by N. Godwin
As he wipes off the table he flings the crumbs onto the floor because he knows today’s my day to sweep. He does this dramatically and sighs at each table. Hobie’s going for an Oscar as he winds around the room and skids the chairs under their tables.
Admit it, couldn’t he be your little brother?
Hobie is like the little brother I never had, the one I would choose for myself had I been given the option. But he’d have shown up eventually though because God brought us all together for a reason… I ponder the relevance.
He was placed here by God for a reason… Perhaps he was placed here to be my little brother? Maybe I need him as much as he needs me? Sure, he’s full of lust but he’s just a teenager and can’t help it... Besides, wasn’t his carnal instinct heavenly designed to ensure propagation of the species? I’ll bet Hobie has tons of kids when he’s married. God knows the world can’t depend on me for that one, so somebody’s got to handle the slack. Better him than me.
All teenage boys are hormonally imbalanced, every single one I’ve ever known. So, then, how can he be blamed for being how God intended?
This always trips me up.
I just don’t see the grand logic in singling out Hobie for this particular sin. Other than that his heart is pure. Why else would I love him like a brother?
Oh well, either way, Hobie’s related to me by heart if not by blood. If he was sent by heavenly design to be my little brother and you’ve told me offing a family member is taboo, then how could he possibly be the chosen lamb? Is blood all that connects a family?
I taught him to dance, he taught me to skateboard. I taught him to ride herd on his anger, he taught me to let mine out. He has me listed as his next of kin. He tied empty beer cans to the bumper of my car at the Easter Sunrise service two years back and wrote just married vulgarities on my back windshield. He is my brother. Just like Cecile and Kelly, God gave him to me to nurture and love, no matter how horny the kid is. Truly, He did.
Okay, I know this might sound a little--lame but its sound logic to me. I just don’t think Hobie’s the one. What could offing Hobie possibly prove? If lust was that much of a problem to heaven’s higher sensibilities then wouldn’t ninety percent of the world’s population get zapped over that one? Who’d be left to do all that adoring and fearing? I know I’m right about this one, aren’t I?
“Come on,” I whisper, “show me a sign and tell me that I’m right.”
Suddenly I see a bolt of bright white light as a tourist steps in between Hobie and me and takes a picture with a wide apologetic smile. As his flash blinds my eyes, I think on the blueprint of Hobie instead and smile in utter relief.
I can’t off family no matter how we’re related… And this is the South, after all; if your Aunt Eulalie’s cousin has the lapse in judgment to marry Al Sharpton or Dick Cheney, you’re related to him till death do you part on-account of some primeval Southern code imbedded in our psyches.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” the tourist says and tips his visor then steps away.
My sigh of relief is long and deep. I still see spots before my eyes as I turn and seek out Hobie. “Hey Hobie,” I cup my hands and shout to him, “I adore you, little bro.”
He smiles back at me and flips me the finger. Mandy and Genie, our newest Halflings, are standing the next table over and breakout into adolescent giggles when I frown, even Randy laughs because Hobie now has to put five dollars in the swearing jar for being obscene.
This makes Genie laugh hysterically since Hobie has been dogging her all day and forcing her to cough up her hard-earned tips every time she swears at one of us, which is often. Mandy laughs because Genie laughs, of course.
Mandy Lange is a skinny, brown hair, green-eyed cutie. Her mama’s new live-in began climbing into Mandy’s bed when she was only thirteen. When Mandy finally got the nerve to tell her mom what the creep had done, her mother responded by kicking Mandy out of the house. So, since they’ve been best friends “for,like, ever and ever”, Mandy went to live with Genie and her mama. Which worked great until Genie’s mother got a live-in who began hitting on Mandy, too, so now, here they both are.
Dual runaways are the easiest kind.
