Boring Girls(70)

Which, of course, wasn’t sitting well with me.

The man stared at me for a while, and I stared right back, expressionless. The silent confrontation should have made me feel awkward, but instead it made me feel excited. The man finally looked away, uncomfortable. “Get me a coffee, black, and a chocolate muffin.”

“You’ll have to come up and pay first,” I called back, too happily and too loudly.

“You can come here and get my money,” he said.

“No can do.”

The man sat for a few more moments and then gave in. He came up to the counter, took a five dollar bill out of his pocket, and literally threw it at me. I calmly picked it up, rung in the sale, and gave the man his change. “I’ll bring it aaaaall to your table for you, sir,” I said, smiling brightly and sarcastically. He glared at me and went back to his table, sitting down.

I decided to take my sweet time getting his coffee and muffin. I wanted him to get angrier; I was anticipating the conflict, wondering what his reaction would be. I wasn’t afraid of him. This was exciting to me.

After several long minutes, I finally carried his coffee and muffin to his table. “I really, really, really hope you enjoy this.”

The man exploded. “How dare you talk to me like that? The customer is always right! You have absolutely no business giving me such attitude!”

As he ranted, I continued smiling brightly and placed the coffee mug in front of him. Infuriated, he grabbed the mug and actually threw it down onto the floor, splashing hot coffee on his chest. As the mug shattered on the floor, he cried out in anger and surprise.

I knelt down to pick up the pieces and cut myself on one of the jagged edges. I gasped as I saw blood ooze from three of my fingers, dark and red.

I stared at the blood as the man freaked out. “Now I’ve burned myself! You bitch!” he shouted, clutching at his coffee-soaked shirt. I knew the coffee had to have burned him, and I stood back up again.

“Oh, no!” I cried. I reached out towards him to “help” and his eyes locked onto the blood dripping from my fingers.

“What the hell!” He tried to pull away, but I began to pluck at the wet areas of his shirt, wiping my blood on it, all the while staring into his horrified eyes. I really, really tried not to smile.

“Get away from me!” he screamed.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried, unable to resist grinning at him, wiping blood all over the shirt.

At that moment Mrs. Spangler returned. “What is going on?”

Immediately I fixed my expression back to concern. “He spilled coffee on himself!” I cried, continuing to clutch at his shirt.

“You’re bleeding, come away from him!” Mrs. Spangler pulled me back from the table and grabbed a handful of napkins. She began to dab at the man’s shirt, but he finally sprang out of his seat. “She is crazy!” he shouted, pointing at me. “She was completely rude to me, and then she started wiping her blood all over me!”

I couldn’t help it — the looks on their faces were so hilarious, I started laughing. I doubled over, unable to stop myself. I heard Mrs. Spangler say my name a few times, trying to get my attention, but I just laughed and laughed.

xXx

So that was the end of my time at the Rosewood Café.





TWENTY-SEVEN


As July became August, it seemed like my parents were avoiding conversation with me. I could tell they were worried, and I figured it was probably because Mrs. Spangler had told them what had happened. I wondered what she had said to them, what words had come to her mind to explain it. Insane? Unbalanced? She had to have told them about the blood, and the way I had laughed. I guess my parents didn’t know what to say to me about it, how to ask me anything. I had told them that I’d had an argument with a customer and that’s why I had been fired. Then that evening the phone had rung. And then they had talked in low voices. And then we didn’t speak of it again.

Which was fine by me. I hadn’t wanted a summer job anyway. It pleased me that they didn’t confront me about it, but it was another reminder that I really had to keep that sort of thing under wraps. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. It would only end up limiting me and flagging me to people. It was a mistake to have laughed. I should have played it all off like an accident, and that way, only the * would have been weirded out by me.

xXx

Fern, Edgar, Socks, and I finally had the twelve final mixes. I showed them the drawing I had done the night of the vocal recording, and though they didn’t see the deeper meaning I had put into it, they loved it. Fern wanted to use it for the CD cover, and everyone agreed. They even liked Scream into This for the album name. I was proud. We scanned it into the computer. One weekend we all dressed up and Yvonne took a picture of us standing against a brick wall, looking appropriately sullen and evil, for the inside of the CD jacket.