out his arms. “What can be more scary, more interesting, more fantastic and magical than that?”

“Disneyland?”

Keaton shook his head, replacing his arms on the counter. “Not really.”

“What about your bike?”

“Yeah. That comes pretty close.”

She breathed loudly. “I meant, were you planning to just leave it here?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get it.”

“I don’t have a lot of space in my trunk.”

“It’s full of junk, I know.”

“How—?”

“Magic, remember?” He twirled a finger in the air like some baton. “Besides, I packed light.” He smirked, running an eye over the butterfly lapel of her flowered gown. “Figured I could borrow a dress along the way if I needed to.”

“You promise not to kill, rape or otherwise harm me?”

“Promise.”

She sighed, disgusted at herself but knowing her fate was sealed. “Tell my mom I said the red dress is fine. Just fine.”

At least she could relish his puzzled expression.

“Hmmm,” she huffed as she turned to help some customers who were waving for her attention. “Thought you could read my mind. Magic my ass.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~An anxiousness filled Shawn as she finished the rest of her last night shift. The giddy high resulted in an unusually verbose demeanor. During moments of rest she would glide over to where Keaton sat down with his second order of food. The first now resided in a brown sack that sat to the side of his plate.

“For the road,” he’d said, patting the stiff paper bag.

Bessie would join them when time permitted. The veteran waitress loved to talk, and Shawn and Keaton were fine letting her do most of it. It’s how they learned that the veteran waitress had gotten married when she was seventeen! Her husband had “up and left” soon after, leaving Bessie to raise their now sixteen year old son. Luckily, both sets of grandparents had remained mainstays in both their lives.

“His father’s father and my father and grandfather were both respected Marines. Charlie ‘spects to continue the tradition. And, no doubt he will soon as he’s of age.”

An unusual lull in her dialogue prompted Shawn to insert something.

“That’s not too far from now. What are you gonna do when you have all that time on your hands?”

“Study,” Bessie sighed wistfully.

“You’re going back to school?”

“I will, and I am,” she confided in a hushed tone. “Been taking online courses to become a nurse. I’m gonna miss Charlie when he’s gone. But, it’ll give me time to go to school in person and get my certificate quicker.”

She looked at Shawn and reached out to lightly touch her hand. “You know, nurses are in high demand right now? They make a good deal of money. You start young like you and you could really build up a nice nest-egg, and maybe have your career going well before you start your family.”

Bessie’s attention was stolen away by the raised hand of a patron. “I’ll be back, ya’ll.”

Keaton remained at the diner the rest of the night. When Shawn would look over on occasion she noticed he’d have a small writing pad out and the end of his pen would be furiously scoring the air. But, whenever she would stop by he would casually close the little notebook and lay down his pen to give her his full attention.

Too bad. She liked to watch him write. There was eagerness in the bend of his neck, like a diver in mid-air just before he entered the water. His still, taught body like a violin string on the verge of being plucked. It made her nervous, and intrigued and envious.

What was he writing, anyway?

But, just like she intrinsically knew how to make him smile, it was also understood that boundaries were to be respected, because they each had the power to break through them before the other was ready for the intrusion.

Shawn had her boundaries. And, she would respect his.

Chapter 11:

2004-11-16T13:27:00.000-08:00

Joe watched this young woman approach him with a caution that he had, hence, not seen from her. Young and foolhardy, is what he’d thought of her. And, now he could add “scared” to the list.

“What do you want to know?”

He could tell that Shawn hadn’t prepared for such bluntness. People rarely did. Especially those who were usually on the giving end of it.

“Well, I don’t know, exactly. Let me think for a minute…get my questions straight.” She pressed her lips together while she thought.

Young, foolhardy, scared and pretty. Dangerous combination for a woman out on the road alone. He had wondered how she’d gotten in the situation she was in. But, it wasn’t his place to ask. He’d learned a long time ago that he hadn’t wanted the position of bartender for those that passed through his doors. And, he’d also learned that most times people were gonna make their own decisions with or without your help. It was a waste of time to try to force things or people to go the way you wanted them to.

Shawn inhaled and drew Joe out of his thoughts with her inquiry.

“Well, I guess I’ll ask what I asked someone else. It’s simple, I guess.” But, still she paused, as if embarrassed to ask a simple question. Joe didn’t like the sound of that silence.

She straightened, for her head had tilted sideways as she thought. “What makes you happy, Joe? Or, why are you happy?”

Strange question, Joe thought. Because he could have sworn that Shawn didn’t think him a contented man at all. Unless, Joe thought, she was too afraid to ask her true question: Why aren’t you happy?
Joe raised his chest a few inches from the desk and let his fists rest on the desk on either side of his paperwork.

The paper, creased in half, lay on the table. It was college ruled. Standard white. 10 ½ by 8 inches. There were three perfect holes running equidistantly down the left-hand side; a quarter of an inch away from the serrated edge where this little slice had been ripped from the loaf.

It was an ordinary piece of notebook paper and Joe was insulted that such a common and dull tool would be used to puncture his heart.

He carefully took up the paper between his forefinger and thumb. A sudden surge of anger was transferred through his hand and resulted in temporary dents where his fingers met the offending sheaf. Throat clearing, mind cleared, Joe methodically returned the letter to its place behind several other sheets of paper, all contained in the pocket of a worn folder that lay open before him.

He flipped through the stack of papers and pulled out a small sheet, its once smooth surface now a plane of wrinkles as a result of being crumpled into a tight ball. Their edges of these angular hills had been softened, having been smoothed out by hand and time. On it was a recipe for pan-fried corn bread.

His mother’s handwriting had always been chicken scratch at best. But, over the years of hanging onto her apron strings in the kitchen, he’d managed to become expert at deciphering her hieroglyphs.

A plate of the hard, crumbly pastry sat on the table on the day she’d left. And, with it, the recipe addressed to Joe. As far as he knew his father, who wouldn’t be home from the diner until late, had received no note of any kind.

At twelve, Joe didn’t really understand what had happened. What he understood was that his daddy talked to him even less now, seemed more busy than ever. His momma was gone. His high school gym teacher had up and disappeared. And, the kids at school were teasing him about the coincidence of that. Apparently they had gleaned some information from their own parents.

He’d lost a lot of friends after that. Seem they didn’t much appreciate getting their noses bloodied after a badly timed taunt. So, school turned into a solitary affair for Joe. Fortunately his aunt--his father’s sister—helped out with the frequent dinner, and by encouraging Joe’s dream of pursuing study at the university level; despite his father’s opposing opinions.

“Son,” he had said to the 16 year old as they had sat in the dining room. His father had just gotten home and always took a minute of rest before heaving his body the rest of the way into the house. Joe sometimes sat with him because the dining room had better light for him to do his homework than his bedroom. His father rarely spoke to him at that time. And, Joe hadn’t expected him to that day.

“Son,” he’d said again to the young man who’s nose always seemed to be stuck in textbook or another. Once he’d gotten the attention he wanted, his father had continued, “You’re gonna graduate from that school of yours soon. Just as well get your feet wet in the business end of the diner since it will be yours someday.”

Joe blinked at his father’s statement. His father was aware of his plans as anyone else. It was all Joe talked about. “Dad, I plan on applying for school, soon. To be a journalist. I’m gonna be a journalist.”

“Are you a journalist now?” his father asked, his voice only raising a decimal. Joe knew there’d be an argument to follow. He didn’t respond.

“Alls I’m saying,” his father continued, “Is that the diner is a real thing. A real, good and honest way to make a living, support a family and keep a roof over their heads.”

Joe snorted. “What family.” He immediately regretted his words. But, it was too late. The few rounded edges of his father’s face solidified, forming an impassive mask that would brook no further exchange.

“I work day and night for your, boy,” his father reminded him, jabbing a finger at the boy that sat at the table dumbfounded. “And, for your mama--when she was here. Don’t you forget who left who,” he ground out, dabs of spittle forming white globs of foam in the corners of his mouth. He spun on the ball of his foot and walked determinedly to the living room. “You’re gonna be working the diner this summer. And, you’re gonna start helping me keep the books,” his father declared from out of view.

A few moments later Joe heard the television sing to life and the sound of applause as a Jeopardy contestant finished questioning an answer.

Looking down at his homework he noticed the paper blurred and colors ran together. Wiping his eyes he closed his Trapper Keeper, ear marked his place in the two textbooks he had open, and stacked each item on top of the other.

He rose and headed toward the kitchen; his aunt would be bringing dinner by tomorrow and his father hadn’t brought anything from the diner. So, Joe would be making their meal tonight. He hated using the pots and pans whose handles had once been enclosed in his mother’s heat pad clad hands.

That night his father hadn’t bothered to eat, claiming he wasn’t hungry, though the smells of his favorite meal permeated the house. Joe’s fork and knife clinked noisily in the lonely room.

“Joe!”

Joe shook himself out of his memory. After stuffing the crumpled recipe in its place at the bottom of the stack of papers he flipped the folder closed, yelling, “Coming, Dad!”

The folder was carefully placed in his back pack before he leapt up to wind his way through the kitchen and to his father’s office.

Once there he stood at the threshold, avoiding the claustrophobic interior; he hated this place.

“Come in here. You’re gonna read over this ledger here and tell me what’s wrong with the numbers.”

His son lurched in, his exaggerated intake of breath comical, if there were room for humor in his father’s presence. The older man slid some documents to the far side of the desk where Joe stood and asked him to point out what was wrong with the numbers.

“Well, they’re up-side down, for one thing.” Joe chuckled at his own joke. His afforded him a small smile, but then straigtened and scoot closer to the desk. He placed the tips of his fingers on the papers and twisted them around.

“Now what’s wrong with them? And, I don’t mean a smart alecky answer.”

“Okay,” Joe gave in. He studied the papers for only a moment before he found the problem. “The amount of flour we bought this month is a lot more than last. That’s what accounts for the increase in expenses.”

His father looked at him for a moment and Joe senses an appreciation from him that he found himself reluctantly welcoming.

“Good. Good. You’ll do fine. After I’m gone, when this is yours, you’ll do fine. Now, here’s another set of documents.”

“Dad…” Joe began haltingly interrupting. He pressed his lips together, calming his recurring frustrations; his father knew as well as anyone who’d listen that study to become a Sociologist was a dream of his. And, at twenty-two years of age, he was determined to make that happen before he got too old to try.

His father stopped his movements and gave his son his attention. But, upon reading the expression on the young boy’s face his father shook his head and returned to gathering his documents. “I don’t want to hear it, Joe. The truth of the matter is those damn schools don’t want you.” He paused in his preparations and met his son’s gaze again. “Son, how many letters do they got to send you before you get that?

Joe jumped. “They’re not saying they don’t want me. I’ve been accepted into two schools.”

“Where are the scholarships you were depending on, Joe? If they’d a wanted you wouldn’t they have made a way for you? Like I’m making a way?”

“The truth of it is that this is where you belong. This is real. Son, I’m offering something that has a foundation, a firm one. This is one thing that won’t slip through your fingers if you don’t let it.”

Joe pressed his lips together, fighting the frown that quivered at the corner of his mouth. Again he wondered how he could be related to this man, who’d given up on hope and on him. He wondered if he’d been adopted. No luck, for he saw himself in his father’s countenance. And, as he looked at the man he’d known all his life he realized that his father was old. Never having looked so tired, his dad’s eyes seemed watery, his forehead was branded by worry lines. His once firm stomach was still full, but plush and the doughy skin around his jowls and cheek and neck was white contrasting with the pinkish sea of skin covering the dome of his head, glinting in the light between two islands of hair anchored on either side.

And, Joe wondeed how he must look to his father. Ingrateful, probably. Rebellious.

Joe swallowed, shame making sudden and wide sweeps across his conscience. Whatever his father wasn’t, he was there. More than Joe could say about a lot else.

He shrugged and took a seat. “I’m still reapplying for next year’s session.”

His father leaned back in his chair. “How about that girl you’ve been so crazy about. Diana, I think was her name. She ain’t keeping you here?”

“No.” Joe said tersely.

His father stilled, regarding his son’s rigid posture. Nodding he pushed the new set of sheets before his only son. “Now, tell me what’s wrong with this invoice.”

Joe looked down at the smatter of papers that filled up the void between his arms. On top of it all sat a worn, red folder. The flimsy thing had been replaced again and again, but never seemed to change. Breathing in, Joe allowed himself to slowly get used to the present. To the way things were. To what was real.

The squeak of a rubber sole against the linoleum brought his attention back to Shawn, a chocolate skinned young girl. Her hair was cut short in a pixie style. Her eyes were brown and infinite. She was a black. A woman whom he would have never admitted finding beauty in to his peers and to his father. But, she was.

Not in the way she looked; he supposed she was rather ordinarily pretty. But her youth, her zeal, her foolhardiness, all wrapped up in a jittery little package; to him it was like watching fireworks trapped in a dark bottle.

And, he envied her.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the silence that’d followed what he’d intended to be a brief pause in his story.

“So, after a while, my father retired at 64. But, I had been managing this place for about six years before that. On my 28th birthday the old man signed his resignation and the papers transferring ownership to me. He’s in Florida now.” A raspy chuckle escaped Joe before he continued. “Says he’s gonna take up surfing.”

