chapter two | dinner rolls

"How was your first day at work, honey?" Mom was beaming proudly at me while she dried her hands on the towel hanging on the oven handle.

It was, to say the least, not what I expected it to be. I thought I would've really hated being in the receptionist office because it was so far from where all the action happened, but I actually enjoyed myself. Yolanda, the twenty-something receptionist who worked on weekends, was actually pretty nice. At first I thought she was some sort of dumb girl who worked there to pay for her partying habits, and, well, she sort of is, but she's smart. She's a smart partier. She even invited me to one, but I swiftly declined and claimed that it wasn't my scene.

"It was fine."

She gave me a sympathetic smile as if to say, 'That bad, huh?' "It'll get better."

"I enjoyed my time at the office, mother."

"All right, honey." Her tone led me to believe that she thought I was fibbing.

"I really did," I insisted.

"I don't doubt you."

My mother was lying through her teeth, and strangely, I was okay with that. Honesty was never a big thing for me. I told the truth most of the time, but I didn't feel guilty when I didn't. I didn't care if others told lies as long as they kept their story straight. It's not like I would know the difference anyways unless it was Eunice. That girl couldn't lie even if her cake depended on it.

I sighed in defeat and dragged myself down the hallway and into my bedroom. I threw myself onto my bed, the lower half of my body dangling in the air. Lazily, I lifted my head and eyed Patsy, my betta fish. I concentrated on the blue and reds of her scales as she idly paused. I've had her for about a year and vowed that I would never get another fish. They were easy to maintain, but they were boring. At least the ones at the office were somewhat entertaining with their misshapen mouths, but not by much.

I gave a small wave, consciously aware that her tiny fish brain couldn't possibly understand the gesture. But it couldn't hurt, could it? You know, unless my parents saw and thought I had some sort of mental illness and called to have me locked up in a mental asylum. Even then I couldn't physically hurt myself because I'd be in a padded room.

I wondered how I would react in a situation like that and concluded that if I wasn't already crazy, I'd go crazy. I don't think I could be in a place with no corners. At least, I assumed it would be circular room. It made the most sense to me.

"Flossy," my father called up to me. "Eunice has arrived."

"You said it wrong, Mr. Dee," I heard Eunice inform him. "Your voice is supposed to be more..." I could practically see her tapping her finger on her chinning, searching for the right word.

"Eloquent," she decided.

"Right." Dad sounded bored. "I'll do better next time."

"I'll hold you to that, Mr. Dee."

"I'll be practicing."

I knew he wouldn't. He thought Eunice was a rather silly and filled with absurdity, but he accepted her. That was all I could ask for.

Seconds later, Eunice threw open the door and barged in, clicking her tongue and shaking her head in disapproval.

"What's wrong, Eunice?"

"Oh, nothing," she sighed despairingly.

"Is it my dad?" I asked, referring to their previous and short-lived conversation.

"No, it's not Mr. Dee."

I never started understood why she called my dad "Mr. Dee." Dee wasn't our last name, and it didn't start with a "D". I asked her once, but she brushed me off and started babbling on about world peace. Or maybe it was world hunger. She switched her issues every week.

"So there is something wrong," I concluded, more to myself than her.

"You wouldn't understand, Flossy."

If you hadn't caught on yet, Eunice was very melodramatic.

"Try me."

"It's this boy..."

"Oh?"

She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth, the impact between her mouth and hand making a loud smacking noise. "I've said too much. Forget it, Flossy! You're not getting another word out of me."

Eunice withholding information wasn't exactly new to me. Besides, it would probably be another one of her "heartbreak" stories. Don't get me wrong. I loved Eunice to death, but I never understood how she managed to get so many boyfriends. I wasn't jealous or anything, because jealousy would imply that I would actually want a boyfriend. I didn't know that guys were into Eunice, who was indeed pudgy and overweight and flaunted it. Maybe it was her confidence that sent them all over the edge.

I shrugged. I didn't want to know that badly anyways. "Okay. So how's Jack doing?"

Jack was Eunice's two year old brother. He was practically bald-mostly stubble-except for the long strand that grew out of the center of his head. Eunice's mother would hairspray the strand so that it stood straight up. If that didn't work, she clipped it with one of Eunice's hairclips, and that usually did the trick.

"Enough about Jack," Eunice glowered. "Why don't you want to know about Caleb?"

