Dreaming Silence

Fear of Falling

Guess what? It's time for one of 'Brynne's Humane Issue of the Day' . And who would've known it would be this (guess that goes with Ricky's obsession of the Chaos Theory).  Let me start from the beginning, I'm sure you'll catch on quickly.

Soon after the terrible encounter with the local female population at the café, the ensemble came in more and more often.  Maybe they felt bad the girls coming and tormenting me, or just decided the fairly-priced pastries tasted better than gas station food and instant coffee.  

The all too familiar sound of squeaky rubber and jingling car keys erupted into the semi-peaceful café while I wiped down cream coffee cups. Playful grins spread across the faces as they turned around, me nonchalantly ignoring them as they rushed to the counter.  Lance's was missing from the crowd but I wasn't too worried.

"Brynne! Brynney?! B-B? Brynne?!" 

"Did you make our usual?"

"Can I have extra whipped cream on my cake?"

"Hey, no offense, but can you change the radio?"

"What, you don't like this station?"

"What, you do? Hah, lame."

"Don't sass me, pinprick."

"What, you wanna go?"

"Hold on guys, I have everything already set up in the back," I interrupted, setting the wet rag on the glass case. "Let me grab the platter and I'll bring it to the table."

I opened the spare fridge and pulled out the assorted cakes and cookies.  Florence came around the corner with a large pot of coffee.

"I'm guessing them boys just got in? I swear if they ain't wiping their feet, I'll slap them silly." Her grumpy figure waddled into the seating area.

"Florence, you and I both know you love those guys to death whether or not they hang their jackets up."  The words spilled numbly, thinking about the delicious foods in my hands.

"Hmph. Oh, there's the last one trotting in at the last moment! Mister Foster, don't you sit down before wiping your dirty shoes," She exclaimed, patting her apron in irritation. A few of the boys' voices greeted their leader but suddenly hushed.  Lance's voice spoke so quietly I couldn't catch anything he said.

My floury apron fluttered as the cheap metal fan rustled it as I passed by.  Lance's head was on the table, his broad shoulders heaved forward.  I walked over and set the porcelain tray on the table.  

"Eh, is everything okay?  What's uh....what's going on?"

Oxy was intently staring at a crumpled napkin across the room, or maybe contemplating life.  Glenn's mouth was clenched shut, his left eye almost twitching. Kenneth and Ricky were exchanging glances like an intense argument.  The smallest one was left in silence with a glistening tear on his eyelashes.

"What the hell do you think happened, Brynne? Hmm? Haven't you paid any attention the past few days?" Lance lifted his head and snarled. "We've been trying to call Frans and find out why he isn't home yet. You know he was supposed to get back from Tennessee last Thursday, and it's almost been a week."

"Man, lay off, it's not her fault. She didn't even know the guy," Ricky darted his eyes towards him.

"It doesn't matter! Why would it matter? It seems to me that I was the only one who actually cared...? Because obviously no one is fazed by this."

"What happened to Frans?" I said with emphasis, steering the conversation back to the point.

"Oh, I don't know bird-brain, what would you do if your suicidal sister decided to finish herself off once and for all and then your mom and pop decide they don't love each other anymore?" The alto sax player snapped. "He decided to do himself a favor and slit his throat.  Just get it over with, right? His mom just called me as I was heading here from band practice."