“He never remarried?” Shawn’s uncharacteristically hesitant voice broke his sardonic reverie. “I mean, after your mother died?”

Joe’s gaze snapped up to hers. He just as quickly snatched it away.

“No, after she’d…passed, he didn’t seem to have time for much else.”

She leaned in. An elbow had long since found a home on the edge of his desk and now the other joined it.

“Looks like he’s taking advantage of that time, now,” she said, a wistful smile molding her lips.

“Yep.” He said, arms sliding forward as he slouched and relaxed his back. A long, drawn out breath released itself from the constraints of his lungs.

“Lookin’ forward to that day, myself,” he said, finally.

Shawn regarded him. Her curiosity emboldened by the sonorous gust of wind, which he’d hailed from the very depths of him. Like a locked room whose door had cracked open, revealing nothing of what was inside, but whose recessed bolt and brassy tongue taunted you beneath a low light.

“You and your wife think you’d like to go to Florida? It’s hot out there.”

“Don’t think I’ll—we’ll miss the cold that much. Janice is developing a little of the arthritis, anyway. I’ve been trying to convince her for years, but I think that’ll be the thing to do it.”

Shawn smiled. “In that case, I won’t mention the rain.”

Chuckling, Joe nodded. “I’d appreciate that. There may be an extra blanket in it for you.”

“Now, you’re talking my language.” She laughed with him. They were comfortable letting the shared moment dwindle peacefully.

Just when Shawn would have spoken Joe began again.

“You know, she was the prettiest, smartest thing in town; she could tell you about yourself in English and in French—her mother’s from Quebec.” He chuckled at some memory. “There’ve been a good number of times that I knew she was mad about something, just didn’t know what because she’ll only curse in French. Thought that was the funniest thing,” he said, smiling again. “About all I’ve learned of that language over the past 34 years.” The smile faltered.

Shawn paused before her next question, having guessed the answer. “How old were you then?” she asked quietly. “When you married?”

Joe cleared his throat. “Twenty-two,” he responded simply. He smiled, an abrupt and incongruous thing. “We had Micheal soon after; then Lacey and Terrence. And, well you know of Diana, who we had pretty late. She’s the one in college right now.” A prideful glow infused his visage. “All of them have gone to college. They’re doing great things, now.”

He nodded to himself and looked down at the red folder that he had unconsciously pulled from one of the shelves under his desk.

Chapter 10:

2004-11-16T13:26:00.000-08:00

Shawn ignored the mispronunciation of her name; embarrassed that she’d failed to be a little less obvious. But, she did have something she wanted to say. Leaning forward so she could be heard she asked him, “It just that…I can’t figure you out, Joe.”

His brows raised and his mouth parted slightly as if taken by surprise. He looked down then and then to the side where the counter stood with one of the diner’s two patrons on a stool. “What’s there to figure out? I own the diner you’re working in for now.”

He looked back at her and breathed deeply through his nose before leaning forward to continue where he’d left off with his meal.

“When did you start the diner?”

He paused, the scoop of corn halfway to his mouth. He finished the trip and chewed before answering her. “Twenty-eight years, now.”

He scooped a couple chunks of sweet potato. Looking up at her he asked her, “Any more questions before I finish up?”

Shawn leaned back so that she could better reach her plate. Taking up her own utensil that she’d stuck in the rice she dug in and placed a forkful of the fluffy side in her mouth.

Joe nodded and consumed his dose of sweet potato. He was going in for a few bites of chicken when he was interrupted once again.

“Did you start out as the cook here?”

“I did,” came his terse reply.

“You’ve lived here all your life?”

Shawn watched as his shoulders rose at his deep intake of breath.

“I swear,” he said, putting down hid fork again. He grabbed his plate and began scooting out of his seat. “You women don’t believe in giving a man a moment of peace, do you?”

With that he removed his plate, muttering as he stalked to the kitchen.

Shawn sat with her food growing cold in front of her and an equally unsettling feeling that she could have handled that a lot better.

Finishing her meal she rose and took the plate to the scullery in the kitchen. Paper in hand she searched for the door that would lead to Joe’s office.

Joe could see her through the window of his door, and yet she still knocked. He wondered what she wanted now.

“Come in,” he said.

“Hey, Joe,” she began, nervously.

He just looked up at her from his seated position behind his small desk. Stepping in Shawn felt an unfamiliar case of claustrophobia sneak up on her. The walls were seemed very close, the ceiling too low and Joe, poor Joe, seemed to have outgrown his desk years ago.

“Uhm, look Joe.” She looked down at the paper and pulled out the pen she always kept in her apron’s pocket. “I was hoping maybe you could help me out with something…”

Joe waved his hand from side to side saying, “I don’t have time for more questions, Shawna. I’ve got a business to run here and…”

She cut in. “I just need a four letter word for ‘I screwed up and am sorry for being so nosy that I can’t even let you finish your meal’.” A weak smile attempted to lift the corners of her mouth. “That’s about as close to an apology as I can muster, Joe.”

Her manager’s body visibly relaxed and he regarded her for a long time before a genuine smile spread his lips and rounded his full cheeks. “That’s actually probably better than I get or give on my best days.” He nodded at her and returned his attention to the paperwork he had been looking over before she’d entered. “Thanks,” he said.

“Okay,” Shawn responded as she turned to head back out. Her hand was on the door’s knob but she turned back.

She thought she heard a barely audible groan come from Joe’s direction.

“Joe,” she ventured.

He sighed and looked up with that same annoyed, impatient expression that she was actually beginning to get used to.

“I was just interested in getting to know you.”

Before she could turn to walk out Joe responded quietly, “Why?”

Good question, she thought to herself. She didn’t really know, and her silence and bent head probably were clear indications of that. Finally, she swung around.

“Don’t you ever get curious about people? Who they are? How they are? Like—” Her palm thrust towards Joe as if inviting his own. “Like, with your customers. Don’t you ever wonder what their story is? Where they’re coming from?”

“No,” Joe answered laconically. And, looking in his eyes Shawn would swear that he was telling the truth.

How could that be? She thought, shoulders sagging. “Do you wonder where I come from? Are you even curious.”

An eloquent smile tinged his expression. “Why?” he asked. “You want to tell it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, then, what’s the use in wondering?”

“The use?”

“Doing all that wondering won’t result in anything concrete but to keep your head in the sky and your mind off of what’s real and what’s real important.”

“You make it sound like it’s a waste to wonder. Or, like there’s something wrong with it. Kids wonder, it’s how they grow. It’s how we grow.”

“I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

“Me either,” she said, ignoring his ensuing derisive snort. “But, I remember being a hell of a lot happier then. And, I bet you were, too.”

A hard dye tainted his gaze. “What makes you think I’m not happy now?”

Ooops. Now she’d stepped in it.

“I didn’t mean that you aren’t, exactly.” The back of her earlobes sizzled. She’d come in here to apologize and would have left clean as a whistle if she’d just kept on stepping. Now, here she was staring down a growingly annoyed man discussing how happy he was.

“I meant that it seems like curiosity is a natural thing. I know we are not kids but the moment you lose your curiosity, what is there to drive you? What makes life interesting?”

“Sound like you already have all the answers,” he grunted, leaning forward. He seemed to resume his perusal of his business document, though his ear was tilted towards the door.

“I don’t.” Shawn shrugged, becoming aware of a complicated rapport between she and the diner’s manager. “I don’t have any answers. I guess all I have are questions. Really annoying ones, but…” Her voice trailed off; she wasn’t sure where she was going with this conversation.

“So,” Joe said, peering at her from under trim but erratic brows. “How would your curiosity about me help you grow?”

Her eyes flitted to the molding tracing the bottom of the wall, then up to the shelf pressed to the wall by rusty bolts. Her gaze skipped across Joe’s desk, the mess confined to the space in front of him and surrounded stacks of trays which served to organize the rest of the small surface area. She looked down at her feet and the way they seemed unable to find their place and stay still. Finally, she faced Joe’s gaze.

He’d watched her quiet display of unease and when she finally shrugged he could have almost laughed. Her posture and mannerisms reminded him of a four year old who had spoken out of turn. Shaking his head he leaned back and filled the silence for her.

“You’re just a kid, you know that?”

That stopped her fidgeting. “At twenty-eight, I don’t think I qualify anymore,” she shot back.

He went on as if she hadn’t responded. “ You don’t know what you want and, you’re rushing to figure it out before you get old. Like me."

Shawn’s mouth opened, then closed. She’d never been any good at lying. “I didn’t say that,” she replied lamely.

Joe shrugged as he bent forward, resuming his study of the forms on his desk. He picked up his pencil and made a few marks.

“Take a chair, Shawn.” He threw a meaningful glance her way. “Bessie’s here. She can cover you for a few minutes.”

She stood by the door, her hand resting on the knob. The direction of their conversation was maybe a little too personal than she had intended. Like they were exposing a scab that wasn’t ready to be picked. And, his invitation to further it suddenly made Shawn wary.

The rough sound of his pencil strokes across the paper ceased. And, he looked up expectantly. “Take a seat, Shawn,” he said, tiredly. “Or, don’t.”

Just then, she noticed that he’d called her by her true name. That peculiarity helped push Shawn out of her state of indecision and encouraged her to place one foot in front of the other until Joe was only a desk away from her. She lowered herself onto the seat, watching him like she would a cunning magician.

Chapter 9:

2004-11-16T13:25:00.000-08:00

Massive, cherry wood doors required a vigorous tug before they parted quietly on well-oiled hinges. Thick carpet muffled her steps as she entered and the little noise that intruded from outside was gently hushed by the doors that had closed at their own leisurely pace.

Shawn tugged her hood back and her cheeks tingled from the warm breath of the structures cozy interior. A large open doorway announced the entrance into an expansive room that housed several rows of book cases. They lined the back wall like dark pillars that, falling short of the ceiling, supported the weight of the building by pride alone.

Further in, a curved desk could be seen to the left housing a small woman who fit the stereotype of librarian. To the right was a line of long tables, each supporting old fashioned lamps that had been placed at three equidistant intervals along their lengths.

On the other side of the circulation desk was another open area full of the same tables. Behind them stood additional columns of bookcases. Between those two sections was another entryway through which could be glimpsed computer terminals under the rooms sunflower-yellow light.

Shawn walked among the library’s shelves, longing to run her fingers through each occupant. But, agreeing with her body that, for right now, some shut-eye was more needed.

One of the large, plush arm chairs that sat at intervals along the wall, tucked between bookcases would do fine. Claiming one of these Shawn pulled her hood over her head, curled up and quickly found a peace in sleep that she hadn’t felt for two cold nights.

She awoke a few hours later, surprised after having groggily sought out a clock. Yawning, she slowly wound her way through the wooden maze, reaching out to savor the various textures of books’ spines. She’d pause when a title or a picture caught her eye and flip near the end to see if it was something she might be interested in. By the time her exploration of the first section of bookcases was finished there were more than eight works wedged under her arm.

Carrying these back to the tables on the far side of the library she only belatedly remembered that she wouldn’t be checking any of these out. Settling in, she read passages from each of her selection until she found the one, the fourth one, that was interesting enough to stick with.

But, the words on the page kept jumping around on her. They didn’t seem to want to rest in her mind, instead making room for other thoughts. Like, the vague memory of what had happened only hours ago. The insane proposition proposed by an, admittedly, insane man. It almost seemed like it was part of the dream she’d just left but barely remembered because of its absurdity.

Though, neither events could be much more illogical than her own actions. This desperate search for something that she wouldn’t even be able to identify in a police line-up.

That look in his eyes…The glimpse of the gnawing desolation that he supposed she shared.

She wasn’t like him.

Shawn’s hands supported her forehead, calming her.

And, even if she were, so what? How much fun can two miserable people have on the road? What? Are they gonna cry on each others shoulders and throw the occasional surprise pity party for one another? So, what if they shared similar sentiments? How did that make them sudden bosom buddies? What kind of relationship would come from a connection based on loneliness? Would a relationship like that really yield any good?

And, for God’s sake, he’s a nut!

So, why was she even debating this? A phrase from a song wafted through her mind: Five years in prison and I made no friends—Kings of Convenience.

It made her consider all the relationships she’d had. All the times she’d held back that part of her that she deemed unacceptable. All the times she’d longed to have someone to share herself with more fully. Maybe during those times she’d wondered if she was just a little crazier than the norm. Maybe past quirky and on to obscure. Maybe she had still been lonely in a crowd.

Because, maybe she was a nut, too.

Shawn shook her head, raising her eyes and cupping her mouth in her loose fists.

“I don’t want to be a nut,” she whispered into her hands.

I gotta be me, Sammy chimed in.

Shawn rolled her eyes and rose from the table. After neatly stacking her selections, she walked past the circulation desk. The mousy librarian’s curious eyes followed the stranger, covertly watching as the young woman fastened her coat, swung her oversized hood over her eyes, and placed her hands in the large pockets. The bundled visitor walked out of her view and the older woman braced herself for the gust of cold air that would soon make its way around the corner of the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple hours in a thrift store she’d found helped to lift Shawn’s spirits. The small store held a bevy of surprises for the persistent shopper. And, the prices were reasonable in comparison to the “vintage” stores that only wanted to jack up their profits. Shawn left the store with a bag full of booty: two new-to-her tops and a funky pair of camel wide-leg pants. Her new-to-her bracelets jingled on her wrists and the pale pink faux flower that the cashier had given her glowed against her dark hair.

