Elliot: A Lucid Dream

Special: Ashley

"Ashley, where's Camille?" I leaned in the doorway, looking into the kitchen of the Café. I consciously ran a hand through my dyed lavender hair. I'd fought with Camille for hours over it, with her wanting bright, atrocious colors. This one was much safer, but my hair kept snapping off from the bleach that Sonnet had given me. Combined with the sunglasses, I looked like a freakshow. Better than nothing. 

"She headed out to go and restock the supplies, why?" Ashley was behind the main counter. He was almost covered head-to-toe in flour, staring at a recipe book. He didn't seem to be turning the pages, though. Or turning to follow the instructions... 

"I'm really bad at dealing with the customers. I-I don't like talking to them, because... uh, I'm not good with people. She's a lot better than me. What's wrong, Ashley?" I kicked at the floor, catching the toe of my shoe on a loose floorboard. 

"Shoot, kid. I'm not as good as Sonnet at cooking. I mean, well, I can cook, but these recipes are hard. It says it takes about an hour to make this cake. Well, it takes me basically half a day, just figuring it out." Ashley laid a flour-coated hand on the page of the book, sighing. A small cloud of flour rose with the action. 

"Need a hand?" I walked over to him. The door of the kitchen shut behind me. 

"Ah... it's nothing," He blushed, "You should go back to the cash register, Sunshine. You're the only one of us whose actually good at it. The math, I mean. Does that sound right?"

He was squinting at the book. "Need glasses?" I asked. 

"Nah, I just have a hard time reading," He shrugged, turning to talk to me, "I can see them alright... the words, I mean, y'know... but like... the 't's are weird and the 'd's and 'b's are a little funny, too." He squinted at the book. "15... no, it's actually 1.5, haha... c-cups, right? Of... uh.. y'know... f-fl-flow-flour. Oh, fuc- fudge." 

I moved over and took a look myself. "2 eggs," I read to him, "1.75 teaspoons of baking powder, .5 cup milk, 2 teaspoons vanilla, 1 cup sugar, and .5 cup of butter." 

"Thanks," He blushed, ducking his head. Strands of his blonde hair came loose from behind his ear, falling into his face. His face was red from embarassment. "I'm not very smart." 

"Are you dyslexic?" I asked. 

"What's that? Sorry, you're gonna have to dumb it down for me." He pushed the strands of blonde hair back behind his ear, smudging white flour on it. I reached up and carefully dusted it off. 

"It's just a condition in which people have trouble reading. Like they see it okay, but their brains just don't interpret it." 

"Never heard of it." Ashley shrugged, studying his powdered white hands. "But it's okay. It doesn't really matter." 

I pointed to a chair across the counter, an old wooden stool. "Can I sit? On the chair, I mean?" 

"Sure, go ahead." He walked over to me, wiping his hands on the apron. He leaned onto the counter, cupping his elbows. Again, the strand fell into his eyes. 

"Can I ask you something?" I leaned on the table slightly, before realizing that there was white powder on my sleeves. "Oh... ugh, this is awkward..." 

"Shoot away." Ashley winked at me, giving me gun fingers. I laughed, before clapping a hand over my mouth. 

"Sorry. Why do you cook so much? You're always in here, even when the café is closed." 

"Well, I like it. That's all there is to it, y'know. You don't have to always have a tangible reason for doing things, Sunshine." Ashley shrugged, taking two eggs from the fridge before turning to me again.