it’s busy. You need to start out slow.”
I nodded, remembering how intimidated I felt during the breakfast rush. Andy came out of the kitchen door, carrying a crate of soft drinks.
“Come on, Annette. I’ll show you how to pack the drink box.”
After that, I refilled the napkin dispensers, filled the mustard and ketchup bottles, and swept the floor. By eleven o’clock, Andy let me take my first order. They took it easy on me the first day. By the time I left that day, I felt like a Bluebird pro.
Andy and I became fast friends. We worked hard when the crowds came in, and we played hard when Rosie stepped out to get her hair done. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe when Andy soaked my hair in whipped cream . When business was slow, we passed the time playing Yahtzee and Crazy Eights.
Neither of us ever wanted to go home. Andy’s mother worked at the shirt factory and drank the rest of the time. Most nights, Andy slept on a cot in the storage room behind the Bluebird. I spent most of my time at home sleeping until it was time to go to work again. I left home at seven in the morning and came h ome around nine in the evening.
Having my own transportation gave me the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Mama complained that I reeked of fried food. Daddy asked for reports on the bank account that I added to each week. One day led to another until half the summer was gone. One day in mid-July, a crazy guy walked into the Bluebird Café and my life.
Chapter 5
Leaving Serenity
July 1971
My heart skipped a beat when he casually walked through the door. He was even taller than me, clean-shaven with a trace of sun-kissed freckles across his face. Dark ringlets flowed freely around his relaxed shoulders. He wore tiny wire-rimmed glasses, gently worn bell bottom jeans, and an African print dashiki shirt. A strand of colorful beads fell just below his Adam’s apple. Images of Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors who died the week before, popped into my head.
Andy spun around on the cou nter stool and raised his hand.
“Jack, my man!”
The guy called Jack brushed his palm lightly over Andy’s hand. “What’s hangin’, Bro?”
Andy ran around the counter and fished two Mountain Dews from the drink box. Andy’s reaction to this guy told me that he was as special as he looked. I watched his every move from the corner of the dining room where I filled the salt and pepper shakers. I’d never seen a real live hippy before. I wondered where he came from, if he went to Woodstock, and if he did drugs. Most of the guys at school had shaggy hair just above the collar, but none dared to have hair as long as his. And nobody in Serenity dressed like that except Kizzie when she was here. I was fascinated by him and couldn’t pull my eyes away.
“So, Jack, my man, what’s goin’ down?”
“Ah, Man, I’m so mad I could spit nails! That hillbilly construction foreman canned me. He claimed I ripped him off.”
Jack pointed a long, tanned finger in Andy’s face. “I said to him, ‘Dude! How dare you have the audacity to question my veracity?’ ”
I pictured the irony of a construction worker spitting nails and held in a giggle. The whole room seemed to light up when he spoke. His accent was smooth, not flat and southern like everybody else around here. He sounded really smart, too. I wondered if he was in college, like Adam.
Andy took a swig from his drink bottle. “Bummer, Man, but you sure told him, for sure.”
Jack held a Marlboro between his lips, lighting it with a quick flick of the wrist. The sharp knuckles on his large, lean hands caught my eye.
“Right on, Dude! He’ll be sorry he messed with Jack, the man!”
Andy glanced at me and cocked his head, inviting me over. I shook my head at him and straightened my hair that looked like yesterday’s dough burger. I wanted to run and hide, but it was too late.
Andy called out, “Hey, Jack, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”
I wiped my
I nodded, remembering how intimidated I felt during the breakfast rush. Andy came out of the kitchen door, carrying a crate of soft drinks.
“Come on, Annette. I’ll show you how to pack the drink box.”
After that, I refilled the napkin dispensers, filled the mustard and ketchup bottles, and swept the floor. By eleven o’clock, Andy let me take my first order. They took it easy on me the first day. By the time I left that day, I felt like a Bluebird pro.
Andy and I became fast friends. We worked hard when the crowds came in, and we played hard when Rosie stepped out to get her hair done. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t breathe when Andy soaked my hair in whipped cream . When business was slow, we passed the time playing Yahtzee and Crazy Eights.
Neither of us ever wanted to go home. Andy’s mother worked at the shirt factory and drank the rest of the time. Most nights, Andy slept on a cot in the storage room behind the Bluebird. I spent most of my time at home sleeping until it was time to go to work again. I left home at seven in the morning and came h ome around nine in the evening.
Having my own transportation gave me the freedom to come and go as I pleased. Mama complained that I reeked of fried food. Daddy asked for reports on the bank account that I added to each week. One day led to another until half the summer was gone. One day in mid-July, a crazy guy walked into the Bluebird Café and my life.
Chapter 5
Leaving Serenity
July 1971
My heart skipped a beat when he casually walked through the door. He was even taller than me, clean-shaven with a trace of sun-kissed freckles across his face. Dark ringlets flowed freely around his relaxed shoulders. He wore tiny wire-rimmed glasses, gently worn bell bottom jeans, and an African print dashiki shirt. A strand of colorful beads fell just below his Adam’s apple. Images of Jim Morrison, lead singer of The Doors who died the week before, popped into my head.
Andy spun around on the cou nter stool and raised his hand.
“Jack, my man!”
The guy called Jack brushed his palm lightly over Andy’s hand. “What’s hangin’, Bro?”
Andy ran around the counter and fished two Mountain Dews from the drink box. Andy’s reaction to this guy told me that he was as special as he looked. I watched his every move from the corner of the dining room where I filled the salt and pepper shakers. I’d never seen a real live hippy before. I wondered where he came from, if he went to Woodstock, and if he did drugs. Most of the guys at school had shaggy hair just above the collar, but none dared to have hair as long as his. And nobody in Serenity dressed like that except Kizzie when she was here. I was fascinated by him and couldn’t pull my eyes away.
“So, Jack, my man, what’s goin’ down?”
“Ah, Man, I’m so mad I could spit nails! That hillbilly construction foreman canned me. He claimed I ripped him off.”
Jack pointed a long, tanned finger in Andy’s face. “I said to him, ‘Dude! How dare you have the audacity to question my veracity?’ ”
I pictured the irony of a construction worker spitting nails and held in a giggle. The whole room seemed to light up when he spoke. His accent was smooth, not flat and southern like everybody else around here. He sounded really smart, too. I wondered if he was in college, like Adam.
Andy took a swig from his drink bottle. “Bummer, Man, but you sure told him, for sure.”
Jack held a Marlboro between his lips, lighting it with a quick flick of the wrist. The sharp knuckles on his large, lean hands caught my eye.
“Right on, Dude! He’ll be sorry he messed with Jack, the man!”
Andy glanced at me and cocked his head, inviting me over. I shook my head at him and straightened my hair that looked like yesterday’s dough burger. I wanted to run and hide, but it was too late.
Andy called out, “Hey, Jack, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”
I wiped my
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