She felt a little better. But, who didn’t after spending what little money they had on something they really loved?

The drive back to the diner was becoming too familiar. She pulled into what she began to accidentally consider as “her spot”. Her bangles clinked as she turned off the ignition. The soft sound buoyed her and, though muffled by her coats sleeve, she focused on that little bit of respite on the walk back inside.

Once within the thick heat of “Chicken Bits,” she saw Bessie throw a disinterested look her way as the waitress stood by taking an order. Upon recognizing the new arrival Bessie’s face brightened before shooting a wink her way. The small gesture made Shawn smile and, after tapping Bessie’s elbow in greeting, she then went to the back and ordered her lunch. On her way to the corner booth, she shrugged off Joe’s coat, hung it on the rack and continued on her way, wondering if Joe would grace her with another good meal.

At the table she pulled out the same paper she’d had from this morning, determined to finish that crossword puzzle once and for all.

“You know, they come out with one of those everyday.”

Shawn didn’t look up from the web of boxes on paper.

“Is that fried chicken I smell, Joe?”

He blocked her view of the paper with the plate he laid down in front of her. Another plate was set across from her and the empty seat soon filled with Joe’s husky frame.

“Just make sure not to blab it too loud. I’m not cooking for everyone, here.”

He bent his head in prayer and after a few moments of silently moving his lips he raised his head and sought his fork.

It’d been a while since Shawn had prayed over her food. And, she suddenly felt like a heathen as she dipped her fork into fresh white rice mixed with real butter and sugar.

“I love rice with sugar. How’d you know, Joe?”

“Is there any other way?” he asked after finishing his mouthful.

“Gravy,” Shawn recalled her step-father making the best gravy. It was the only time she would eat her rice like that.

Joe shook his head definitively. “Never been a big fan of that.” His fork clinked politely as he laid it on the plate so that he could take up his napkin to wipe at his mouth. “Gravy,” he said, retaking up his utensil, “Is for mashed potatoes and meat. And, not necessarily in that order.”

Shawn agreed, nodding as she laughed.

After a few more delicious bites in silence Shawn found herself really looking at Joe. She’d practically avoided him since she’d come to work for him; her ineptness always seemed to garner an annoyed, impatient expression.

But, there was something about watching a person eat that brought them down to human level. It was a very personal thing, really. How one went about their meal. How one went about assuaging their hunger.

Joe was a neat eater: he didn’t mix any of his foods and sequentially tasting one side dish then the next in between bites of chicken, at intervals pausing to wipe at his chin and around his mouth. His deliberate expression made the matter seem more of a chore than a pleasure, though how could someone cook this well and not understand the importance of enjoying it?

“Is there something you want to say to me, Shawna? ‘Cause your staring is messin’ up my meal time.” He scooped one more dose of rice in his mouth before softly placing his fork on his plate and leaning back, chewing.

Chapter 8:

2004-11-16T13:23:00.000-08:00

Birds of a Feather

With the tepid beverage at its halfway mark, the glazed ceramic cup was gingerly set into the cradle of its matching plate. It landed with a clink that radiated finality.

“Finally,” Shawn murmured, though they’d been sitting for less than a minute.

Keaton glanced over at her with what might pass as a mischievous smirk from more light-hearted company. On him it looked ominous.

This time she allowed herself to relish the ambiguous chill that teased her spine. Angling her thighs downward until her weight pulled her feet to the floor, she stood, feeling the sudden need to move beyond the safety and warmth of the diner.

A wallet, its leather skin a dark woody brown covered in a web of worn creases, appeared in Keaton’s hands. He left his payment under his plate and rose.

He was tall. Shawn barely reached average height for women, but the dusty haired man loomed over her. He wasn’t as thick as she’d imagined, his height stretching his weight. And, the way he seemed to fold in on himself, his stance reminding her of a pine tree that was slightly bowed as if afraid it might reach the sky. Or that it might never.

“Do you like bookstores?”

She nodded. Though, at present, she didn't feel the desire to loiter among literary stacks. She wasn’t sure what she wanted right now—a running theme that was becoming more disheartening by the moment.

“Okay then,” he agreed quietly. His hands were limp at his side and now they began tapping a confused beat on his thighs, as if trying to find their rhythm, only to be jerked from their search and confined to his jean pockets.

“Okay then, so let’s go,” he said, starting out. Shawn followed his lead wondering for the second time what the fuck was wrong with this man?

And, what the fuck is wrong with me? she thought as she followed his lead. Keaton passed up a small Ford and began unfettering the motorcycle that leaned next to it.

He handed her the lone helmet. “I’ll help you put it on.”

“For what?”

A bewildered look crossed his face.

Shawn shook her head. “I am not riding that. And, there’s no way you can convince me that you…you do.”

He stood up from his preparations, the deep rise of his chest visible under the brown leather jacket that Shawn only now noticed. Keaton reached out and, gently removing the headgear from her hands responded, “I thought that might get you.” A pleased sound escaped his throat as he placed the helmet onto the bike. Leaning down, his gloved hands busied themselves with redoing all the preparations that had just been undone.

Upon finishing the keys flashed in the air as he propelled them around his leather clad forefinger. “So, I guess that leaves your car.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve been manipulated?”

“I wouldn’t dare to postulate on your feelings, Shawn.”

She shook her head. “Smart-ass,” she said, turning. Stones crunched, announcing her progress to her vehicle, and Keaton’s jaunty pursuit.

She unlocked his door, and as she crossed over to the driver’s side she was pleased to see him reach over the gear stick to do the same for her.

“Seatbelts,” she commanded as soon as she’d swung into her seat.

Keaton followed directions well. The vehicle’s engine gurgled under him just as he clicked his belt together.

One glance revealed to Shawn the pitiful state that her fuel tank was in. She’d have to use what meager tips she’d earned to fill up today. Smoke bellowed from her exhaust and the intermittent wind blew the white cloud forward, obscuring the view of both driver and passenger for a moment.

“So, where’s this bookstore?” she asked, backing her car out from the now haze.

“What bookstore?”

A sharp glance was thrown his way. “The bookstore you suggested in the diner.”

“I never suggested a bookstore.”

“You asked me if I liked bookstores. Were you just asking to be asking?”

“Yes.”

Her foot pressed the brake and she turned her face fully to his profile. Matching her posture he offered that same obnoxious smirk.

“So, where are we going then?” Shawn asked, becoming annoyed and, finally, a little nervous.

He shrugged. “I was thinking we’d keep going in whatever direction your trip was already taking you.”

Shawn stared at him, his statement not registering.

He turned more fully towards her, or as much as his seatbelt would allow. “Your license plate is Californian. You’re a lone traveler who’s stuck working at a roadside diner because she ran out of money only a day away from that state. And, you’re wearing borrowed clothes.” Keaton leaned against her seat and emitted a tired sigh.

“You’re either horrible at planning, or this road trip is about as pre-meditated as triplets. I don’t know what you’re leaving or where you’re going, but I’m feeling probably as eager to leave as you were a day or two ago. This town is too small for me. And, the road is too big to travel alone.” He shrugged bashfully, but he forced his gaze to keep hers.

“And, whether it’s said aloud or not, we’d probably make better company for each other than we would for anybody else. So…let’s ride.”

He turned back in his seat and sat staring out the windshield as if the decision was made.

“You’re a nut,” she declared in an awed whisper.

An unrepentant bark of laughter escaped him, standing out eerily in the silence. “Is that your layman’s diagnosis?” He shook his head then stilled. Finally his shoulders rose and lowered. “Well, sometimes I would be inclined to concur.” He turned to her, his eyes glittering. “But, you wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you never feel that way.”

Shawn shook her head at him; desperately wanting to shake loose the bridge being built between she and him. “I’m not like you, Keaton.”

“How do you know, Shawn? Remember, you don’t know me.”

He inhaled deeply and turned, placing his hand on the door and opening it. One foot swung out and landed loudly on the starched rocks paving the lot.

He looked at her. “You take your break. You look like you could use a nap. Think about my offer. I’ll be back before you close for dinner.”

He left, gently closing the door behind him. The back of him receded in her rearview mirror. He stooped over his bike, and after a few quick gestures Keaton was on his bike, helmet on. He straddled the bike, walking it out of its spot. Finally he straightened it, and turning his visored gaze towards Shawn’s car, he held up his hand in a non-committal gesture, then lowered both to grasp the handle bars. Rocks flew from under his tire, pelting a few stray cars as he sped off.

Shawn refused to sit in her car for too long pondering what had just transpired. Instead she pulled out and went to town, filled up and searched around for a good place waste her time. The buildings were conveniently well labeled, and she found herself searching for a particular establishment.

Finding it, she pulled into a small lot, its blue black asphalt marked with pale lines designating twelve or so spaces. The thick coat she wore was bundled more tightly around her before she got out to brave the un-Californian cold and approached the library's steps.

Chapter 7:

2004-11-16T13:22:00.000-08:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The next day could almost be categorized as good. Taking some cues from the other waitress helped Shawn to better handle the customers that came in, even to the point of sharing a laugh or two. Her notes were clearer and more accurate and her memory seemed to be improving: there were far less misplaced meals. Though the death toll for dishes didn’t change much; this time it was drinking glasses that suffered her wrath.

“I’d take that out of your paycheck if I was paying you,” Joe said as they both stared at the second of four glasses that would kamikaze on the linoleum floor.

“Should I feel lucky that you’re not?” Shawn said, as she brushed past him to the broom.

“Now, don’t get sassy with me. I’m the one helping you out.” Joe turned to her, searching for signs of contrition as she returned with cleaning tools in hand.

Yeah, with twelve hour days on my feet in exchange for a cold couch, a cold wife and barely warm meals. The glass chimed and clinked as they joined each other in the dustpan. She never did meet his gaze.

Keaton came in for breakfast. Since Bessie wouldn’t be arriving until lunch the new arrival was missing a waitress.

Shawn inhaled deeply. The morning had gone comparatively smoothly. And, in another couple hours she would be off until the night shift. It helped to focus on those positives as she made her way over to Keaton. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. But, he made her uncomfortable.

Like they were playing doctor. But not in the good way. Like when he looked at her now she got the feeling that he was trying to crawl inside her and see her from the inside out. Like he wanted to view the world from her eyes.

The sense of that brought a chill to her spine that confused her; because it wasn’t all unpleasant.

She loosed the smirk the pulled at her lips and walked behind the counter until she was directly in front of him. His eyes leveled on hers, and she sensed he was pleased with whatever he gathered from hers.

“Should I go ahead and get you a new salt shaker, then? Or, is there some other petty concern that you have in mind to bother me with?”

“Nothing petty.” He smiled, wide, and two dimples flashed before disappearing. “Just tell me why you’re here, Shawn.”

“Well, I'm the only one here till Bessie shows up for lunch."

“I mean, why aren’t you home, Shawn? Why are you waitressing in some rest stop and not at a school or something?”

“That’s a tall order you’re making, there. Are you sure you don’t want something a little easier to swallow; like bacon and eggs? Oatmeal, maybe.”

Shawn looked away, pretending to scribble on her notepad. He was making her nervous. And, she loved it. And, she loved his questions and she wanted whatever he was trying to offer, but she wasn’t quite sure she knew what that was.

“I’ve got an odd appetite. A very picky one, too. I ate breakfast at home, Shawn. I’m here because I find myself drawn in for something else.”

“That sounds very Dommerish,” she mumbled.

He smiled before bursting into a full laugh, like one of those large bells that rang clear because it received daily love and care. Patrons all over the diner turned their heads to see what joke they missed. Keaton continued chuckling loudly, leaning forward with his arms on the table and hands clasped.

Where did that bashful boy from yesterday go? Shawn wondered. It’d been replaced by a man who was equal parts disturbing and charming.

“Very Dommerish,” he repeated in an amused murmur. “See, I knew you had something to say—when you’re interested enough to share it.”

He looked away, a reminder of his former self flickered and was gone. He looked at her again. “I don’t plan on making a meal out of you. Besides, you don’t have enough meat on your bones for that.”

“I never would have guessed you a liar, Keaton,” Shawn said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not lying. I’m inviting you out to dinner.”

Shawn’s right eyebrow shot up into a sharp, inverted “v”.

“You’d be eating it. Not being it,” he clarified.

Shawn recovered, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t get off until late tonight. And, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I’ll help close up. I’ve done it before. That’ll make for an earlier evening. And, Joe owes me a favor.”

She was still hesitant.

“I just want to talk with you, Shawn. I have a feeling we have a lot in common.”

At that Shawn met his gaze. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, fidgeting behind her as he waited to pay for his, apparently, solitary meal. She remembered his feeble attempts at conversation and his awkwardness.

And, she was ashamed because she didn’t want to be anything like him.

“I don’t think so, Keaton.”