True to the nature of most fifteen year olds, Mandy talks incessantly. Have you ever heard anyone use so many descriptive adjectives to describe a bowl of chili? Mandy even talks in her sleep, but so far there’s only her and Genie in the bunkhouse, so luckily nobody’s there to complain. Mandy has a sweet heart and is already a lot of fun to have around, with her little turned up mouse nose that crinkles every time she laughs. It is difficult to imagine a grown man looking at her and seeing anything other than a skinny, knob-kneed teenager with a contagious giggling spirit.
Eunice says that right after birth men should be implanted with electrodes in their scrotum so every time he gets way off base his mother/significant other can zap him back down to reality. But that’s Eunice…
Then there’s Mandy’s best friend, Genie Hines. See the way she holds herself, how she can’t simply just wait on a table. She likes to grind to the music while telling any male who will listen how terrible we are to her here, how we won’t let her go on dates, how we have that stupid alarm bolted to the dorm door, and “gee wouldn’t someone like to take me out to party?” She even did this to Freckles for pity sake!
Doc Marvin, our shrink, says Genie’s over compensating from feelings of inadequacies since she thinks she’s ugly and fat, and, okay, Genie is a little chubby but she’s a cutie, too. Marvin swears on his PHD that Genie’s not a sexaholic. He swears she’s just in desperate search of any masculine affection she can find. Well, at least we both agree on that one, and the fact that she’s harmful to herself.
As I walk by her station, Genie is bumping and grinding and snapping her fingers for the entertainment of a table full of confused boy scouts. I decide they can be industrious and take care of themselves and head to Killer’s table instead.
It’s Ken’s turn for the brown-countdown with Kelly and Cecile. He can even manage to turn a pride history lesson into a melodic political showdown. I laugh when he breaks out singing R E S P E C T at the top of his lungs. Ken and Aretha on history. His voice isn’t much to listen to but he can play that guitar any way he wants, even classical, or like now when he’s vocalizing his amazing brain power, blues on a mission.
Sometimes Ken sleeps in the back of his pickup truck. He keeps a sleeping bag, his surf board and canned goods stored there in the back seat as if he’s about to cruise at any moment. Technically he could have left here two summers ago but I know he’s got some heavy things floating around in his head about leaving this place, and also because he’s convinced that some mondo-killer wave is going to hit the shores of northwest Florida before summer’s end. He’s been charting cosmic ultra violet waves around our galaxy for years. His calculations tell him that our little neck of the woods is due for some killer cosmic fallout and he doesn’t plan on missing one second of that awe inspiring wave. I think he also knows that once he leaves here he’s never coming back. And, although he would never say it, he’s afraid I can’t make it on my own.
When Ken was fourteen he used to break into our high school by the back gym door and sleep on the couch of Coach “Come on and hit me in the gut” Delaney’s office until the night I broke in with the box of pregnant rats, a present to Coach Delaney for including my name on his football team’s offensive line’s most wanted list. But that’s another story… It was mutual respect from the first moment my flashlight hit Killer’s surprised eyes.
“Who the heck you talking to now, girlie?” Randy’s voice startles me and he laughs when I jump. “Hey, princess, I just mixed a drink for some near-toothless guy who asked a lot of goofy questions about you.”
“Oh goody.”
“Fool paid me twenty bucks to tell him where you lived. He’s a real rocket scientist if he can’t figure that one out. Know what address I gave him instead? Huh? Guess. I gave him your Daddy’s address! And I t
old him to be certain and serenade you extra loud outside your window because you’re a heavy sleeper.”
Randy is laughing like a hyena. He dances back over to his bar and I realize that we are in the middle of the dinner rush and every table is packed out. A short thin teenager with his baseball cap turned backwards steps in front of me quickly.
“You’re Jimmy-Sue, right?”
“Is there a problem?” I ask scanning the café.
“I’ve got my daddy’s Lexus.”
“Excuse me?” I stop and look at the kid, confused.
“It’s brand new and I got me a handle of Captain Morgan’s.” He grins then winks at me. “Got the keys to the beach condo, too,” he says, jingling the keys in his pocket.
Yeah, and apparently a death wish, too.
“And?” I ask slowly.
“Wanna go somewhere and party?” He replies with bravado downright spooky on a kid his age.
