Satan's Dollar Store & other stories

Yellow

Jeremy Lawton sat down for a moment - just for a moment, he told himself. He could feel that something was about to break. Or was it he who was about to break something? Which is better, he wondered, to keep the blinders on and go about your business, or look up once in awhile and gaze off into the distance, see just where the hell it is you're going? Maybe just a peek every now and then would do. Because the road was stupid and painfully long. And the people sitting across from him waited while he thought of what to say next. He had already said too much. 

One was Guinevere Tisdale, known to her acquaintances as Guinevere. Lawton could tell by studying her implacable face that nothing he could say would ever make a dent. She had her story straight and that was good enough for her. The next was Marshall Wallace; endlessly curious, impossibly dim. He would nod his head if you told him that nodding your head was for idiots. Finally, there was Donna Marbury, bold crusading enemy of the truth. The fact was that nothing could be accomplished with people such as these. And it would have to be accomplished tonight. 

He had to leave the room that moment, and so he did. Got up and left, murmuring something about taking ten and headed straight for the door, with silent and brooding fury guiding every step. Keep the damn blinders on, he told himself. It's the only way to get through this. And it was possible, he knew it. Let them be right for a change. Let them have their way. Let them do what they want. The result will be the same, regardless. Put some extra words on a piece of paper. Throw a whole bunch of them on. Say you'll do this and this and this and when you don't do it, just say you didn't think you would. 

Outside he noticed some pieces of things in the world. Someone ran over a plastic water bottle. A worn out teddy bear in the culvert. A shiny black bird flew into a tree. He forgot where he was. Across the street was a diner, still open at eleven fifteen at night. Before he even knew it he was sitting at that orange table he'd seen in the window, and was staring down a piece of lemon pie. Better to do it my way, Jeremy said out loud. 

Always better that way, said an old woman who was sitting at the counter. This was her regular spot. Every night, come ten, ten twenty, maybe just a little bit later if the weather was chilly and the walk took a little longer on account of her arthritis. Been coming here for seventeen years, she said, ain't that right, Louise? The waitress, who wasn't named Louise, simply nodded and said, uh-huh. Every day for seventeen years, and all because of that lemon pie, she laughed. You'd better believe it. 

Of course seventeen years isn't all that long, she continued, not when you've been around as long as i have. I'm eighty seven if i'm a day, ain't that right, Louise? And the waitress, who had never been named Louise, simply nodded and said, uh-huh. For one thing, the old lady continued, i worked a counter myself, yes i did, for thirty four years, yes indeed, a counter a lot like this one, at the K-Po's down to Wetford, you ever been there, Louise? The waitress, accustomed to being called Louise, shook her head and said, no ma'am, i ain't never been down to Wetford. Not leastwise i remember, that is. 

Do something a long time and it sticks(!) to you, the old woman declared, practically shouting out the word 'sticks'. It stays(!) with you. You become what you do. Look at me, stuck to this counter like i was born to be stuck. Every night i have to come. You do it too long, you'll see what i mean, young man, she was talking to Jeremy. He hardly heard her voice. He was considering the lemon pie. Too yellow, that's the problem, he decided. Nothing in nature has ever been this yellow. But it's good, he muttered. 

Damn right it's good, the old lady said. Best damn lemon pie you'll ever come across, and believe me, i know what i'm talking about, least when it comes to lemon pie i do. i must've made a million in my day, maybe even a hundred thousand or two. Ain't that right, Louise? But there was no answer from the waitress, who'd gone in the back with some dishes. Sadie out there again? Walter the dish boy wanted to know. Yep, replied the waitress. Same old Sadie. Who's she talking to this time? Walter asked. He wanted to go out and see for himself, but Mister Perkins wouldn't like it. Didn't like him leaving the kitchen, even when there weren't any dishes to wash. Dish boy’s place is with the dishes, Mister Perkins would say. Theo, the chef, would snicker while pretending to blow his nose. Oh Dish boy, he'd say after Mister Perkins had gone, oh Dish boy! Walter hated Theo more than anything. 

Another one of those serious young men, the waitress who wasn't named Louise replied. Got himself all worked into a state. Thinks that piece of pie is gonna solve all his problems, if only he can figure it out. If he can come to understand(!) that piece of pie. What i don't understand, Walter said, is how somebody can eat that yellow slimy thing. The waitress shrugged and said, mm-hmm. 

Sadie was rattling the spoon around in her water glass. Always order water, she said, it's cheaper than shit! And she cackled so loud that even Jeremy had to notice. He looked over and really saw her for the first time. I know what you're thinking, Sadie said, old as the hills and just as boring. I can't say you're wrong. First time i saw this face i knew i was in for a long one. No one's gonna want the likes of you, i said to myself, so you'd better get used to it. Did it my way, at least. Better that way. Always is. 

Do you really think so? Jeremy asked her. 

Why not? she replied. Better than keeping the blinders on, do what you're told, whatever they say. Do you even give a shit where you are, where you're going? 

Maybe, maybe not, he said. Right now i just don't know. 

Do it long enough, she said, it'll stick. Don't say i didn't tell you. 

That was enough. Jeremy set aside the lemon pie, put a few bucks on the table, and left. He was gone by the time the waitress returned. 

Where'd the thinker go? she asked Sadie. 

Gone off to fix his problem, the old woman replied. 

Think he will? 

Who gives a shit, Sadie said. Guy like that, who really gives a shit. Wouldn't know a good thing if he saw it. 

You want that pie? Of course you do, the waitress said, and she went and fetched it for her. 

You look at that, Sadie said, with her mouth half full of pie, just look at it. I haven't seen anything so beautiful since the sun came up this morning.