He straightened, his expression only a little more guarded. Still, he probed her eyes with his own and, finally nodded in satisfaction. “And you’re scared that, given the chance, I’ll prove you wrong.”

A disdainful smile curled her lips. “Are you trying to undermine my intelligence or you just unaware that the concept of reverse psychology is no longer cutting edge?”

“Trite doesn’t negate truth.”

Shawn stuffed her pad and pen in her apron’s pocket. “On that Obi Wan moment, I’m out. Let me or Bessie know when you’re ready to order.”

"Shawn, how many times are you going to get someone open to talking about your favorite subject?"

The hem of her skirt swished forward, after Shawn's screeching halt. She turned a piercing gaze toward his, daring him.

"You." he finished, meeting her challenge.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm nothing like you, Keaton. You're lonely. And, you're mean. And, your only enjoyment is found in provoking other people."

He breathed in loudly. "Exactly."

He watched her walk away, a hint of disappointment dulling his eye.

She tried not to notice him. But, she found her glance seeking out the pair of dark blue jeans over at the counter, one leg habitually jittering as if to some tune that had been turned to its highest speed. He’d ordered a cup of tea from Bessie, and sat there, hunched over like an elderly man commiserating over his pension check.

A couple hours later she was free and decided she’d take advantage of the diner’s heater by eating her lunch inside. She’d already put in her order and now sat in a corner booth, trying to concentrate on the crossword puzzle she’d left unfinished. A shadow spread over the paper and its black and white print. Looking up Shawn was startled to see Joe standing beside the table with a plate in his hand. He laid it not gently on the table and walked away.

Shawn would have quizzically regarded his departure, but hunger forced her attention elsewhere. The smells from the food in front of her teased her nostrils with spices and the suggestion of flavor. After her first bite of the steaming dish she guessed why. This was a Joe-made meal.

Once finished, Shawn sat back and stared at the plate that now contained only gravy and crumbs. She patted her stomach, squelching her impending foray into second-guessing the boss’s motives.

Instead, she got up and stalked towards the kitchen as if she were wearing blinders. Turning in her dishes, she left the kitchen and grabbed Joe’s coat from the rack near the bathroom. On the way out her eyes betrayed her by straying over to the where he sat sipping on an umpteenth cup of tea. She tilted her head downward and was about to pass Keaton when he said, “I’ll join you, if you wait a minute.”

She halted, not looking at him. Then she turned her head toward him. His back was still towards her.

“You know, it’s considered rude to address someone with your back towards them.”

His body jerked as he laughed. “Just keeping the tender under belly out of your reach.”

“So, now you’re quoting the Discovery Channel.”

“Whatever keeps you talking, Shawn. So, you’ll wait for me.”

What had she got to lose, since she’d already resigned herself to the red dress? The stool next to him looked much warmer than another gas-conscious trip through Sleepy Hollow. And, a conversation with this interloper promised to be a lot more stimulating.

But, the suggestion hung in the air, answered only when Shawn swung around to the counter like an obstinate child.

Settled in her seat, the coat was shrugged off of her shoulders and hood hung down just at the small of her back.

Keaton sat tranquil, patiently relieving the small, snowy cup of its watery burden. He seemed to have used up his words at present. His eyes slid shut after one instance, the corner of his mouth lifted as if he and the teacup had just shared something very personal. His leg was still.

Shawn watched, feeling like a voyeur who had been ensnared by her own curiosity. She wondered at how someone could enjoy tea that much.

Chapter 6:

2004-11-16T13:21:00.000-08:00

Only three plates went crashing to the floor on that day. A fourth, being obviously more resilient than the others, and being empty of food, and being lucky enough to have slipped out of Shawn’s hand while she happened to be near the waist high counter, merely ended up wobbling loudly on the counter before settling in one place.

She hadn’t bothered looking at Joe. She could hear his eyes rolling. After serving a flux of early morning drivers and risers Shawn found some time for herself. She sat on a stool, her legs indecently hung open beneath the skirt of the flowered dress she’d had to borrow from Mrs. Joe. You can never understand how disappointed she was to find out that it nearly fit her. Nor, how thrilled she was to find out that it was actually one of many cast-offs left by their daughter—who was now just starting her last year in college.

The breakfast she’d had at the diner before it’d opened, (at 4am!), still sat heavily in the pit of her stomach. But, she couldn’t deny that Joe could cook a mean meal. Solid, greasy, thick…but mean.

As she sat by the diners long bar her mind began doing calculations for her trip. With this Friday’s paycheck she’d be fine with another week of travel. She’d have to forfeit a few nights in those penthouse suites she’d planned on renting, but it was a sacrifice she could make. No more new furs for a while. And her fifteen course meals would, of course, have to be reduced.

But, barring any other unforeseen circumstances…

Ah, hell. That did it. “Never say ‘never’,” she mumbled, aggravated at her mental slip into undeserved optimism.

“’Cause that’s just when ‘never’ happens,” someone added beside her.

She looked over to the gentleman who sat on the stool beside her. His body was hunched over his plate, his arms standing guard on either side, the knee closest to her fidgeted. He’d already finished most of his breakfast. Tilting her head she tried to place why his face brought up a sense of déjà vu.

Her eyes widened as repressed memories from yesterday assailed her. “You were standing behind me yesterday…the irritated customer.”

He chuckled, shrugging as he leaned in to take a bite out of his wedge of buttered, jelly-less toast. Amusement skimmed his averted gaze. “Is that what they’re calling me now-a-days?” he mumbled after having swallowed his bite. With his lips still shut Shawn watched as his tongue ran across his teeth, moving beneath his lips like a puppy under the covers.

Shawn had no response for his question. And, she didn’t feel like figuring out some witty come back. There were more customers beginning to file in for an early lunch, and Joe was eying her meaningfully.

Just as Shawn was getting up for another round of subservient humiliation, the irritated customer spoke again.

“My name is Keaton.” He said, steadfastedly fixing his attention onto a plate that, now, offered him very little.

Shawn paused, her hands flat on the counter and one foot still on the stools metal rung. Keaton wore a simple sweatshirt that looked cleaned and smooth of laundry pile wrinkles. His jeans fit a body that was unremarkable in weight or height. Dirty blonde hair covered his head in a thick expanse of short curls. The way he sat, bent and stubborn-like, seemed old. But, when he finally turned to look at Shawn, his face flaunted smooth fair skin and gray eyes that were illuminated with an intensity that belied his resigned posture.

Shawn liked this guy. And, she didn’t even know why.

“Are we ever gonna get some service in this place?” bellowed a soon to be renamed customer. If nothing else, Shawn had learned that she would never wait tables again. Not only was she horrible at what should be an intuitive job, she felt as significant as a peon. Her already beleaguered confidence was taking nosedives in this place.

He still had her eye as she started to walk towards her patron. “My name’s Shawn,” she said just before walking out of his view and passing behind him.

She forgot about him shortly after because, as impossible as it she would have believed, her second day on the job proved even more confusing than the first. During busy periods orders were written wrong, plates delivered to the wrong tables. Shawn still hadn’t gotten the hang of the menu nor of how to simply approach the customers that came in with either rude boisterousness or surly silence.

The only time she had respite was during her midday break between her first 6 hour shift and the second one which would start at 4pm that afternoon. She took her payment in the form of a watery sandwich made up of more lettuce and mustard than meat. Not about to spend another minute in those walls, she'd eaten in her car and learned that the backseat wasn't the worst place to take a nap. It was just as well. There was nothing inviting about the chill that would be waiting for her at Joe's house-or the cold temperature. Still, the small community in which he lived, seemed to invite exploration. After her nap she decided there was nothing better to do than explore the small community that That’s where Joe lived.

The little town sat at the end of the next off ramp; quaint specialty stores, comfortable little houses that lacked Joe’s choice of metal fences, and bike or two could be seen tied to skinny trees that lined the edge of the sidewalks. More of the two wheeled vehicles were clustered in an actual rack that sat right in front of the high school. The day was overcast and encouraged little traffic on the road or in person. But, the solemn weather seemed to fit the mood of the town. Not dreary, but a little sad, evoking sentimental moods.

Shawn drove on and passed a park on her right that boasted a swing set, merry-go-round and, best of all, a see-saw.

I haven’t seen those for years! she mused, imagining herself flying up an down on the thing. In elementary she and her friend used to spend forever on that, daring each other to hold out their hands on the way up. It was the closest she’d ever been to flying. Even United Airlines couldn’t compare to the wind rushing over you and the thrill of knowing that anything could go wrong.

With a couple of hours left before her shift would start Shawn pulled up to the curb running the perimeter of the park. She parked, turned off her gas and bundled up in the coat and scarf that Joe had loaned her. She’d left California unprepared for the more standard winters she would encounter. She reached down under the passenger seat and patted the floor until she felt the edge of the library book she’d brought along. It was one of those classics that she’d heard about but never tackled. It was a hard read, with words that often forced a quick check of her pocket dictionary or thesaurus.

Shawn shook her head in disgust, recalling that she hadn’t thought to bring those. Oh, well. She’d muddle through. Though by the time she finished the book her misunderstandings would probably lead her to believe the story was completely different than what it actually was. Maybe it’d turn this tragedy into a light-hearted comedy. If only all misunderstandings could turn out so well.

At first she found it difficult to focus; her hands began to sting from the cold. But, finally, she recessed her hands into the warm tunnels of the coat’s sleeves, letting only the tip of her finger peek out to turn the pages. The first hour passed easily. The second was torture. She was cold. The book was tedious. And, she had no place to go to relieve either of those problems.

She ended up at the diner forty minutes before her shift was due to start. Not bothering to look in Joe’s direction, she headed straight for a table tucked in the corner. She’d picked up a local paper and began working the crosswords.

Bessie came over with her pad and pen in hand. The woman’s face registered surprise once Shawn lowered the large hood of Joe’s coat.

“Hey, you’re not due up for another half hour.”

Shawn shrugged. “Not much else for me to do here.”

Bessie tipped her head sideways. “You haven’t had dinner, yet, have you?”

Shawn’s stomach leapt at the reminder.

The only slightly older waitress tsked and shook her head. “Well, you better come on then. You know, youre gonna have to learn to speak up. Joe’s certainly not going to remind you to eat for free.”

Shawn was glad the woman’s back was already towards her. She was a little embarrassed to learn that Bessie knew of the arrangement Joe had offered. Of course, it had probably been obvious how yesterday would turn out.

“Good thing you came in early, Shawna…” Bessie mumbled as Shawn quietly followed her away from the booth.

A new crowd of regulars was expected to come in soon, though it was well before dinner time. Shawn was just sitting down for hers: a thick slab of meatloaf, accompanied by a stiff mound of mash potatoes and bright orange, candied baby carrots. The only thing that her tired brain would allow was a repeat of all of Sammy Davis, Jr.’s songs of adventure, daring, conquest and persistence. She ate distractedly, absently humming along as Sammy mocked her situation in various swinging tunes.

“I struggle to survive and sometimes I would fall…” The lyrics of the song were spoken along with her hum.

Shawn turned to the familiar voice. She wasn’t surprised to find Keaton taking his seat. But, maybe she was just too tired to care.

“Are you following me?” she asked, only a little earnest.

“S’not all about you, Shawn. Sometimes I come here for the food.”

That was more of an answer than she’d expected to get. Smiling she stabbed at the meatloaf that was prepared by the diner’s short-order cook.

“So you must be stalking me, then.” Joe’s breakfast was sheer nirvana compared to the tasteless fare she was forcing into her cavernous stomach.

A smile lifted one corner of his mouth, but his eyes had yet to seek hers. Instead he directed his gaze to the counter’s green surface. “I’ll just say I don’t mind the new company.”

Shawn sighed, already tiring of this little conversation. With Mr. Davis, Jr. strumming in the background, luring her back inward for another round of self-analyzation.

Bessie came by and asked Keaton if he wanted his usual dinner. He politely informed her that he was still deciding.

“Sammy’s great,” he continued after pulling the menu from its little metal stand.

Shawn nodded, cutting a large piece of the brown loaf, determined to fill her stomach before getting back on her feet. Man, she wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow. But, at least she would be quivering tonight with the knowledge that her rescue and a heated room was only one day away.

“He’s great on vinyl.”

“Mmmm,” she managed around the large morsel in her mouth. “I’m sure,” she said after swallowing. She knew that there were a few audiophiles out there who still spun records, and not with the intention of cutting and scratching for people in a dance club. But, rather for the simple enjoyment that that sound provided. Shawn had even looked into it herself. But, turntables were hard to find in good condition and at a price she’d be willing to pay.

So, what do you know? Another dream deferred.

“I’ve got most of his early albums at home,” Keaton continued.

Shawn stopped her soliloquy long enough to look at Keaton. He was turning red from the neck up.

“Keaton, why don’t you look at me when you talk?”

He straightened and blinked, still not looking her way.

“Kinda hard to meet someone’s eyes when you know their attention is a world away.”

It was her turn to suddenly become distracted. She ran the tongs of her fork through the mashed potatoes, creating a pasture of white troughs. “Yeah, well…Maybe I just don’t have a lot to say.”

“Seems to me you have plenty to say when you want to say it.”