“I’m married, junior.” I step beyond him and he looks flustered and walks away.
I stop in my tracks when I see Eunice invite Horst to sit down at her table. That’s pretty weird. She’s always treated Horst as if he were a Halfling, choosing to ignore him like the rest of us. I wonder if maybe she doesn’t recognize this clean-shaven guy because his dark hair has started to grow back, his henna tattoo is faded out, and he looks less and less alien every day.
Eunice is laughing up a storm and patting him on the hand. I can hear her constant mantra: “I’m telling you, I should have bought property beachside while I had the chance. I’m telling you it would be worth a small fortune today!”
I think Horst actually just told her a joke. And she’s laughing! Did he just tie her shoelace? Okay, what’s up with tonight? Everything seems out of whack. Everything! I can feel the weirdness sinking into my bones.
And then I hear the thunder and feel the shift.
All the noises of the café are suddenly drowned out by the sound of long nails slowly grating down the front of one of the chalkboard menus and my legs freeze in place. I slowly turn my head to see who is making the horrible sound.
I can feel the hair on my arms and the back of neck stand on end as I stare at the menu board. Nobody is there, no one at all, and I must be light-headed because the menu looks all fuzzy. There are no appetizers or entrees written on the chalkboard anymore. I notice with shock the terrifying words written in red. Six giant sixes scrawled across the surface, with only one word written after each number. 6 arrived. 6 arrived. 6 arrived. 6 arrived. 6 arrived. 6 arrived.
And I know that the beast is here.
I cannot breathe as I quickly turn and look at the five other chalkboards scattered around the café. 6 arrived is written over and over again on every one of them and is now scribbled across all the ceiling and walls, written in oozing blood, my blood I think, and my knees go weak as the lights and power suddenly flash off and the café goes dark and silent.
There is no sound in this endless moment, only the pounding of my heart and the quick terrible panting of unseen others all around me. The lights blindingly flicker back on for just an instant. I stare in shock at everyone suspended in time around me, each of them cold statues covered in flashing binary codes with the number 6 bleeping across their flesh. Each of them is frozen at a horrible, garish, angle like Medusa’s victims the moment they are turned to stone. The beer from Randy’s tap and the smoke from Eunice’s cigarette are frozen and suspended in the air, and my heart freezes in my chest.
The only movement I can see is frightening beyond belief. Outside in the rain I can see the beasts gathered and standing on the edges of the property line. I have never seen them here before and I stare at their gargoyle faces watching as they evolve rapidly from one terrifying demon into another, their beady red eyes lasers that leave red circles across my body like the infrared sightings of many guns. I try to brush them away in vain as the beasts’ growl and pace and hiss while they futilely try to step beyond the invisible boundary in the sand, and I cry out in fear.
I notice that there are six of them and I know they must be the six who have arrived. I hold my breath and wait and pray with all my might.
Don’t let them cross the line. Don’t let them cross the line.
The lights flicker back off and I stumble on my feet gasping and praying, knowing that somewhere outside in the dark, the beast is here, waiting and watching while his legion heralds his arrival. I feel my sanity flowing swiftly from my body and am almost entirely drained as my knees buckle beneath me.
Suddenly, blessedly, the power flashes back on and the room is once again filled with noise and light as everyone springs back into life. I wipe the back of my hand across my brow and stare at the chalkboards. In relief I notice the menus have returned. Gone are all the sixes and their threats, gone are the beasts standing just beyond.
I feel sick to my stomach and hold on to a table for support as I try to regain my balance. The hairs on my arms are standing on end again and I am aware of a presence in my immediate vicinity, talking rapidly and incoherently as the arrogant teenager with his daddy’s Lexus comes into focus, this time with his fangs showing.
“Out demon, out!” I hear myself shout and watch as my hand flashes over and slaps the kid hard upside his forehead with my palm and his fangs magically shrink back inside his mouth. I stare incredulously at my hand, laughing in disbelief over what I’d just done while he stares at me like I’ve gone and turned purple.