"He's not really relevant anymore, is he?"

"Well, no, but he still made an impact on me! Don't you want to be a part of my entire life, Flossy? Don't you want to know everything?" She came close to me, close enough to where I could sense she had a chocolate cupcake before she came here.

"I mean, if you really want to tell me..."

"Okay, well, I guess I'll start from the beginning," Eunice divulged, diving deep into her story, one that I probably didn't want to hear.

Caleb wasn't special, and he certainly was not going to make an impact on Eunice's life. Maybe her day-to-day life until her next victim-boyfriend, I mean-but even that wouldn't be so life changing. It would get annoying for me, but the dull pain would only last a few days.

We lived in a relatively small city, but it was bigger than the neighboring ones. It was still urban yet safe enough to wander the streets at ten o'clock without worry of a street gang. Hearing sirens throughout the night were rare unless you lived next to Sandy Park, who had a habit of sneaking in past curfew. Some days she wouldn't come home. Her parents were acquainted with almost all of the members of the police force. Anyways, I would think that Eunice would run out of eligible bachelors but apparently not.

"Do you want to go to the office with me this weekend?" I asked Eunice.

She shook her head forcefully. I'm going down to visit my cousin."

"Which cousin?"

"Fran Gables. You remember her, don't you?"

"I...don't recall."

Eunice shrugged. "Maybe you didn't meet her. No matter, I'm staying there for the weekend. My aunt's going ballistic without my Uncle George around."

"Oh. I'm sorry." I cast a sad, sorrowful look in her direction.

"What? No! He didn't die, Flossy."

"Oh." I laughed, feeling a bit stupid and embarrassed. Eunice had the tendency to do that to me. In her defense, though, it wasn't difficult.

"He's having an affair with the manager of the grocery store down the street. I think it's called Pickled Pickin's. Like, 'pickings?'"

"He's having an affair with someone your aunt knows?"

"They live in a way small town. Like, it's the size of your bedroom."

I gave her a look of doubt.

"Okay, it's bigger than your bedroom. But it's the size of your neighborhood. Like, it's really small."

"And you going there is going to help your aunt be less, I don't know, ballistic?"

"Apparently," Eunice said, shrugging once more. "I'm her favoritest kid ever. We bond.""

"Over what, how stupid boys are?

"Precisely!" Eunice mused, beaming down at me proudly.

---

"Breakfast, Alfie," Aunt Lorraine shrilled in a sing-song voice.

Alfie's eyes immediately popped open at the sound of food. Lately his aunt had been on a, for lack of a better phrase, baby kick. It was as if her instinct to be a good mother and housewife snapped into place, because she was making delectable breakfasts that you would actually want to wake up for, package-worthy lunches, and rub-your-belly dinners. Alfie couldn't even fathom how delicious her desserts had become. It was as if his aunt had become the spawn of Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart. He pictured the two ladies when they were old; they were making dinner rolls as their fat rolls hung in flaps around their waist. It was not a pleasant sight.

Alfie was out of his bed and sitting on the stool in the kitchen, fork in hand, within a relatively short timeframe. Aunt Lorraine tied a piece of cloth around his neck, a bib. Alfie was too hungry to object and saw it as a price to pay for real food instead of the instant oatmeal he was usually served. Mountains of sizzling bacon, platefuls of scrambled eggs, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes sat on the table, making Alfie's mouth water. An awed Uncle Bobby took a seat beside Alfie. His eyes were shining with animal fat, preservatives, and artificial sugar. Aunt Lorraine gave him a bib, patted his hefty stomach lovingly, and pecked his cheek.

"Good morning, Bobby," she chirped.

"Mornin', honey." He could barely get the words out.

Uncle Bobby has noticeably gained weight since Aunt Lorraine started cooking. Alfie predicted that he would need new shirts by the end of the week. Alfie, on the other hand, stood to gain some weight. He was scrawny for his age. "Real lanky," his principal would say, concerned that he was being starved at home. Alfie didn't understand how his principal even had the thought implanted in his head. As far as he was concerned, all he ever did when Mr. Larkins walked by was eat. It was candy, but it was food nonetheless.

By the time Alfie was satisfied, it was time for his daily walk around the park. Now Alfie wasn't an exercise or health freak type of person (obviously), but he enjoyed the tranquility the park brought. During the summertime, he left the house at approximately 10:00 every morning.