“Yeah. Well…Well, it’s about time for me to get back to work.”

She got up and scooped her plate from the counter top and darted into the kitchen to leave the dish and utensils in the scullery for cleaning.

She washed her hands and exited the kitchen, letting her hip nudge the swinging door open. Drying her hands on her apron she was about to approach a couple that had just entered when her progress was again halted by that familiar voice.

“Uhm, Miss.”

Shawn turned an expectant eye towards Keaton.

“I haven’t been helped, yet.”

She pressed her lips together; she'd been aware enough to notice when Bessie had stopped by to take his order. She inhaled deeply and took out her pad and paper, wondering if she would be referring to Keaton by another name before the night was over.

Turned out he was the worst of all. He repeatedly called her back for the smallest of issues.

“I think this salt shaker is broken, M’aam. May I get another?”

She took the salt shaker away, went into the back, came back to the front and placed a replacement shaker within an inch of his plate.

He looked at the glass container. He looked at Shawn. “That’s the same shaker.”

“That’s because it’s not broken.”

He just stared at her, his thumb tapping out an impatient code on the counter top.

Shawn ground her teeth and grabbed the evidence of her trickery away, replacing it with a new shaker minutes later.

It went on like that for the entire night. Keaton taking an interminable amount of time with his meal. Luckily, or not, there wasn’t much of a dinner crowd. So, he basically had her to himself.

Shawn didn’t like the sound of that.

Finally, when he complained about the number of crumbs that surrounded his area Shawn had had enough. “What am I supposed to do?” she ground out. “ Wipe your mouth as you eat? Should I get you a bib while I’m at it?”

He smiled now, throwing Shawn’s approach off. What the fuck was wrong with this guy?

“I don’t need you to go through all that trouble Shawn. Just wanted to get your attention.” He took up his paper napkin, swiped his lower face and placed the balled up wad onto his empty plate.

“See you tomorrow, Shawn,” he said. She thought she caught the notes of Sammy’s song as Keaton walked to and through the diner’s exit.

Shawn stood there, staring after him.

“He must like you,” Bessie surmised as she reached around Shawn to grab his plate, fork and knife. “He’s not much of a talker, that one.”

Shawn turned in awe to watch Bessie hip-bump her way through the kitchen’s entrance.

Chapter 5:

2004-11-16T13:20:00.000-08:00

Never say never

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the end of the day Shawn was exhausted and wondered if she actually longed for the solitude of her cold cubicle.

“I think I actually miss work,” she said into her hands as she sat at one of the diner’s empty tables. After wiping down, undressing the tables and putting everything back in storage. And after witnessing what came out of the griddle used for the food during the day, Shawn vowed never to eat again. Ever.

Her stomach disagreed with her, loudly.

“Well, if you miss work there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Her new manager’s voice passed over her raw nerve like the gentle caress of coarse cheese grater.

“Leave me alone,” she nearly whimpered. He was the reason she sat sweaty, pained and irritable beyond consolation.

For some reason the picture of Good Red, or rather Jean, popped up in her head. God, what an angel she was to have patiently indulged in the whims of a nosy stranger.

The stocky manager slid into the seat across from Shawn. Her face was still buried in her hands. After a long moment of silence she peaked through her fingers at him.

“What?” she demanded.

He pursed his lips and scrunched his brow as he looked out past her shoulder. “Well, just seems to me that if you don’t have money to eat. You don’t have money to sleep, if you get me.”

Shawn hid her eyes, once again. That’d been a fact she’d been able to avoid in the confusion of the day. Though once or twice her mind had been ambushed with visions of herself shivering in the backseat of her car. Followed promptly by newsflashes of a missing girl found weeks later in the trunk of her vehicle. Followed promptly by an elaborate funeral, per her mom’s direction.

She only hoped there’d be enough of her left for an open casket ceremony. And, that her mom wouldn’t choose the red dress. Shawn really didn’t look good in that one; she’d gained a couple pounds since she’d bought it three years ago. But, then, after a few weeks of decomposition her body might…

So? Shawna, what do you think?” She thought that she was glad that he’d interrupted her morbid thoughts. Had she actually been on the verge of considering a plus side to her imminent murder? “Shawn, Joe." She finally lowered her hands and faced his gaze square on.

“Shawn,” she said tiredly. “And, what am I thinking about? I’m sorry, I was somewhat distracted by the loud pounding…of my feet.”

“Well, when you’re done complaining and wussing, I’ll repeat my offer.” Joe said, sitting back and folding his beefy arms atop his chest. His expression harbored no pity.

Straightening, it was now Shawn’s turn to bunch her brows. “Offer?”

Joe regarded her. After deciding he finally had her attention he nodded and abandoned his slouching position. “Okay, as I see it, you’d do well with a roof over your head that included a shower and hot meals. Me, I’d do well with dependable help, at least for enough time to give me a chance to find more permanent placement.”

He opened his hands on the table and shrugged. “You help me in the diner. You can help yourself to some space under my roof.”

Shawn slowly shook her head. “Uhm…I don’t know.” What else would be part of this deal. “I mean, not that I’m not appreciative of the offer. It’s just that, to be honest, seems like I caused more confusion today than good service. Plus, this doesn’t seem like a crowd Bessie couldn’t have covered on her own.”

And, who was this guy, anyway? She would be staying at his place and working for him. Sounded a bit like he was trying to get the cow with the hopes of some milk on the side.

Joe smirked at her for short while. Finally he responded, “My wife wouldn’t mind the company, I’m sure. Especially considering that you’d be saving her the trouble of having to fill in, instead.”

Oh. Shawn cleared her throat, surprised at his acuteness. Of course, he could be lying. She threw up her mental hands. So, what if he was? Her only alternative would probably yield similar results. And, at least this was a known opponent. Shawn quickly sized Joe up. She’d noticed that he had trouble with his left knee, something she’d be sure to remember.

“Well, what about a little pay in addition to board. I'll need gas money to get around...” she sighed at his unchanging expression.

"I'm offering room and board for inexperienced and somewhat costly help."

Well, when put that way...“Considering I have few other attractive options…” Shawn said, (meaning: none that didn’t include a full confession to her family.), “…and hoping that you don’t recall any of the nonsense that some strange woman, high on pain relievers told you only a minute or two ago, I gratefully accept your offer—with the understanding that this arrangement is only valid up until Friday.”

“Fine,” Joe agreed immediately, twisting around in the booths small aisle. “Shouldn’t take more’n a couple days to find someone, anyway. And, if not,” he grunted as he lifted himself from the low seat, “I’m sure my wife would be willing to extend the kind offer to you, with a few sweeteners to add to the pot.”

Shawn thwarted a deep groan as she more haltingly followed his lead out of the booth and towards the door. “I don’t think there’d be enough candy in the world,” she mumbled behind him. Joe chuckled as he stood back and held the door, allowing Shawn to pass before him. Shawn’s last thought as they headed to his car: Her mom would choose the red dress. She was sure of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a short drive to the quaint little two story home. The silver chain linked fence stood out against the backdrop of the house’s whitewashed exterior. A light had been left on in the entry way and now shown through the three small glass panels that lined the top of the wooden door.

Once inside Shawn noted how the chill from outside seemed to follow them into the entryway. Joe led Shawn down the narrow hallway, past large openings that led into other rooms, and settled her at the sturdy orangish wood table that took up residence in the kitchen.

After while he took leave and disappeared upstairs. Sipping the mug of hot tea and fingering crumbs off of the full plate of cookies that had been offered her, Shawn waited for signs of life. The creak of old timber alerted her dozing self to the approach of her benefactors. Shawn stood, expecting, but not looking forward to enduring a meet and greet with her new manager’s wife.

Instead, Joe walked in, looking more tired than he had on the drive there. Stuffed between his arm and body was a bundle of bedding material: a pillow, sheet, a thick blanket and what looked like a thinner one.

He gestured with his head for her to follow him. “You’ll be taking the couch. It’s not the best, but it’ll serve its purpose.”

And that it did, after a few hours of chilled wakefulness.

It seemed that Mrs. Joe preferred living in refrigerated bliss. And, as Shawn rocked herself, forcing blood through her body, she couldn’t help reminiscing about the wonderfully stifling warmth of her little apartment. The way the heat hugged her and pressed in on her. Closing her eyes she could almost feel the weight of her light blanket.

And yet, before falling asleep, wrapped tight in her memories, Shawn entertained the sentiment that she wouldn’t go back there for the world. Even now.

Though the next day, she would, once again, rethink that statement.

Chapter 4:

2004-11-10T18:01:00.000-08:00

Living it up, then down, then a little to the left

What could be more pathetic? She continued thinking as she stood in line to pay for her lunch at a roadside diner.

When it was her turn she absently presented her card, grabbing the pen that lay on the side of the register while she waited for her receipt.

The card machine beeped, buzzed and spit out everything but paper; this loner’s bank card had bounced all across the “The Chicken Bit’s” counter

“Shit,” she mumbled as she went through the motions of a futile search for cash inside her wallet’s pocket. Shawn had forgotten that she wouldn’t get paid for another few days, and she’d never really been one for savings.

“Look,” she pleaded, glancing at the cashier’s nametag. “Bessie. I have money. I swear. It’s just not available to me right now. Can I leave you something as collateral? I’ll send you money as soon as I get it—which’ll be this Friday.”

The manager had come up by this time to take hold of “the situation.”

“Sorry, Miss. Cash or credit card. We’re not in the business of bartering.”

“It’s not bartering. It’s…like a down payment…” Shawn looked over her shoulder, chancing a glance at the customer radiating impatience behind her.

“Except different,” the manager finished for her. He sighed. These drifters could really wear a man’s nerve. And, he sure wasn’t up to it today. With a waitress pulling a no-show, a broken bathroom and a wife who could nag the meat off of the bone, he did not need to have to deal with a penniless, little beggar.

“Alright, this is what’s going to happen. I just so happen to need some help today. As you can see there’s only one waitress for the whole place. You’ll be my second for the day.”

Shawn straightened. “Uh, look pops…” Pops? Where did that come from. She needed to stop watching Joanie and Chachi re-runs. “I mean, sir. I’ve never waitressed in my life. And, no offense, but I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, my coordination skills are non-existent. You’d profit more by taking my watch, believe me.”

“Look around. It’s not like it’s really hopping right now. So, you want the job or want the jail? ‘Cause, I’m not wasting any more of my time on this conversation.”

“But, it’s like a ten dollar meal! Ten dollars! A day’s work for ten dollars?!”

“An evening’s work, really.” He waved forward the paying customer that fidgeted nearby then folded his arms as he stood, regarding Shawn.

“You’re asking for trouble,” Shawn sighed, her shoulders sagging.

The manager turned and grabbed the apron that was folded neatly beneath the counter. He slapped the starched wad of fabric into Shawn’s open hand.

“For your sake, you should hope not.”

Shawn had never been able to hide her feelings. And, Joe smiled and the clear mark of annoyance that claimed her face.

Beside them the register chimed happily.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shawns’ heart beat loudly as she approached her first customer. She berated herself for her nervousness. It’s not like she was doing brain surgery here.

“Hi, how may I help you?”

The two men lifted their faces to her, their tee-shirts peaking through long-sleeved plaid shirts. Husky coats lay folded on the booth’s seat, occupying the space left between wall and heavy thighs.

“Why sure, ” responded the wiry fellow to her right—an older gentleman, with lines indenting his face at the forehead, corner of the eyes and in arcs that ran from his nose to mouth. His olive complexion contrasted with the white collar of a t-shirt bearing the motto, “Born to Drive.” The bold red statement was barely visible under the wrinkled edges of his red and burgundy flannel.

“I’m gonna have the special. I like my steaks rare. And, my potatoes cooked.”
Shawn didn’t notice the waitress a few tables down who rolled her eyes at the familiar joke.

“Okay,” was all she muttered as she focused on getting the instructions down on paper.

“And, you sir?” she said, turning her body to the heftier fella sitting across from his buddy. He grinned, managing to turn his smooth skinned, plump face into something resembling a happy toddler.

Baby. That’s what she would call him.

Baby’s arms strained against his button-down over-shirt. The thin cotton of the underlying dark blue t-shirt mimicked the hills made up by his solid stomach. He was leaning back against the seat, with his hands set on either side of him. He raised one now to his chin and began stroking it as his eyes acquired a far off look.

“Hmmm.” He mumbled. “Hmmmm,” he continued.

The older gentleman huffed. “M’am, he’ll have the same. Thank you.”

“Now, wait, Will. I was just about to say something.”

“Fine. Then say.”

Baby turned his face up to Shawn’s. His grin made a reappearance. “So, when does a cute little thing like you get off of work?”

“Never. So, did you want the special?”

He grinned like he was used to the answer. “You’re new here, right? Didn’t see you when we stopped by on our way to California.”

Was he actually trying to hold a conversation with her? Did she look like his type?

Impatience started to rear its ugly head.

“I’m just helping out for today. Am I getting you the special, then?”

The grin turned into a sneer. “Well, aren’t you wound as tight as can be? I’m just making conversation. What, you too good to talk to a working man?”