“What’d you hit me for?!” he whines, nursing his stinging brow as the surrounding tables begin to notice us. “Play nice. I didn’t do nothing, yet. I just said that girl, Genie, over there say’s you ain’t married and you’d just love to go somewhere and loosen up,” the kid says. “What the fuck did you think I said?”
“Your mouth is a sewer and I’m not talking to you.”
“Sorry,” he says and shrugs as he studies my face, “next time I’ll know to duck. There wasn’t any reason to hit me for Christ’s sake; I was just trying to ask you out!”
I shudder and try to shake it off; knowing for certain that I’m certifiable and wondering again why so few people seem to notice this? This annoying teenager is not any kind of threat; he’s just a kid after all. And I’d hit him! I’d smack him right upside his sweaty forehead. What the heck was that all about!? Thank God, I didn’t have a frying pan in my hand.
I can tell the poor kid’s local, too. I’ll bet if I look back there will be money riding on his outcome. I look at his friends standing by the door and shake my head and sigh when I am right.
I am still shaken and confused and terribly drained. I quickly look around the crowded café for Ken, my touchstone, because I need his strength right now. I finally spot him talking on the café’s phone by the register with his back to me. A moment later he hangs up and turns seeking me out. I meet him halfway and he has that expression he gets when the news is grave. I notice I’m still trembling when I arrive by his side.
Ken looks at me knowingly because somehow he can always sense when I’ve just had one of my paranoid episodes. He holds his hand out in front of me palm up and spreads his fingers open wide. I slowly mimic his gesture and hold my hand out towards his and stop when I can feel his warmth, just before we can touch. He leans his head down and our foreheads are almost touching.
“Can I help?” he whispers as my trembling stops.
“You just did,” I sigh as we lower our hands and step back from one another. “Who was on the phone?” By the way he exhales I’m not sure I want the answer.
“That was Dr. Ingrid,” he says as both of us scan the room to find the girls. “Damn!” he whispers under his breath. “She’s been out of the country and she says she’s only just seen the results, but--Damn! She says... she says Kelly is pregnant again.”
I slide down into the nearest vacant chair and listen as Ken whispers a few choice words at the people responsible for Kelly’s predicament. I stare at my hands then back over to Kelly who is carrying a sleeping
Cecile out the back door.
“We’ll get her an abortion,” Ken consoles me. “Come on, we’ll have a fundraiser. It’ll be killer.”
“Aw, don’t say that,” I softly say as we both frown and watch the girls climb the stairs to our room.
They make such a lovely picture with Cecile’s little face resting against her mama’s shoulder. Kelly looks so happy in her new lip gloss and yellow dress, which she bought with her own money.
“I’ll tell her if you’d like,” Ken offers as the girls disappear inside my room.
“No,” I say and catch his sleeve, “I have to.”
I notice Genie is all the way across the restaurant, stuck in gear over at table 9 with a bunch of rowdy Alabamians in cowboy hats. I see her food order sitting under the warmers and growl when I realize the tabooli, shrimp and grits, gumbo, and the icky fried tofu sandwich on whole wheat are going to get cold, a cardinal sin around this place. I growl when I notice they’ve even ordered the only forty dollar bottle of wine this place has ever sold.
Intrigued by the variety, I decide to deliver the food myself instead of arguing with Genie again. Randy blocks my path momentarily, laughing and wondering what my daddy was doing right now, so I go around to the side door and walk out onto the crowded patio. I notice with a touch of disappointment that seated at table 12 are two engineers from the lab and some soldier in a khaki uniform, sitting with his back to me. This food doesn’t seem to fit the profile of the other engineers because this order actually has spice, well except for the tofu. Engineers always wear ties and always eat fish or tofu. I notice Blue curled around the ankle of the soldier, howling softly, and I stare at the cat in confusion as I approach. I’ve never seen Blue like anyone besides me and I chalk it up to the weirdness of the night. In rote I guess who gets what and set the shrimp and grits down in front of the heavier older man with the kind smile as I casually eavesdrop on their conversation.
