“Okay, sounds great. Is there something wrong? Does it smell funny? Taste funny?” I asked.
“No, it’s really fucking good. Like really good. I’m trying to decide what it is I taste in it,” he responded as he licked his lips.
I had received very few compliments in my life. When I did, I remembered them for a long, long time. Having spent the majority of my life with nothing, compliments included, allowed me to truly appreciate each and every thing I obtained or achieved in life. To me, a compliment was similar to payment for a job well done. Slowly, Toad was making up for his little skull patch.
“It’s my special recipe, half Lipton, half Golden Monkey Organic Black. Two ounces of water to one gram of tea. Add half an orange peel to the pitcher. Let it sit for four hours in a glass pitcher. Not three, not five. Best tea ever,” I said.
“No argument from me, that’s for sure. I’m not much for hot tea, but I sure like the cold stuff. My mother drinks tea and my father hates it and detests the fact she even drinks it. He’s old school Italian. He drinks espresso before bed,” he said.
“So you’re Italian?” I asked.
He nodded his head. “Cambio Todelli. It’s where the name Toad comes from.”
“Are you really Italian? Do you speak Italian?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m real Italian, and I speak Italian,” he said. “My great-great grandfather brought my great grandfather here as a baby in 1887. He fought in World War I, my grandfather in World War II, my father in Korea, and me in this war. I come from a rich Italian heritage and a long history of Marines. You know it’s funny. Everyone else was coming here before the Italians. If you look the Italian immigrants before 1887, they came at a pace of about 10 people a year. Some years there was like 30 or something. This went on for almost the entire century. Then, in about 1887, there was like 50 thousand. After that, the numbers increased every year until there was a quarter of a million per year starting in around 1900.”
“I didn’t know that. That’s interesting. What caused the initial influx of Italian immigrants? You know, once they started coming in droves,” I asked.
“Poverty. Most came from the mezzogiorno, or southern Italy. A man in southern Italy would make roughly $2 a week in wages. In the US, the same man would earn $20. It may not sound like much of a difference in dollars, but that’s 10 times the pay to come here. It made good economic sense for families to migrate here,” he explained.
Although I hadn’t had similar feelings in the past, I felt a little jealous that Toad knew his family history and had actual parents. He knew about my being homeless, and I had explained to him how I met the man in the bank, but I failed to tell him of my being an orphan. Generally speaking, it wasn’t something I liked to make common knowledge or brag about.
“Okay, I’ve got a question,” he said.
Oh Lord.
Fine, ask.
“Okay,” I said.
“So when we were outside, what did you mean about not getting to redo your yesterdays? Do you have regrets?” he asked.
Grateful that he hadn’t asked about my family, and that he was actually paying attention to what I said - and remembered it - I grinned like a cat eating a canary.
I’m not going to completely forget about the skull patch, no matter how nice you become.
“Well upon the arrival of tomorrow, today, which is the most important day of all of them, will be just another yesterday. I will only have the memory of it and I’ll either toss it in the satisfaction pile or regret pile when I look back on it,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Regret pile?”
“Yes. The regret pile. I see life like this. The days, after we’re finished with them, build a big puzzle. I mentally snap them into place after I’m done, making a huge puzzle depicting my life. You know, where we’ve gone, what we’ve done, things we’ve seen, some days are filled with pride, and some with regret. Individually, none of those things are earth shattering. Looking back at a day and saying I wish I would have, or better yet, I wish I wouldn’t have isn’t that big of a deal. But as a whole, if you have a few thousand days in your regret pile, it makes for a lifetime filled with regret. I don’t want that,” I explained.
He raised his hand to his face and stared down at the table as he rested his chin in his hand.
“Interesting concept,” he said as he shifted his gaze upward.
“It’s not a concept. It’s the truth. A day of regret is like a coin; a quarter for instance. Individually, so what? Right? But what if you have four of them? It’s a dollar. And what if you have three solid years of shit days? That’s $250 bucks. You see? They add up. I don’t want any. I’ve made a few mistakes and a few bad choices, but I’ve learned from them. I won’t make the same ones again.”