“No. I’m too busy to be conversing with a man that has nothing better to do than work a working woman’s nerve.” Shawn locked her jaw, holding her temper in check. This was not how she wanted the rest of her day to go. “Now,” she said in a flat tone, her eyes only slightly narrowed. “Do you want that special or should I leave you to think a little about it?”

He dismissed her with a flick of his fingers and turned back to face his partner. “Sure, honey.”

She scribbled the order down before spinning on her heel to communicate the order to the kitchen.

“You ever not act like a fool, Jordan?” the older gentleman’s raspy voice rebuked after she’d parted.

“Just being friendly, Pops—er, I mean, Will.”

“And, delaying my lunch while you’re at it.”

“Hey, I’m just making sure she earns her tip. Would have let her off the hook a lot sooner if she’d’a just removed that stick up her—”

Shawn ground her teeth as she stalked to the counter. “Baby” had just been renamed—to “Dumb Ass.”

Unfortunately, that turned out to be a popular name for the “Chicken Bits” clientele.

Chapter 3:

2004-11-08T18:39:00.000-08:00

2 Smart 4 U

The second session
Topic: I'm a star...a cha-cha-cha
Attending Physicians: Sammy Davis Junior, Janis Ian

""Shawn," someone whispers from the desk right behind me. I keep my head bent over the pages of my exam. I am determined to be the second to turn in my test. My class competition already beat me to the bunch. He's won the battle, but not the war.

I lean into my work. One sheet to go before I can turn it in and escape the claustrophobic silence of quiet, motionless students who don't know the answers.

"Shawn!"

Well, mostly quiet. The insistent hisser won't get the clue.

"Slide your paper over to the edge so I can see your answers."

I roll my eyes. So, they can't take the tests by themselves? Do I look like I care? I turn around to tell them as much and come stare to stare with only the cutest guy in sixth grade: Sted Woxer. Why is my heart suddenly in my throat? Because his dark lashes and even darker eyes have lured it from its home. I love him. And, really, I only like tests.

I catch a whiff of shame; I’m about to give in.

“Naw, man. She never lets anyone cheat,” someone from beside him answers for me.

Sted looks that way, then back at me.

I shrug, not trusting the integrity of my voice nor of any answer that would come out of my mouth.

Sted sighs and steals back his glance from mine, gifting the antipathetic paper with it, instead.
I twist back to my normal position and finish my test. The paper rustles loudly as I gather it and rise, weaving myself around the bent heads, outstretched legs and stray elbows occupying the other desks.

The teacher offers a conspirator’s smile and quietly murmurs that I may go outside.

There are a couple other classes out already: Some girls playing rope or dotting the fence in small masses that quiver with shared giggles. Others are already playing tag or cutting a path down the side of the school yard as they race two by two. There’s a hopscotch diagram over in the corner of the playground with my name all on it. After searching in the surrounding grass I find a nice size stone and, with it in hand, I approach my challenge.

I know that I’ll be playing this even when the other kids in my class come out to play kickball and dodge ball. Because my friend is in another glass. And I won’t get to see her until the recess after lunch.

I throw the pebble on the square numbered with a “1” and begin hopping my way to the square at the end framing a thickly drawn “10” in bold white numbers.

I can’t believe Sted Woxman asked to cheat off of my papers. And, I was that close to letting him. Of course, I couldn’t believe he even noticed me. Not that he will, again. Unless I let him cheat, that is. But, I won’t. My momma didn’t raise no fool. And, I’m not about to trade my integrity for a taste of acceptance by the cool people. That would just be pitiful. And, I’m not pitiful. I’m smart. And, I’m gonna do some big things when I get big. And, then Sted and all the other cool kids will be like, “Dang! You did all that!”

And, I’ll just shrug and say, “Yep.” I think this just as I land with a thud on the big “10” that marks the end of the line. Then, I turn around; ready to make the jarring trip back to one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Sammy Davis, Jr.: I wanna live not merely survive.

Achievements have always motivated me. I’m only slight ashamed to admit that I was the teacher’s pet for most of my years between Kindergarten and the end of highschool. And, yeah, I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly the socialite during that period.

Sammy: When you can’t help wondering where do I belong?

Most kids at that age aren’t really about the whole honor roll circuit. And, it was important for me to surround myself with people who was as hardworking as I was. Who wanted “it” as much. Hard to find in an eleven year old. Or, even now. Outside of those talking quantum physics or video games. I wasn’t in either of those groups.

Sammy: Whether I find my place in this world or never belong, I gotta be me.

So what if I never belong. The most famous, most influential people in the world were solitary in their path to glory. And, when once they might have been deemed “loners,” they are now considered “mavericks.” Go figure.

Sammy: A world of success is waiting for me if I heed the call. I won’t settle down, won’t settle for less. As long as there’s a chance that I can have it all. I’ll go it alone…

Even if it means leaving the rest of the world behind. I’ll go my way, they’ll go theirs.
Sammy: The cars go past they don’t even see me flying so fast. They’re moving, going who knows where? Only think I know is I’m not going there.

I don’t have time to wonder where they’re going. I’m too busy blazing my own trail.

Janis Ian: Stars they come and go. They come fast or slow. They go like the last light of the sun; all in a blaze and all you see is glory. Even it gets lonely there when there’s no one here to share.

Loneliness stems from boredom. But, if you keep busy. It’s only in lapses like these that I start feeling otherwise. Feeling like…

Janis: there isn’t anything to put up on display ‘cept the tune and whatever else I say.
Maybe my achievements are my life. Is there anything wrong with that? There are worse things.

Janis: They live their lives in sad cafes and music halls.

Sounds like the home of most geniuses unfortunate to live past their prime. Not bad company…

Janis: And, those of us…lacking in the social graces…

Or, who just choose not to play the games…

Janis: The Friday night charades of youth.

…that everyone seems to enjoy torturing each other with. You said it yourself, Janis, “Remember those who win the game lose the love they sought to gain in debentures of quality and dubious integrity.”

Janis: We all play the game, and when we dare we cheat ourselves at solitaire…repenting other lives unknown.

Maybe I wouldn’t have minded fitting in so much. But, where would I fit? I’m no sport junky, I’m no girly girl, I’m no rocket scientist (okay, I’ll finally admit to that.) I read a couple books, stare at the television and think, a lot, about myself. Other people: their conversations tend to bore me after a while. And, I can’t muster enough interest to think of relevant responses to their attempts at conversations. It’s just too hard, trying to be social. I’d rather work hard on making something of myself, leaving my mark. My companion being my best friend: myself.

Oh, but that sounds sad. And, pitiful.

And, I’m not pitiful.

Janis: “And murmur vague obscenities at…girls like me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shawn lets Janis’ song of misfit-ery disappear in the winds that rush past her open window. After a few minutes Fat Boy Slim’s upbeat CD, “Palookavile,” takes Miss Ian’s seat.

Okay, so let’s just take this seriously for a moment. Could her undeniable urge for success have something to do with her lack of a life outside of that? Maybe. Shawn admitted to herself that the friendships she allowed herself to have had been pretty shallow, at best. She’d rarely discussed anything beyond the superficial when it came to her inner thoughts. The few times she’d ventured had resulted in stilted, awkward responses. And, her humor! Her humor was definitely on the far side of off.

So, most times, she just did the small talk. But, that could only last for so long. As she’d said before, she got bored rather easily. And, if she were more true to herself, there’d been many a conversation where she would have rather turned away to do her taxes.

When it came right down to it, she was a loner. She didn’t mind that. What she minded was being lonely. And, she was. And, maybe had been for a while.

And, maybe she would be for a long time to come.

Now, that’s pitiful.

Chapter 2:

2004-11-04T13:20:00.000-08:00

Flushing out the quarry

The door to Shawn’s apartment creaked open at the insistence of her foot. Armed with two bags full of groceries, she waddled forward hesitating long enough to kick the door shut. Thankfully, the kitchen was only a short distance away, and its counters welcomed her burdens with open space.

As she put away her purchases visions of culinary masterpieces danced in her head. She wanted a fabulous meal, tonight. And, she wanted to be the one to prepare it. It was a rare mood, and one that instigated her fulfilling the overdue chore of grocery shopping.

By this time there’d usually be a CD playing in background to score her kitchen ballet. Not tonight. Despite Lee’s insight, there would be nothing tempting Shawn into another internal audit. She didn’t want to think about fears; not when she could drown them in a sea of other senses. So, true to the words she’d spoken to Lee earlier, Shawn avoided the good doctors.
Once started, dinner preparations went smoothly. A lavish table was set and, less than two hours later, was graced with a rich meal.

The nice red wine she’d had with dinner did just as well in the company of the nightly news. And it also prepared her for the coziness of her bed’s smooth sheets, fluffy pillows and favorite quilt. After an hour of wishful thinking, Shawn resigned herself to wakefulness. She wasn’t destined for sleep that night as she lay in the dark, staring cracks into the ceiling.

Her thoughts gathered around the reunion that loomed ahead. In a few days she’d have to buy her flight ticket; you wouldn’t find any good deals within 14 days of an event.

She looked forward to returning home a year after her last visit. Her mom and stepfather; her grandmother and her step-grandmother, who’d moved in some months after Shawn had left. They all adored her and still managed to have high hopes for her, despite her unceremonious departure.

Shawn laughed at the memory of her best friend rolling up beside her in a new car. It’d been a couple years since they’d graduated college and her friend considered this a belated gift to herself. It was at their alma mater, thousands of miles away from home, that the two mid-western girls had met. Both had been proud high school nerds turned adventure-seeking slackers in a college that sat smack in the middle of a faster paced city. And, now, back home, they felt restless, pinned down and discussed their get away on a near daily basis.

The day of her bestfriend's new purchase, Shawn had accepted her friend’s offer for a ride home. A trip whose slight detour through Kansas sparked their impulsiveness; once they’d crossed one border they decided they’d like to see what was just over the other. A fun-filled, thrilling week later the pair clapped and pointed with glee at the sign welcoming them to Los Angeles County, California.

Two weeks of living in a cheap hotel and Shawn’s friend called her family, requesting gas money for the trip home.

Shawn called her family, too. And, let them know that her stepfather’s mother could have her room; Shawn was staying in LA.

Pounding her fist onto the mattress, Shawn recalled herself back to her present.

What happened to that girl? she mourned. That girl wouldn’t just sit here wallowing in fear--and in the dark, in more ways than one. She’d…

Shawn sat up in her bed. Before her mind had time to catch up with her she let her legs swing from the bed and take her to her closet. After snatching a pillow case she ran to her dresser, opening drawers and cabinets. Underwear was tossed in, followed by pants and tops and before she knew it there was nearly a quarter of the space left for her CD’s.

Sure, she was giving her collection the silent treatment for now. But, those only lasted as long as her funk. As a matter of fact, she already felt the whiskers of a song tickling her groove senses.

Well, this just won’t do, Shawn decided, directing squinted eyes at the swollen blue sack. She chewed on a nail as she considered getting a bigger bag, and would she need to stop for gas? and what was all this supposed to lead up to?

"Your heart is a river...your brain is the dam," sang Death Cab for Cutie's unsolicited advice. With an abrupt shake of the head Shawn rejected her previous sentiments; for now, thought would only impede action.

Dumping the case’s contents onto the bed she listened to instinct. And, instinct led her to the living room. Her entire CD collection was carefully placed within it. With the bit of space that was left, she packed some undies, a pair of jeans, a couple baby-tees and a pair of black ankle boots. The triumphant walk to her car was halted by a realization: Clad in jammies and tennis shoes she turned back to add deodorant, hair supplies, pads and an unfinished library book to her stash. Now, she was ready to go.

Where? slipped the bothersome thought as she tossed her knapsack in the passenger seat. The keys jangled as she twisted them in the ignition. The engine yawned to life.

Well, it’s California, she responded silently. So, anywhere but West.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The sun was rising from her dashboard. On her right were signs of life, and one particular sign summoned the driver with promises of sweet rest. Shawn pulled into “The Days Inn’s” parking lot and drove aimlessly until she found what she thought was the entrance. Finding a spot nearby, she turned the key and sunk against her seat. Her eyelids begged relief, but she wasn’t about to sleep in her car tonight.

Heaving herself out of the vehicle she made the long walk across the short distance to the hotel’s office. Minutes later she emerged with her room key and the anticipation of no longer being upright. Her eyes glazed over during the quick drive to the section of the building where she would find her room. Leaden feet made the one flight of stairs seem taller and badly constructed. And, clumsy hands almost brought tears to Shawn’s eyes as she attempted to navigate the abnormally narrow key slot.

Finally, with a sigh and a gush of stale air, the door opened—and, shortly closed behind her. There was no need for light; the bed glowed. Shawn was too happy to see something indicative of soft and relatively flat to wonder at its radioactive characteristics.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~No birds chirped, or sang their saccharine song at the opening of the new day. No warm feeling of exuberance greeted Shawn as the day dawned.

Instead, a heart-pounding sense of dread woke her from her stupor as she realized that she was not in her bead, in her room nor in her own apartment.

Shawn shot up, her eyes seeking out anything familiar among the wine red drapes whose design consisted of knots of tan vines, the low, long brown dresser the held up a large rectangular mirror, the used-to-be white walls and the dark green carpet covered in the same tangled-twig pattern that covered the drapes.