Alfie grabbed his thin windbreaker off the coat rack. It appeared too windy for an early summer day, but a little breeze wouldn't stop him. Hurricane-strong winds, maybe, but not something as light as to ripple the baby blue sky slightly and rustle the young leaves. He shut the door tightly, bracing himself for the lively summer air. Summer was all right, but he couldn't wait until he could breathe in the impending autumn air. Autumn was by far his favorite season. Winter was too cold, spring was too wet, and summer was too overrated. Autumn was clean yet messy in a leaves-falling-poetic kind of way. Autumn combined the elements of all the other seasons and made it its own.

He contemplated stopping in to say hello to Fran but figured she probably wasn't up yet. Fran was a nightengale of all sorts. Alfie wasn't sure what he was. By no means was he a morning person, but he fell asleep earlier than the rest of the kids his age--around tenish. He couldn't be in afternoon person because sometimes he liked taking catnaps to refresh his "creative mind." At least that's what he told his aunt and uncle. In reality, Alfie wasn't very creative at all. He had the potential, but he never exercised it. Although, he was certainly creative in the way he stashed sweets around his room without his relatives knowing.

Alfie walked by Fran's home, and the house after that, and the house after that. Sometimes he liked to take his time to the park. Alfie didn't like to rush or be in a rush. He liked things slow and unchanging. His choice in autumn as a favorite season was sort of ironic, as it was the beginning of the transformation between summer and winter. Autumn was consistent in the fact that it was unpredictable. The weather, the events, everything. You knew everything would occur, just not when, and to what extent.

A suburban mother was pushing her baby in a stroller, trotting along in her warm, comfy sweatpants. He saw another mother. He assumed she was single because she looked dressed up with nowhere to go. Perhaps she wanted to snatch one of the hard-core runners who sped up and down the streets of Pinto. Next, he saw one of the hard-core runners, looking intensely at the sidewalk as he sprinted back and forth.

It was Sunday morning and the shops downtown were vacant. Alfie half-expected for a tumbleweed to make its way down the road. Pinto didn't have many people. The population was probably around a thousand, counting the people who resided in the elderly home a couple of miles from Alfie's current location. He passed the comic book store that his uncle worked at and let out a sigh. There was no doubt in his mind that it would eventually go out of business. Uncle Bobby knew that. Aunt Lorraine knew that. Nevertheless, they would tell themselves that the younger generation would learn to appreciate what the older generation did. Alfie didn't have the heart to tell them that time would never revert back to its old ways. Modern was the way forward; it was the way of the future.

Aunt Lorraine used to own a sewing store downtown. We couldn't afford the rent, so now the place is in shackles. She's hoping Uncle Bobby will get a job at the new factory that's opening up in a couple of weeks, but he's still rooting for his current job.

Alfie felt guilty. His parents had millions (well, maybe not that much) to blow, yet there his aunt and uncle were: on the verge of bankruptcy. He wished he could hand them bill after bill, but his addiction wouldn't let him. It had a hold on him, yet selfishly, he didn't want the grip to loosen. He wanted it to stay firm. Perhaps it was him who had the grasp on sugar; not the other way around.

He passed Marty's Candy Emporium, a huge grin shining on his face. Like all the other stores, Marty's was closed on Sundays. He couldn't wait until three o'clock tomorrow to pay him and his inventory a visit. If there was one store in this town that could stay open, it was this one. Marty had told him business was booming. Alfie asked him if he would ever consider moving to a bigger place where the profits were larger. Marty shook his head, smiling ever so sadly, and ruffled his hair. He said, "Why, Alfie, Pinto is the best town there is."

Alfie shook his head. "Pinto is the worst. It's so slow."

Alfie liked slow, but Pinto was like a dead snail who had the DNA of a sloth.

"That's the beauty of it, Alf." Then he laughed and handed him a candy cane. "You'll understand when you're older, Alf."

Alfie was four years older and he still did not see why Marty thought Pinto was so special. It didn't get any slower and more beautiful, and it didn't get any faster. Uglier, maybe. There were a lot of foreclosure signs up. Aunt Lorraine said they'd all be bought by some corporate.

Alfie paused to look at Marty's store. The "open" sign was blinking haphazardly. He'd need to get a new one so people wouldn't be so confused if Marty ever left the light on inside. The probability of Marty forgetting something was rare, but it could happen. Anything could happen in Pinto.