With his chin still in his hand, he studied my face for a long moment.
“You have any days you regret?” he asked.
I grinned and nodded my head. “Individually, yes. But so far I’m building a pretty awesome puzzle.”
“Hopefully this little job will help you keep you tossin’ your days in the right pile. You enjoy working there?” he asked.
“I love it. I really do. And Junior? He’s the best. He makes the good days great with his humor,” I said.
“He’s a good kid. I’m going to have to talk to him again though. Fancy went in for ribs and one of the ribs on his rack had a huge bite taken out of it. He saved the rib and brought it to me. I had it in the fridge at the shop until today. You know there’s really only one way that rib could have had a bite taken out of it,” he said as he stood. “You mind if I get a little more tea? I’m sorry, but it’s addictive.”
You keep being sweet, and I’m going to completely forget about that patch.
“Not at all please do. And please tell me I didn’t serve that rib,” I said as I stood from my seat.
“Nope, it wasn’t you. It was Sarah. I’ve already had a talk with her. And I’m going to see Junior when I leave here,” he said over his shoulder as he poured his glass half full, drank it, and poured another full glass.
He turned around and started walking toward me. As he looked up and noticed I was standing, he stopped as if startled. Gripping the glass of tea in both hands, he smiled and continued. “The main reason I stopped by was to tell you there’d be a group of us heading to Austin for a few days. Maybe a week, I don’t know. We’ve got a chapter in Austin, but most of ‘em will be going on a mandatory run that weekend. A new club is trying to start up down there, and they’re having a meeting with the local clubs to get permission. Axton needs to be there and he wants me and Otis to go. Anyway, so I won’t be around the restaurant if there’s anything that goes to hell. You know Junior’s been there the longest, and he kind of runs things, but if you really need anything my number is posted on the wall in the kitchen.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that,” I said as I looked down and realized I hadn’t so much as taken a drink of my tea.
I silently wondered how much time had passed since he had shown up. More often than not when I was enjoying myself, time escaped me at an extremely rapid rate. The company of a gorgeous Italian biker made matters much worse.
“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, not wanting to try and find my inactive cell phone.
“I was just getting ready to leave. It’s 1:00. You want to ride to the restaurant with me?” he asked.
“I’d love to,” I responded.
“Do you have an apple?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Sure don’t, why?”
“I need one. We’ll have to stop and get one on the way,” he said as he finished his tea.
“I’m not even going to ask,” I shrugged.
“Oh and one other thing before we go. Can you write down that recipe for the tea? My mother will love it,” he said.
Okay, so you have a skull patch on your cut. What does that even represent, anyway?
Chapter Fifty
The quickest way to get to the bottom of something is to dive in headfirst. The rate of descent is determined by the resistance of the matter between your point of entry and the final destination. In this particular situation, I was dealing with an extremely thick and variably resistant substance.
“I don’t remember taking no bite of a rib I didn’t go on and finish eatin’, Mr. Toad. Sure nuff that don’t sound like me. You know how Junior loves them ribs, Mr. Toad. No sir, sounds like someone else mighta done that.” Junior’s eyes widened to the point they looked like white orbs against his black skin.
I stood on the edge of the kitchen holding the grocery sack containing the apple I had purchased and the half-eaten rib Fancy brought me. After Sydney went into the dining area to talk to the other waitresses, I had started questioning Junior regarding the rib with the teeth marks in it. I wasn’t angry with Junior, but I was disappointed one of my customers had received a partially eaten rib. It was fortunate for me, Junior, and the restaurant that the rib was served to Fancy - and not some local customer who was blabbing to everyone else in the small city. Even though this seemed like an isolated event, I couldn’t help but wonder who else this may have happened to.
“So you’re thinking it wasn’t you who nibbled on the rib?” I asked.