Checking her watch she groaned, falling back onto the dense block that served as her pillow. It was noon. Her agency would have notified by now of her not showing up for work. They’ll have called her home and cell (which she’d forogotten!).

Antonio would be stopping by her cubicle for lunch.

She was approximately six hours away from home. There was time to call in. To make up an excuse. To drive home and show up fresh as a daisy for tomorrow. There was still time to make it alright.

Tears streamed down her face.

But, I don’t want to make it alright. Because it’s not alright. I’m miserable back there. And, I can’t go back unless I find some way to do more than trudge through my life.

I just want to be happy, she thought.

And, if that simple goal can’t be found in the place that she’d left, then she’d find it on the way to where she was going.

On the way home. To my family. To the reunion. If all she could say once she gets there is that she’s happy with where her life was taking her, then fine. But, dammit, she would be able to say that!

Wiping the wetness away with unforgiving hands she forced herself out of the bed and into the bathroom for a rejuvenating shower. Donning her only pair of jeans, one of her tees and her ankle boots, she stepped out into the otherwise preoccupied day with her knapsack in tow.

She turned her key in at the office, hopped in her car, and drove away—increasing the distance between her and any sense of responsibility.

At least now she had a destination. It’d taken a week for her and her friend to make it out to California. The reunion was in three. So, why not split the difference and plan to make it home in two?

Well, not plan, exactly. More like intend. There was a lot of ground to cover between here and Missouri. And, she had a feeling that it would behoove her to skip the shortcuts.

The first stop on the path to contentment would have to be someplace for breakfast. Her petulant stomach complained loudly at the lack of attention. That dinner from last night might as well have been years before, as grateful as her body seemed.

Fortunately, the little roadside community boasted several restaurants with flashy signs that looked gaudy in the daylight. Shawn found an unassuming IHOP and took a seat in an equally unassuming booth near the corner. A surprisingly chipper older woman approached her, her red apron-like smock almost matched her auburn hair.

“Good Morning! Are you ready to make your order?”

Shawn chose a cheese omelet with a side of hash browns and a coffee and orange juice.

After writing down the order the smiling woman cleared the table of its menus and straightened to smile at her patron. “And, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” she piped.

Wow, what do they put in their paychecks? Shawn wondered. Maybe if she wore a red apron she’d be as warm. Observing the other workers proved to her that maybe it wasn’t that simple. They, unlike her hostess, seemed to wear pasted on smiles, and mirth had vacated their eyes probably sometime last night, after they realized they had to work the next day.

So, maybe the trick was the hair dye. Shawn imagined herself with crimson locks falling just above her shoulders. Maybe if she went back to dreadlocks, that might work. But, with straight hair…nah.

Now, blue…

A chuckle escaped her. How long had it been since she’d had a thought like that cross her mind? And, seriously!

Blue. Aqua Blue. With orange highlights. Yeah…right.

Her musings were cut short by the arrival of one cup of orange juice and one pristine white mug of coffee; both attached to a little tray that balanced on Good Ruby’s splayed fingers.

“There you are, Sweetie,” she cooed as she placed the two drinks before Shawn. “Now, that coffee is steaming hot.” She placed the tray between her arm and body. “And, the O.J. is freshly squeezed,” she said with a wink.

“If you need anything, just ask for me. My name is Jean,” she pointed to the plastic name tag the hung onto her lapel. Her name was engraved in dark skinny letters on the lily-colored rectangle. “Is there anything else I can get you before I go, Hun?”

Shawn smiled back at her. It was hard not to reciprocate her ripples of warmth. There was nothing more that she needed and she was about to tell her as much. But, strangely, her mouth spoke another request.

“Maybe you could get me about an ounce of all that good cheer you have? Is that offered only on request? Because I didn’t see it on the menu.” Shawn chuckled, feeling her ears redden. Fortunately, her dark skin wouldn’t announce her embarrassment.

Good Ruby (or Jean, as her pendant proclaimed) seemed to take the question seriously. Studying her young patron for moment she finally smiled. Looking over her shoulders at her other tables the woman turned back to the woman sitting before her.

“Well, Hon, what I got ain’t on the menu. But, neither is a listening ear. The first you’d have to find on your own. The second, well, it’s early. And, a weekday in the tourist off-season, at that. So—the second thing—I can offer you. If you’re requesting it, that is.”

The woman shook her head. “No. No. That’s alright. And, you’re right, that first thing I have to find for myself.” At that, the young patron shrugged.

Why, she can’t be any older than my youngest daughter, Jean realized. And, so sad. But, the woman’s eyes also contained a flame whose blazing tongues seemed extend hungrily toward her. A tingle ran up the waitress’s spine.

She’d seen that kind of combustibility before: in her youngest son. That fire would either turn into a self-destructive inferno or an inextinguishable fuel. And, with that familiar combination of discontent and passion, the former alternative seemed more likely.

Jean didn’t know where this girl was coming from. But, she had a good idea of where she was headed. But, what could she do? She was just a waitress, doing her job, supporting her family and going home to the safety of a good home. What did she have to do with a smirking little girl that probably had the best intentions and not the best plans?

Nothing. That’s what. All she had to do was serve some pancakes and sausage and omelets. The day was hard enough on her feet; she sure didn’t need the emotional strain of someone else’s emotional burdens. So, she’d offered to listen. Her offer had been turned down. And, she could turn away, without guilt.

And, she did turn away, offering a sympathetic smile before doing so. But, heading back to the kitchen, she found that regret wasn’t far behind.

It wasn’t long before the omelet and hash order were ready to go. Jean dreaded approaching the table, for their interaction already felt far more intimate than she wanted; if she could just stop seeing her son in that woman’s eyes—

“Hello, Sweetheart,” she chirped in a falsetto that nearly cracked. She set the plates on the table along with the small flash of hot syrup.

“Sorry it took so long.”

Shawn told her it was fine and began positioning her items in more reachable places around her.

“Well, if you need anything, just ask for me.” The server’s voice softened. “Alright?”

Shawn nodded, watching as the lady began to turn away.

“Excuse me, Mam?”

Good Ruby twisted around to regard her before returning to the table.

“Is there something else I can get you, Hon?”

Shawn looked down at her omelet that was yet to be cut.

Her firey gaze finally raised to Good Ruby’s.

And, Jean felt like it sucked and lapped at her with some ancient desire.

“I was just wondering,” Shawn began. Her voice became bolder, more demanding. “I was just wondering: What makes you happy?”

Jean blinked. Well, she’d never thought about it.

Sighing, she looked over her shoulder...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...at the old man who sat high in the bus's driver seat. The public vehicle's double doors swung open and, as Jean gingerly descended the steps she called out, "I'll see you tomorrow Mr. Wesson."

Once she was seen safely to ground he nodded, the flat top of the driver's blue cap slanting downward as he inclined his head toward the young passenger. His stout arm reached for the lever, the soft sphere of his stomach engulfing the lower rung of the steering wheel. Grasping the handle he gave a low grunt as he pulled the vehicle's swing-doors shut.

The bus's strong wheeze grew quieter as Jean made her way down the block and towards home. Her feet hurt, her mind felt tangled with all the names and duties she'd been introduced to today. But, it was her first day on the job, and she knew that at least one of those conditions would ease with time. It didn't really matter though. She almost felt like killing her feet more by running home, just so she could tell her momma about it all!

Her mom knew how hard Jean had been working in her trade schools just for this day. How Jean had wanted nothing more than to begin a career in Bennington Financial, largest bank in the county. Jean planned to one day become their best loan officer, and her position as an administrative assistant was the first step towards fulfilling that goal. Her mom would be thrilled!

Approaching the house Jean noted that, as usual, the wood door was swung wide open, allowing the tender glow from within to reach her before she even set foot on carpet. The sounds of kids yelling was nearly drowned out by the swingtime music that played over the radio.

"You kids know better than to make that kind of noise while momma's trying to listen to her station," Jean said as she pressed the latch to open the screen door. Before she was fully inside she heard the thump of a pair of feet. Jean sighed and hurriedly kick off her shoes before her little sister came running into her.

Her seven year old sister rounded the wall that separated the living room from the hall. Cherubic features shaped by the hands of unabashed enthusiasm topped a miniature frame clothed in a simple A-line dress. Jean's burgeoning irritation took a detour to parts unknown.
Suddenly, two skinny arms wrapped around her waist and a freckled face framed by two chocolate-colored braids was pressed against her tummy. Andrea looked up at her big sister, and Jean saw herself in those green eyes. "Hey, brat." Jean wrapped her arms around the small pair of shoulders. "So, I see that you and Max weren't even going to allow momma an hour of peace while she's cooking for ya'll?"

Andrea screwed up her face. "It was Max's fault. He kept putting words to the television show that I know aren't real. I wish momma would just let us turn up the television just a little. It wouldn’t disturb the radio." "

You know the rules," said Jean and her mother in unison. Jean's mother emerged from the kitchen. A petite woman whose pink and green flowered apron bore marks of many a meal. Her dark brown hair, so much like Jeannette's, was worn in a bun. Silver strands sparkled under the hall's overhead light.

"Hey, Momma," Jean breathed. Her mother approached her, her body enlarged by the warm smile that it exuded. She placed a gentle hand on top of Andrea's head. "Go on and set the table, Drea."

The young girl ran to fulfill the task; the sooner the table was set, the sooner they could eat.

"And, tell you're brother to help!" was added as an over the shoulder remark. Momma turned back to Jeanette wearing a grin as proud as a peacock. Her excited expression resembled that of her youngest daughter. “Well,” she said, her hands rising to rest on her hips. "My Career-Woman has made it home."

Jean returned her mother's grin. Her feet felt better already

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Jean sat, inconspicuously stretching and tensing the muscles of her feet under the guise of the table's rectangle formica top.

"But, when you met your husband, Henry, you gave that all up?" the young girl across from her asked, her eyes pools of confusion. Better that than the fire and brimstone, Jean thought. "Do you," the little patron continued, pausing as if to wrap her mind around her next statement. "Do you you...ever wonder how your life would be different now. If...you had accepted that first promotion at the company?"

"I used to." Jean smiled, thinking back. "I used to. Especially during the first years that me and Henry were together. Those are some tough times. Especially with toddlers stretching the few nerves you have to spare.

Jean leaned back against the bench seat's rounded, plastic covered cushion and squinted off in the distance before continuing.

"When I was younger-and I know that this is way before you were even thought of. But, back then girls were just starting to get a hold of what it meant to be independent. To have the opportunities to go out and conquer the world. Don't get me wrong, we knew there was still a lot of ground to cover, but we knew that it was ours for the taking. And, we would take it.

"But, at the same time we were brought up to believe in the value of family. In the worth of a standard family structure. And, that's a hard habit to break! And, as old-fashioned, fuddy-duddy as that might sound to girls of this generation, it's a consideration that, in my day, couldn't be avoided.

"So, when I came face to face with making that choice, it didn't occur to me to be a working wife and mother. I knew that it was either/or. I was either a good mom, or a good employee. And,
I wanted to be mother. And, I wanted to be a wife, 'cause I remember my own momma. She was the best person I knew. And, she was so proud of all of us. Our home was our mother. And, my father had said as much time and time again. So, the choice was pretty much made for me. Especially when I looked at some of my lady-friends. My peers who worked tirelessly for the glass ring. And, I didn't recognize myself among them, anymore. And, really, they all looked so tensed up and tight-ass-oops!-Sorry, honey. Well, anyway, I found who I am.

"I have two sons and two daughters. Five grandchildren and a husband who shares in the joy of spoiling the little terrors. Him more than me, since he often forgets that they've already had dessert. He's not senile, though. He just likes to use it as an excuse.

"I remember all the first of my children. 'Cause I was there to experience them. I remember the day I met Henry. I could tell you the brand of suit he wore when I was introduced to him on that first day at the bank. I'll tell you what, though. I don't remember a single thing that I learned that day. Nor, the names of the presidents. Nor the day I quit.

"So, you ask me what makes me happy: My family, and knowing that they are mine and I am theirs. No matter what, nothing will change that. Family is constant.

"If people today could appreciate that, there'd be a lot less confusion in the world. Believe it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~On the road again, Shawn considered Jean's forceful decree. Maybe that's what she was looking for. Maybe what she really yearned for was a family of her own.

To be a...wife..and a...ugh...mother.

If so, why did large, indigestible boulders magically appear in her gullet and stomach at the mere thought?

A family? Having to support a kid? Having to babysit a husband? Shawn's heart began palpitations.

But why? By this time most of her friend well on their way to daddy-dom and mommy-dom. If not married or marked ast someone's "betrothed".

Why was she so averse to it?

Shawn hadn't exactly intended to continue her little therapeutic farce from a couple nights ago. But, then, she hadn't intended on foregoing her steady income for an illogical roadtrip. Life was full of surprises, all of her own design. Why not take her trip all the way, mentally as well as physically?

But, where to begin again?

"Maybe if you find the source of your ambitions..."

"I'll find the source of my fears," Shawn repeated. "Alright, Doc. Lee. Per your prescription..." Shawn glanced at the long, black CD case that sat in contrast to the tan faux leather of her upholstery.

