FREE THE DOVES || H.S

9 | Chewy Creamsicle Daydream

STILL THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, 1968.

SUN. THE SUN WAS SHINING so bright it was almost painful to the people of the town who were not used to the burning light scorching their corneas. No one dared stay inside. An occasion so rare must be looked at, must be appreciated. The streets were littered with people wearing clothes they dug out of the back of their closets or in boxes stored in their attics. It was a beautiful mess of vibrant colors and huge smiles. Orange and pinks. Dripping popsicles and melting ice cream cones. Hot pavement and cold sea water. Sunbeams and baby blue skies.

The only people ridiculous enough to be inside for the day were the people who were forced to. Like Harry. Who, on this August day, was wiping tables at the Sunny Days diner.

"I'm gonna kill myself."

Tig rolled his eyes, standing behind the counter Harry was angrily cleaning.

"No you're not. Little drama queen."

"Tig fuckin' look at it-" Harry gestured dramatically to the windows lining the wall of the small diner. As he did this Tig pushed a jar sitting next to the cash register towards Harry.

"Its gorgeous, just beautiful out there and guess what?" Harry dug into his pockets and brought out a dollar before dropping it into the jar, "I'm fuckin' in here," he placed another dollar inside the jar, "on the nicest day of the summer- no the year actually with you."

Tig had a sideways smile on his face. He pushed his thin framed glasses up his nose. "You don't want to be stuck in a stuffy diner with me? Thought that was everyone's dream."

"Well its not its just-"

"Did you get that tables check chatty Cathy?" Tig pointed to a table where an elderly couple sat across from each other. Their plates were empty. Napkins were crinkled up and thrown onto the plate. Drinks only had ice and red straws left in them.

"No Tig. I did not. I'll go do that now for you your highness."

"Eh, don't say that to me. I know if Don comes out here and sees ya standing around cleaning the same spot you've cleaned ten times today he's gonna have your ass."

"Yeah yeah yeah I'm goin', I'm fuckin' going." He turned around but stopped when he heard Tig cough into his fist behind him. He twisted back around and watched Tig tap the lip of the jar with his pointer finger.

"Fuck sakes just take my wallet."

"Two in one!"

"Damn." He placed two more dollars into the jar which was so cleverly labelled, Harrys Swear Jar (We Aren't Allowed to Wash His Mouth Out with Soap Anymore).

Don made the jar after yelling at Harry so many times for cursing when he was out on the floor. Don said its fine to do that in the back but not in front of customers. But telling Harry not to say 'fuckin' in every sentence is as difficult as asking a person to not use words with vowels in them. Its impossible. But he wanted to at least punish him. So, the swear jar was born.

Harry walked over to the table with the elderly people patiently waiting. A towel slung over his shoulder. A white shirt tucked into jeans fastened by a belt. He pushed his hair back, "heya folks, its gonna come to 17.85."

The old man at the table wore a dress shirt underneath as beige knitted cardigan which Harry thought was funny considering it was smoldering outside. The lady wore a short sleeve shirt and a pair of colorful capri pants. Her hair was white and curly, falling just to her shoulders.

The man began pulling out his wallet as a familiar song began playing on the jukebox. Harry noticed the lady begin to unknowingly hum along as she swirled the ice in her drink around with her straw. He smiled, bent down to look at the man and said, "Sir would you mind if I had a dance with your beautiful lady?"