“No sir, Mr. Toad. I ain’t so much thinkin’ that at all. No sir, I’m knowin’ it. Yessir, sure nuff I’m standing here knowin’ it,” he said.
I stood for a long moment holding the sack. I consciously changed the tone of my voice from an accusatory one to one of curiosity. “Junior, do you like apples?”
“Apples, Mr. Toad? Likes the kind that grows on trees?” he said.
I nodded my head as I lifted the sack. “Yes, Junior. Apples.”
Junior rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Oh I love me some apple pie. And you know what the doctor man says about them apples, Mr. Toad.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
He grinned and widened his eyes as if he were revealing some loosely known medical secret. “An apple a day keeps the doctor man away.”
“Well, I’ve got one left here, do you want it?” I asked as I pulled the apple from the sack.
Junior shrugged and nodded his head once. I tossed the apple in the air and couldn’t help but grin as Junior caught it mid-air and took a bite before even looking down at it. I expected considering his constant state of hunger he wouldn’t be able to help himself. I attempted to make myself seem preoccupied, and began walking toward him. As soon as I was within a few feet of where he stood, I looked down at the apple he held.
“Damn Junior, you flat took a bite out of that poor apple didn’t you?” I chuckled.
“No need in beatin’ around the bush, Mr. Toad. I knows I’m gonna eat this here apple, so taking me a little nibble don’t make good sense. Fewer bites I take, the quicker I can get back to work.” He smiled and slowly lifted the apple to his mouth.
I studied the apple curiously and slowly reached for it. As I did, he tilted his head to the side and shifted his gaze to meet mine.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
His face filled with wonder, he released the apple into my hand.
I turned to the prep table, placed the apple on the table and removed Fancy’s half-eaten rib from the sack. I placed the rib beside the apple and stared. Junior stood in awe as I compared the two identical bite marks.
“Junior, it looks like we have us a match. Those were your teeth that took a bite from that rib my friend was served,” I said as I pointed down at the prep table.
Without complaint or explanation, Junior walked toward the table and stared down at the rib. After a few alternating glances between the rib and the apple, he looked upward with his eyebrows raised.
“Oh that rib. I recognize it now, Mr. Toad,” he exclaimed.
I chuckled. “You recognize it?”
I purchased my meat from the same butcher every week. Consistency is one of the key elements to the success of a barbeque joint. Every rack of ribs looks the same, and after trimming them into individual ribs, every rib looks the same. To identify a particular rib would be impossible.
“Sure nuff,” he said with a nod.
“You see. I’d cut a whole bunch of ribs that night. It was rib night. I was cuttin’ ‘em like wildfire. Girls was sellin’ ‘em and I was a cuttin’ ‘em. Goin’ out of this here kitchen like hot cakes. And after the dinner rush, I looks down. One lone rib was sittin’ there lookin’ back at me. The kitchen was a mess, and you know how I hates me a mess Mr. Toad. So I commence to cleanin’ this here kitchen, just like you taught me. Cleanliness is right next to Godliness, Mr. Toad. So when I gets the kitchen spotless, I looks over at the prep table, and I realize ole Mr. rib is still sittin’ there. Now I know I done messed up. I can’t serve that poor rib to a customer, because he’s done cooled off.” He paused as he shook his head and raised his hands in the air.
I stood, attempting not to smile, and waited for the remainder of the story.
“It gets mighty hot in this here kitchen, but it sure nuff ain’t 140 degrees, Mr. Toad. Meat gots to stay at 140 degrees to keep them bacterias from developin’. You taught me that too. So I looks down at that poor Mr. rib, and I knew I couldn’t sell it. But my big belly is like a trash can, I don’t get sick from no sammy-nilla or no bacteria. So, I stares down at the rib, knowing I can either throw him in the trash or I can just eat him instead. It’d sure make me sad to toss it in the trash can, so I picked it up and took me a bite. As soon as I did.” He paused and pointed toward the door leading into the kitchen.