After minutes of dividing her attention between the road ahead an the CD book in her passenger seat, Shawn found what she'd been looking for. Popping in "Sammy Davis, Jr.", she let the swinging singer's dreamseeking songs take her where they would.

Chapter 1:

2004-11-01T17:45:00.001-08:00

The boogey man and other excuses

The first session
Topic: I see my mother’s face in the mirror. And she doesn’t look happy.
Attending Physicians: The Ramones, Pink Floyd, Bing Crosby, Smashing Pumpkins, Audrey Hepburn, Pulp, Shakespeare

The key displaces the locks tumblers and jumpstarts my heart. I’m thirteen years old and am watching a daytime show that my mom has forbid. I get up and flick the rotary knob onto a brightly colored talk show. An unnatural cloak of good cheer hangs loosely on its young host; she succeeds in being more annoying than enchanting.

I’m not watching her: I’m listening for my mom. I follow her with my ears as she beats the path from living room to hallway and, finally, to her bedroom. Closing the door (an optional part of this scene) my mom proceeds to remove pieces of the workday and to slip into something much more comfortable. Sighing, I tilt and lean like the tower of Pisa until my side hits the mattress. My eyes glaze over and colorful shapes are all that’s left of the image on the tv’s screen.

In another twenty minutes mom will be getting dinner ready. And, she’ll be ready for me to ask about the school field trip coming up.

The Ramones: When I see the price that you pay I don't wanna grow up. I don't ever want to be that way I don't wanna grow up.

Doc. Ramones. Glad to see ya. Yeah. It's true (and so tactfully put).

My mom, she wanted me before I was born. She wanted to be a wife and a mother. She got the mother part. She got me. And, she got to work in jobs that, to this day, leave her weary and tired and uninspired at the end of the day.

Listen, I'm not a brat. I mean, my mom’s worked hard so that I can have the opportunities to build a satisfied life. I don’t have to settle, doc. I'm just saying there's no reason for me, too. Which is why I'm so damned pissed at myself. Because, so far, I have. And, I sit and rot here—in an office that secures my rent but not my dreams. So, my question is, what's holding me back?

Smashing Pumpkins: All those angels with their wings glued on…deep down we are frightened and we're scared

Scared? Me? Hell yeah! Kind of the whole reason for this little homeopathic therapy ritual, you know? I'm scared shitless of being ground up into nice little chewable bites by the daily grind.

Pink Floyd: … just another brick in the wall.

Just like everyone else. But, that’s not what I was supposed to be! There are so many expectations for me, Floyd. You just don't understand. I’m supposed to—

Bing Crosby: “…be better than you are. You could be swinging on a star.”

Well, that's a bit of a stretch. But, I guess, yeah. I'm supposed to kick-ass in this game of life. Give me the dice man, I'm playing for keeps, you know? Take no prisoners, no holds barred, Remember the Alamo!!! You get the point. But, at this point, forget the stars, I'd settle for a dusty pet moon rock to get me started. Something better than this routine. As crass as it sounds I want better than average. I don’t want to—

Pulp: …live like common people…watch your life .... slide out of view. And then dance, and drink, .... and screw because there's nothing else to do.

Again, I would have used more tact. But, yep. Me and destiny are supposed to duke it out. I'm coming out on top, somehow. I don't know how, but that's how it's been played out in the minds of all my friends and family. Of me.

Sorry to step on your toes, my dear practioners, but I feel a self-diagnoses coming on: Maybe there’s really not anything singular about me. Maybe I'm experiencing Delusions of Grandeur and I'm meant for nothing special:

the Ramones: Work them fingers to the bone…Fall in love, get married then boom. How the hell did it get here so soon?

You're killing me. You're killing me. I don't like that vision. I'm changing CD's.

Smashing Pumpkins: Believe, believe in me, believe, that life can change that you're not stuck in vain.

I like the sound of that much more. Keep talkin'. Give momma what she wants.

Smashing Pumpkins: …believe In the resolute urgency of now…Time is never time at all. You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth.

Exactly. I'm wasting my best asset by sitting on my biggest one.

Audrey Hepburn: …there's such a lot of world to see...

And, it's mine to go see. Why am I holding back?

Audrey Hepburn: Old dream maker, you heart breaker...

Shakespeare: ...makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of…

Ah, yes. The unwelcomed house guest: fear. So unfortunate to see you again, my enemy. Alright. Maybe ol' dreamaker is a lot more intimidating than the old boss at work. I'll admit that. I'll admit that the known paycheck is more attractive than the unknown possibility of starvation. Or, worse...failure.

Audrey Hepburn: Old dream maker, you heart breaker, whereever you're going I'm going with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shawn turned off the CD player just as the last strains of Audrey’s ambitions proclamations end in an orchestral solo. Her session complete, she lifted herself into a sitting position. The whiny leather upholstery of her couch remarked rudely at the maneuver.

Shawn decided she didn't much like this game. What a stupid endeavor.

She didn't know anything more from tonight than she knew when she came up with this hairbrain scheme.

And since when did she use the term "hairbrain"?

And, when did she read Shakespeare?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Back at work the songs from the night before ran loops through her mind. Is she embarking on a therapy regimen or merely preparing for a stint as a DJ?

Well, at least that’d be a change.

And, I’d fill a unique niche: how many DJ’s play hamlet?

Chuckling at herself, Shawna returned her attention to the data that was displayed on the computer’s flat screen.

Before mid-day one of her co-workers swung by her desk, and regarded her as he hung onto the top edge of the cubicle wall. “What time you going to lunch, Shawn-ers?” Antonio Madeira asks.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that? I hate that name.” It’s what he used to call her when they went out. She’d been working at the company for nearly a year when Tony had been hired. Though she’d known better than to date work mates, their mutual, and immediate, attraction had resulted in an intense but short-lived relationship. But, from that brief time together Tony had shown Shawn how great a guy could truly be. And, she was sure that his current fiancé would agree.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to speak up. I’m getting a little deaf in this ear, you see?” he points to the right side of his head.

“I hate to tell you this, Tony, but that joke gets older and older every time you say it.”

“Whatever you say, Shawn-ers. So: You-Me-Lunch. I hear the cafeteria has a delicious selection today."

“I can’t.”

“I’m treating.”

“I…can’t.”

“Why can't you?”

Because every time I look at you I wonder what went wrong with us. “Because every time I look at you I just know you’re going to say something to irk me. I'm sure you get some perverse thrill out of it. Being the evil, evil man that you are.”

A familiar grin lit his face as he leaned against her office's flimsy wall. “You know it's out of love, Shawn-ers. But, seriously," he added, straightening as if to step further into her space. After a moment he sunk his hands in his pocket. "It’s been forever since we’ve sat down for a chat.” His hands flew up to the side of his face, palms toward her. “I’ll play nice. I promise.”

Shawn shook her head and turns back to her computer. “I’ve already made plans for lunch, Tony. Maybe next time, though. “

Her back threatened to cave under the weight of his stare. “Hate to break this to you,” he said at last, false cheer greasing his tone, “but that promise is getting older and older every time you say it.”

He slipped out of her office and the view she had of him from the corner of her eyes.

Inhaling deeply, Shawn consciously relaxed her shoulders as she released the breath. Her eyes regarded the keyboard as others passed her doorway on their way up and down the corridor adjacent to her cubicle.
Robbing the phone from its cradle, she reached over and punched in an extension.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lee,” Shawn greeted, peeking over her shoulder. Her voice took on a quieter tone as she settled in her seat. “You feel like doing lunch today?”
Leandra Simmons, a work-friend—as categorized by Shawn.
“Hmmmm. Let me check my calendar.”

“What calendar?”

“My imaginary one. Why look! I’m free. Where and when, Chica?”

“Good ol’ King Taco?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Me and their sopes have been separated for far too long. You treating?”

“No, but I’m driving.”

“Prefer the treating.”

“Meet you at one?”

“12:30’s better for me. I have a meeting to attend and two.”

“Alright, girlie. See ya, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lee took a crunchy bite of her treat, a flat crust topped with beef, lettuce and a crumbly white cheese. “God, this is good. Why don’t we come here more often?”

The two sat at one of the small square tables adjacent to the window. The street scene, full of pedestrians and cars, went unnoticed.

“Because we’d be as big as houses, that’s why.”

“More to love. Speaking of love…”

Shawn inwardly groaned, wishing she’d never brought the impending topic up.

“…So, you turned down another lunch with him?” Lee said after relishing another mouthful of her beef sope.

Shawn had finished her own sope and was working on one of King Taco’s small soft tacos. She took her time chewing on the morsel, opting to nod in answer.

“Man, you’ve got it so bad for him. And after two years!”

“I do not have it bad. I just…”

“You’ve got it, you’ve got it bad…” Leandra reiterated singing the R&B ballad performed by Usher.
“Oh, no. No more songs. Anything but that.”

“What, you don’t like Usher? Should I think of another artist to pound in the fact that you’re still emotionally attached to Mr. Antonio Madeira?”

“No. It’s not that,” Shawn responded, glad to change the subject. “It’s just that I think I’ve had my fill of music for a little while.”

Ever on cue, Leandra asked for an explanation.

Shawn chuckled through her explanation of last night’s self-administered therapy. At the end of her story she shrugged and awaited her work-friend’s verdict on her sanity.

“Sounds interesting.” The comment was punctuated by Lee sizing up the second sope on her plate that had lain untouched. Licking her lips she picked up her treat and took a generous taste, her eyes closing out every other sense.

“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” Shawn prodded; a little disappointed at the tepid interest her confessions had stirred.

Her friend’s eyes remain shut until she’d finished that last delicious bit in her mouth. Finally, Lee’s heavy lids raised, and she regarded her friend.

“Well, Shawn,” She began, wistfully eyeing what remained of her meal. Risidual crumbs of cheese sprinkled her lip but were soon mopped up by her quick tongue. Finally, again focusing on her friend, Lee continued. “Okay, it does seem a little desperate. But, it also sounds like it just might have helped you out in some way. Can’t be mad at that.”

She shrugged, and Shawn got the feeling that there was more she would say. However, they were co-workers more than they were friends.

Shawn sighed. “You’re bullshitting me, Lee.”

At that Lee actually laughed. With a surprising burst of glee she reached over and grabbed Shawn’s hand. “I’m actually not…for once.” She squeezed Shawn’s hand before releasing it in favor of her meal. With her treat at a standstill midway to its destination, she reflected, “You came to realize that fears of failure run as deep as your ambitions. Deeper, maybe. Otherwise you’d be ‘swinging on that star’ by now.” Lee’s brows waggled smugly.

“See. I was listening to more than my stomach.” She leaned forward, taking a loud bite of her last sope.

“And, you don’t think my method strange?”

“I wouldn’t dare knock anything that works. I mean, it’s not like your throwing your life away on a daily dose of drugs.”

“Well, not a daily dose. You’ve gotta ration that stuff out, you know. Gets expensive,” Shawn finished.

A chuckle rang deep in Lee’s throat but didn’t make it past the confines of her full mouth.

Before long their lunch hour was about up so after gathering their purses, they headed out. As Shawn held the door open her workmate stopped just before passing. Lee turned to her with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe your next session should be on why your so ambitious.”

She continued walking with Shawn at her side.

“But, what would that answer?”

“Maybe if you find the source of your ambitions, you’ll find the source of your fears. Find the source of those and you can address them. Nix them.”

Shawn was quiet. It made sense, in some twisted way.

Lee tapped her on the elbow and out of her musings.

“Told you I was listening.”

Prelogue

2004-11-01T17:39:00.000-08:00

28yrs old, female suffering from ambiguity. She desires the following: to finally pinpoint her passion, to move forward in life, to finally capture those runaway convicts—happiness and satisfaction. Seeks a priest who will exorcise demons on a deferred (meaning never, ever, ever) pay basis. Restorations must be completed within three weeks.

Shawn sits at her desk wondering how she got here.

Her move to California had been for the adventure, for the thrill, for the opportunities that were open to smart people with youth on their side.

Three years later, she’s temping at the place she had started working at “just for now.” And, she was facing a high school reunion where she’d have to describe where she’d been. What she’d done with her life in the 10 years since the class had parted.

Stagnate. That was the word for her progress. And, I’m tired of it!

It was time to implement some radical changes. But, How you gonna win when you ain’t right within? as Lauryn Hill once sang; as of today, Shawn would be taking stock of her emotional and psychological inventory; getting rid of what’s not needed and making orders for what is.

Professional help would be welcomed, but no time soon will you find her on some dispassionate practitioner’s couch; she was one of the many who risked daily life without insurance, without money to spare and without a permanent job that would promise a reserve of either.

So, where was she to find solace?

Age-old doctor. Never tires of your company. Specializes in clarifying your feelings with graceful lyrics and uncanny accuracy. And, offers words of wisdom and a sympathetic ear in equal measure. Has been named the doctor of love, anger, joy and pain. Available for free via CD, library appearances and internet (barring lawsuits). B.Y.O.C. – Bring Your Own Couch

- Dr. Music/Literature and whatever scraps you can find, Ph.D.

Sessions start immediately.