Afterwards (Editing)

chapter eight

The whore calls me on friday and tells me he truly was sick all week and had to cancel with all of his clients. He then complains for a good ten minutes about how bad for buisness that is. Then he gets to the point. I don't have to come this weekend he has already cancelled with his mother. I try to sound like i care as i tell him to get rest and drink some soup. I almost tell him to take a hot bath but the image is so repulsive i keep the words down with my vomit. Then he groans and hangs up. I sigh at that. Then i call Dane.

"Hello lovely Tallulah. How are you today?" he asks. I can almost see the grin on his face.

"Do you need a ride tomorrow? Oh better yet can i cover someone's shift. I can't do nothing all day," i say.

"Why not write. If you have a break i suggest you use it," he says. "Oh! Wait tell me why you aren't going to old man Thompson's tomorrow. Did he finally get busted?" The excitement in his voice is stupid. Everyone knows about Mr. Thompson, well the men pretend they don't, and he must be pulling quite a few strings down at the Sherrif's office because he hasn't been caught.

"Sorry, Dane, but no. The buisness is still running," i tell him. 

"Aww," he whines. 

"So is there a shift i can cover?" i ask.

"I don't know. Just show up and if there isn't you can just tell someone you can cover their shift and they can go home. I have to go to the Shop. Sorry," Dane says.

"Ok. By Dane," i say.

"Bye Tallulah," he says.

I hang up the phone, a tiny smile on my lips. Dane is always able to get me giddy. 

I walk down the stairs and knock on Mrs. Kilder's door. She grunts. I open it up. She never locked it in the first place so i don't need a key but i still got one copied incase she gets worse and locks herself up, alone.

"Hello Mrs. Kilder. What are we having for breakfast today?" i ask. 

"Nothing," she says.

"Nothing is too hard to make. Pick something else," i tell her. She glares at me, her white eyebrows knit.

"Girl, go home," she says and plays with the worn out envelope she is always rubbing. The paper is becoming thin and the more she rubs it the thinner, softer it gets. It was a hard letter to get, i know from experience. The three lettered one.

I don't know who. I don't know anything more but three letters that paper contains. I also don't think that is the main reason she is the way she is.

"I'll make you pancakes," i tell her.

"No," she mutters.

"Fine, but you aren't getting rid of me. Mr. T called in sick. I don't have work so i'll just be here," i state and sit down next to her.

"I would like to be left alone," she says after an awkward, silent few moments.

"Mrs. K. You can't always have it your way. I think i know what's good for you," i tell her. That was a mistake, saying that. But it is true. She isn't fit to take care of herself.

"I am able to take care of myself. Girl, we all are. If we weren't then we sure as hell wouldn't be here right now," she says. She has a point. If we couldn't even take care of ourselves then how would we prosper? We seem to have excelled enough to improve.

"We still do need help sometimes," i tel her and pull her blinds open. She squints and shakes her hand around motioning for me to close them again. Her gray hair is unbrushed and her face seems to melt in front of me.

"I don't need help. Now close the blinds," she says.

"No can do," i say. She groans, folds her arms, and scowls.

"Acting like a little kid won't help you," i tell her. She folds her arms in even more.

Eventually i leave her, but only after she eats. I even peek out of my window and look down on hers to see if she closed the blinds yet. She hadn't. I sigh in relief. It isn't a lot and it might just be exhaustion even though she does nothing, but i'm choosing to believe she wants it open.

Unfortunately for Dustin another day passes and no one notices. He leaves school just like he does every other day: filled with dread. He doesn't want to go home and no one is swooping in to save him like he wants. He can't seem to figure out how no one has noticed. The only problem with this notion is he knows, so it isn't hard for him to jump to conclusions like everyone is ignoring him, neglecting him. Sometimes he ventures into the possibility everyone hates him. He is sorely mistaken.

Then Della, god bless the girl, swoops in, and even though her acting as if nothing is wrong when everything seems to be is rather aggravating to himshe makes him feel a little better. She swats the idea out of his mind.

Then he drops her off and the chattering beside him that had distracted him for ten minutes disappears and he is left to his own devices. His machinery is beyond repair at the moment, and it is only that way because there is no mechanic that knows the way to fix it anywhere in sight. So he falls back into despair which wraps him up like a blanket and engulfs him in sorrow. Then he gets home. And it only goes uphill from there.

I fill in for Evie down at the diner. Dane and i work side by side, taking orders and bussing tables. It's nice. I always love strapping on the apron and writing orders down on a yellow pad and the sticking it in a pocket on my apron. When i was a kid working at a resteraunt always seemed so magical to me. It still is. After we close and finish cleaning up i get something to take back to Mrs. Kilder. Metallica played the entire time we were working because that's all the radio station was playing tonight and it killed my ears.

When i finally get Mrs. Kilder to eat which was easier than normal i go upstairs feeling drunken with happiness. It seemed Mrs. Kilder was beginning to feel better. I couldn't ask for more.

His father isn't home yet. He sighs in relief and the sighs like a little kid who hasn't gotten what they wanted.