by John White
back seat,” Jimmy says.
“Who, hon? Who dies in the back seat?” Mae leans over, smiling benevolently.
“The man,” he points toward the jukebox.
“Who, Hank Williams?” Mae asks, a confused smile forming on her lips.
“Uh, huh,” Jimmy nods.
“No, honey, Hank Williams is alive,” she cuts her dark eyes toward Bill, “he stays drunk mostly but he’s still alive.”
“Strange boy,” he says, still rocking his head from side to side with the tempo of the music.
“Don’t you start,” Mae wags a finger at him, but before she can say anything the fat waitress is back with their order. She sets the plates in front of Bill and Mae and comes around with a smaller plate for Jimmy, setting it on the table of his highchair.
“There you go little man,” she smiles and Jimmy smells something on her breath. He can’t quiet place it until he connects it with W.C.’s breath and suddenly he knows she’s been drinking. She pats him on the head, and leaves.
Jimmy lifts his burger and bits into it. The burger tastes better than he could have imagined. It’s delicious, juicy flavors excite his taste buds in a way nothing has in time out of mind. Jimmy savors the burger, washing it down with tea that tastes equally exquisite. He was astonished at the poignant flavors assailing his senses, just as the bright colors seem so much brighter, and the smells so much more enriched than he recalled.
For a moment Jimmy puts his burger down. Richer than he recalled… where did that come from, he wondered. Recalled… what? He sought in his memory but nothing came back, nothing about burgers anyway. What came back was a strange thought, the chapel’s walls were a bright blue in the funeral home when they had Sandy’s service. An ache bolted in his heart and he hiccupped.
“You alright, hon?” Mae asked, quickly leaning toward him.
“I miss Sandy,” Jimmy’s reply is laden with heartbreak.
“Who’s Sandy, hon?” Mae inquires, seeing the pain in her son is an actual emotion.
“She died,” Jimmy whimpered, forgetting his burger.
“Do you know a Sandy?” Mae asks Bill, but he’s busy wolfing down his burger and only shakes his head. “One of those make believe people he comes up with I guess,” he said when he’d swallowed, swirling the ice cubes in his tea glass.
“Honey,” Mae puts a hand on Jimmy’s wrist and he has a sudden, unexplainable desire to jerk his hand away, but that confuses him even more and he only squinted his eyes at her. “Bill, I think there’s something wrong with him.”
“Probably indigestion,” Bill sipped his tea from the side of his mouth.
Mae put the back of her hand to Jimmy’s forehead. The gesture brings a comforting sensation that Jimmy finds a visceral security, a sense he has longed for… how long, he wonders. A long time, he thinks. Picking the burger back up in his sticky fingers he pushes it into his mouth, grease smearing his lips and chin.
“See,” Bill said, pushing back his empty plate. “He’s alright,” he said, picking up his ice filled glass and tilts it back, draining the late of the amber liquid. “Just those imaginary people he dreams up. Remember the time I was listening to the radio and he started talking about singing Beatles?” Mae cut her dark eyes at him and Bill shut up. “You’all ready?” he pushed away from the table.
The fat woman saw his movement and brought over the ticket she was wearing off the pad. Bill took it and glanced down at it. His eyes widened and he looked at the woman standing over him.
“$2.57!” his voice was high pitched. The woman shrugged. “Hot damn,” Bill said reaching for his wallet, “I can buy 12 gallons of gas for that!”
The fat woman shrugged indifferently, she’d heard it before. Bill extracted 2 one dollar bills from his wallet and handed it to her. Fishing around in his pocket he brought out a palm full of coins. Counting out 57 cents he added a quarter and handed her the silver. She opened her palm, counted the coins and gave Bill a sideways smirk.
“Come on,” Bill said getting up and lifting Jimmy out of his high chair. “Let’s get out of here before they start charging a cover charge.” The fat woman huffed and turned away.
Jimmy held his mother’s hand as she led him back to the car. She opened the door and started to lift him into the back. Jimmy wiggled and squirmed in her grip.
“Oh, alright,” Mae said, pushing the seat back into position and sliding Jimmy across the front seat. She slipped gracefully in beside him as Bill climbed under the wheel. Jimmy liked riding in the front seat. He could lean against his mother and watch the pretty knob on the steering wheel when Bill wasn’t using it to turn the car. He liked the way light blinked through the glass and the colors flashed in the sunlight.
Bill pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the two lane ribbon of dusty asphalt. The windows were down and warm air flowed through the car. Jimmy felt drowsy and leaned over against his mother’s side. The rumble and sway of the car rocked him into a doze and the far distance mountains dimmed as his eyelids closed.
In the drifting world of semi-sleep Jimmy’s thoughts floated through a mental photo gallery of images and sensations, scenes of school rooms and children’s’ faces, graduation in a far off place, a beautiful woman’s face behind a lace wedding veil, football games on wide screen TVs, and small shiny discs that played music. As the images passed in review they faded, shimmering away into the blackness of sleep, the blankness of forgetfulness until Jimmy recalled nothing of the old times.
Somewhere, far in the future, a hospital monitor flat-lined and a bored nurse punched the disconnect icon to cease the irritating buzzing noise before pulling the sheet over the inert form on the bed.
The end