He tossed his hands in the air as if he were shocked. “Miss Sarah comes in with a dag nabb rib order.”
“So, I pulls me a rack, fills the order, and sends ‘em out of here right fast. But when I looks down at the prep table after Miss Sarah was gone, ole Mr. rib was gone too. I remember thinkin’ at the time I musta ate him and clean forgot. But seein’ him layin’ there now, I know I done made me a mistake, Mr. Toad. I sure nuff did, didn’t I?”
I bit my lower lip slightly to keep from laughing and nodded my head.
“I’m powerful sorry Mr. Toad. Is you gonna fire me?” he asked.
I shook my head slowly. I’d already given the rib incident and the previous problems with Junior’s eating habits much thought. Considering my continual rising cost of meat and Junior’s physical size, I was going to make him an offer which would help me and could potentially help him considerably. The presentation of my offer was crucial to his accepting it.
“No Junior, I’m not. You know…” I paused and raised my hand to my chin.
“Right now I have other things on my mind. You’re a problem solver, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Yes sir, Mr. Toad. I try and nip them problems in the bud,” he said.
“Well, you know Mr. Greely at the corner? He sells the used cars?”
“Big white fella with the long hair on the side of his head he flips over to the top. Yessir, I knows Mr. Greely.”
“Well, he has a truck for sale. And old farm truck. It has a flat-bed trailer beside it. He took the truck and trailer on trade. I was thinking about buying it and starting a grass cutting business. You know, like a lawn service? Maybe have two men working on cutting grass, trimming shrubs, and cleaning yards. And they’d be working for the third man, the boss. I was thinking he could name the business after himself. Or whatever he wanted to call it. In a sense, it would be his business. He’d run it, he’d keep the profits, and he’d be the big boss man. All the man would have to do was pay me back for the truck, trailer, and lawn equipment. Say, oh I don’t know.” I hesitated, lowered my hand from my chin, and let Junior chew on what I had said.
“Maybe a year or two to pay it off,” I said.
“So you needs you a big boss man?” he asked.
I nodded my head as I lifted my hand to my chin again. As I rubbed my chin between my thumb and forefinger, Junior appeared to have a revelatio
n.
“You needs you a problem solver, Mr. Toad. Sure nuff do. A boss man ain’t gonna do it for ya. You needs you a problem solver, and a big boss man; just like a hog needs slop,” he said as he rubbed his hands together and smiled.
I shrugged my shoulders. “You got any ideas?”
“I don’t have me an idea, Mr. Toad. I done solved you a problem,” he responded.
“Oh you did? How so?” I asked.
He reached down and grabbed the apple off of the prep table and took a huge bite. As he chewed the apple, he explained.
“I’ll be that big boss man for ya, Mr. Toad. I’d do that for ya. I’d call the business Junior’s Lawn Service.”
I rubbed my cheeks in my hands and gazed his direction as if I were contemplating his offer.
“Damn, Junior. I never thought of that. Hell, you’d probably be able to make a damn sight more money doing that than working here. I know a guy who has a business with two men working for him, and he makes about four grand a week. Pays his help a grand a piece, and keeps two grand for himself.”
“Whoooeeeee,” he shouted.
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Two grand a week? Lord have mercy.”
“I could solve me some problems with that, Mr. Toad. I could buy the young uns some new clothes and all kinda stuff with two grand a week.”
“What the fuck would I do about this damned kitchen, though?” I asked.
Junior rubbed his chin with is hand and stared up at the ceiling as if in deep thought. “Mr. Toad, anybody can take care of this old kitchen. Say little Franky, the boy who works on the weekends when I’m off work. He could sure nuff take this kitchen and make it shine. You’d need to get you a weekend man though.”
I turned and walked toward the kitchen door, paused and turned around. “I can find someone; maybe one of the girls would step in for a while. You think you want this lawn business?”
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