sleep.” I glance down at my mother and sigh heavily; sometimes my heart feels heavy at the sight of her so broken and helpless. Other times, I want to slap her across the face for the choices she’s made.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon.” I close her bedroom door and walk down the narrow hallway. The bowl of soggy Ramen noodles is still on the kitchen counter where I left it before I went to bed. I wonder if she even noticed that I was gone all day yesterday.She used to make an attempt to sit by the window to listen to the chimes of the church bells welcoming all into the God’s house. I remember walking past the church on Sunday mornings, wishing I could be like all the other little girls who wore pretty dresses. My mother would squeeze my hand tightly and tell me that God didn’t love girls like us.
As I ride my bike through the narrow alley, I sigh with relief upon seeing the bags of garbage from last week have been removed; only the vile stench remains.
“You’re here early,” Lenny says as he helps me wheel my bike into the tight space behind the dumpster door.
“Couldn’t sleep. And besides I owed you one from last week. You know I hate to be late.”
“Did you have a good weekend?”
“Same as usual.” I shrug.
“Remy.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.
“I’m good, Len.” I lie through my smile as I tighten the black apron around my waist and head up front to brew a pot of coffee.
Jenna arrives twenty minutes after I do and goes about refilling ketchup bottles and setting up tables for the Monday morning rush.
Every time I open my mouth to tell her that I ran into Mr. Abercrombie at the park yesterday, nothing comes out. I can’t help wonder if there’s really anything to tell. I guess some rich guys can be a little nice sometimes.
6:08, in he walks, all freshly showered, smooth faced wearing black dress pants and a white button down shirt and looking sexy as hell. I wonder if his girlfriend irons his clothes or maybe his wife does it for him. The thought makes me want to gag, but instead I roll my eyes.
“Good morning,” he greets me as he sits.
I offer a tight-lipped “Morning” in return.
“Coffee and a muffin?” I ask evenly.
“Please.” He smiles, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek.
I pour a cup of coffee for him. “So I guess you’re not hungover today.”
He sips the hot black coffee and coughs, his lips forming an O. “What?”
“Weren’t you hungover the other day?” I ask even though it’s none of my business. After all, what I do is none of anyone else’s business either.
“Yeah.” He looks down as his tanned cheeks flush with embarrassment.
I place the blueberry muffin in front of him, grab the butter knife, and slice it right in half just like he does every time.
“Thanks.” He looks up from the muffin and smiles. There’s a slight hesitation before he asks what my name is.
I point to my name tag pinned to my white polo shirt. “Can’t you read?”
His eyes roam around my shirt before settling on my boobs, which continued to grow throughout my teenage years even after the rest of me stopped growing.
“You don’t…”
“Eyes up here, buddy,” I say sternly.
“But…” He reaches forward as if he’s going to touch me and then pulls back.
“Don’t touch me! Keep your damn hands to yourself.” I raise my voice and cause the other people sitting along the counter to look over. No one touches me without permission. Ever. The mere thought of a man’s unwanted hands on my breasts makes the hair on my neck stand and my back stiffen.
“Everything all right out there?” Lenny asks from the food window.
Mr. Abercrombie’s hands fly up, palms facing out as he displays his innocence. “Whoa…easy there, I wasn’t going to touch you.”
I narrow my eyes and turn back to Lenny who’s asked the question now for the second time. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’re not wearing a name tag. That’s
“I’ll be back later this afternoon.” I close her bedroom door and walk down the narrow hallway. The bowl of soggy Ramen noodles is still on the kitchen counter where I left it before I went to bed. I wonder if she even noticed that I was gone all day yesterday.She used to make an attempt to sit by the window to listen to the chimes of the church bells welcoming all into the God’s house. I remember walking past the church on Sunday mornings, wishing I could be like all the other little girls who wore pretty dresses. My mother would squeeze my hand tightly and tell me that God didn’t love girls like us.
As I ride my bike through the narrow alley, I sigh with relief upon seeing the bags of garbage from last week have been removed; only the vile stench remains.
“You’re here early,” Lenny says as he helps me wheel my bike into the tight space behind the dumpster door.
“Couldn’t sleep. And besides I owed you one from last week. You know I hate to be late.”
“Did you have a good weekend?”
“Same as usual.” I shrug.
“Remy.” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.
“I’m good, Len.” I lie through my smile as I tighten the black apron around my waist and head up front to brew a pot of coffee.
Jenna arrives twenty minutes after I do and goes about refilling ketchup bottles and setting up tables for the Monday morning rush.
Every time I open my mouth to tell her that I ran into Mr. Abercrombie at the park yesterday, nothing comes out. I can’t help wonder if there’s really anything to tell. I guess some rich guys can be a little nice sometimes.
6:08, in he walks, all freshly showered, smooth faced wearing black dress pants and a white button down shirt and looking sexy as hell. I wonder if his girlfriend irons his clothes or maybe his wife does it for him. The thought makes me want to gag, but instead I roll my eyes.
“Good morning,” he greets me as he sits.
I offer a tight-lipped “Morning” in return.
“Coffee and a muffin?” I ask evenly.
“Please.” He smiles, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek.
I pour a cup of coffee for him. “So I guess you’re not hungover today.”
He sips the hot black coffee and coughs, his lips forming an O. “What?”
“Weren’t you hungover the other day?” I ask even though it’s none of my business. After all, what I do is none of anyone else’s business either.
“Yeah.” He looks down as his tanned cheeks flush with embarrassment.
I place the blueberry muffin in front of him, grab the butter knife, and slice it right in half just like he does every time.
“Thanks.” He looks up from the muffin and smiles. There’s a slight hesitation before he asks what my name is.
I point to my name tag pinned to my white polo shirt. “Can’t you read?”
His eyes roam around my shirt before settling on my boobs, which continued to grow throughout my teenage years even after the rest of me stopped growing.
“You don’t…”
“Eyes up here, buddy,” I say sternly.
“But…” He reaches forward as if he’s going to touch me and then pulls back.
“Don’t touch me! Keep your damn hands to yourself.” I raise my voice and cause the other people sitting along the counter to look over. No one touches me without permission. Ever. The mere thought of a man’s unwanted hands on my breasts makes the hair on my neck stand and my back stiffen.
“Everything all right out there?” Lenny asks from the food window.
Mr. Abercrombie’s hands fly up, palms facing out as he displays his innocence. “Whoa…easy there, I wasn’t going to touch you.”
I narrow my eyes and turn back to Lenny who’s asked the question now for the second time. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’re not wearing a name tag. That’s
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