Chapter 8: Hungry Jim's

          Something black and evil clawed at her. Mary screamed, but no sound came out. She tried to run, but stumbled and fell. Her legs numb. The evil was closer; relentless. She struggled desperately to get up. Her legs moved sluggishly and without coordination. She wallowed vainly, her legs mired in mud. Her legs concrete. The evil coming closer.

Mary woke up screaming. Her nightgown was wet with sweat.

She sleep-walked through her day at Hungry Jim's, not thinking of anything in particular, but unable to concentrate on her work, either. Jim eyed her suspiciously.

He didn't come. The young Southern aristocrat didn't come. Not that Mary thought about him. Not that she wanted to see him. She just sort of thought he would show, and he didn't. Mary felt empty, drifting. She was vaguely uncomfortable.

“Go on, get out of here,” Hungry Jim ordered gruffly. “You ain't no use to me around here no-way.” Mary was too preoccupied to have her feelings hurt. She silently hung up her apron, gathered her things, and headed for the door.

“Never mind about them sugar bowls,” Jim pointedly called. “You can fill 'em tomorrow -- if you remember to come back, that is.”

Mary closed the door at Miz Gryder's behind her without a word.

“Gracious, child! What's wrong?” Consternation showed on Miz Gryder's face.

“Oh, nothing, Miz Gryder.” Mary climbed a few steps up the ladder toward conscious thought.

Mrs. Gryder didn't press her, but sharply watched the girl during supper. Mary went to bed early. This time, the demons left her alone.

She slept late the next day. She was working the lunch and supper shift, and didn't have to start until 10 a.m. She skipped breakfast. She left the house at 9:30, planning to be early.

The sky was a startling blue, punctuated with outrageously white, huge billowing clouds. The neighborhood street was quiet, and the air hung heavy and sweet with mimosa. She strolled under its low hanging branches. Mary was humming to herself as she walked down the hill, crossed the railroad tracks, and started the climb toward town and Hungry Jim's Cafe.

“That's a little better,” Jim said. On his face was something that passed for a smile. It was the closest Hungry Jim ever came to smiling. “Yesterday you looked like something the cat drug in. Were you sick?”

She smiled. “I don't know. I was just feeling a little down. Fine now.”

“Good. There's lots to be done. Clean up those tables and fill the sugar bowls. Then help me make the salad.”

Polly, as usual, had left things in a mess. Polly worked the breakfast shift, which was usually the busiest time at Hungry Jim's. Folks get up early in these parts, and they like to have their scrambled eggs, hot cakes and sausages to get 'em goin'. And coffee. Great steaming black gallons of it.

So Mary had to clean up Polly's mess. But Mary didn't mourn and grumble and take on. She whistled low, through her teeth. By the time she finished cleaning the tables and filling half of the sugar bowls (which Polly could have done, too), the first lunch customers started coming in. She had to hurry and take their orders, finish filling the sugar bowls, and then rush to make the salad.

She slammed a head of lettuce on the counter to break loose the inner stalk, then inserted her slender fingers, quickly and deftly twisting it out. Then she broke the lettuce open, rinsing the leaves in the sink. With hasty movements, she slung the water off, and started tearing the leaves into small pieces.

Mary was so intent on her work that she didn't hear footsteps behind her.

“You look like you've done that before,” a voice close behind her said. It was a hearty, humorous voice.

Mary was startled. She caught her breath. Her heart raced. With hands full of the makings of salad, she couldn't turn around. Her head snapped around. Over her shoulder, very close, loomed the handsome face of the “planter's” son. Her heart pounded. Maybe it showed.

“Sorry I scared you,” he said. “I like to watch professionals at work. It's easy to see you know what you're doing.”

Mary couldn't think of a thing to say.

“I'm Joe,” the youth said, smiling suddenly, and extending his hand. “Joe Langston.”

Mary started to put out her hand, when they both saw that her hands were still full of lettuce. They laughed. “I guess I better go sit down and let you get on with your work,” Joe said. He was gone before she could protest. She hurried to finish making the salad. In her haste, she cut her finger instead of the celery. She was still shaking the water and blood from her hands when she approached the table where Joe was sitting.

“Hi,” she said. “I mean, What would you like?”

Joe smiled. “I think you know what I want,” he said. Mary blushed furiously and stared at her note pad. Joe fixed his eyes on the top of her head, on the swirl of her brown hair where it spun off the crown of her head, then fell forward in strands. One strand lay close on her cheek. From this angle, there was something about the curve of her cheek... something almost Oriental; mysterious. Her skin was olive-colored and smooth.

Normally, Joe wouldn't have given her a second look. He was “the catch” of the town. Every other was trying to pair her debutante daughter with him. He could have his pick. But Joe was bored with the local crop, and bored with himself. This out-of-towner intrigued him. She lifted her head and looked at him. Her black eyes were alive.

“Where do you come from?” Joe asked.

Mary: “Alabama.”

Joe: “Where in Alabama?”

Mary: “Oh, some small place. You never heard of it.”

Joe: “Why did you leave home?”

Mary: “Oh, things.”

Joe hesitated, and drummed his fingers on the table. “Everybody in town thinks you're a big mystery. A girl without a past. Now I know why.”

Mary squirmed and shrugged her shoulders. “There's nothing to tell, really.”

“OK,” Joe said, slightly irritated. “Just bring me a hamburger, coke and fries.” The light went out of Mary's eyes. She turned quickly and almost ran back to the kitchen. She wiped her face with the corner of her apron. She didn't come back while the food was being prepared. When it was ready, she brought it and placed it before him, then turned to go.

“What's your hurry?” Joe said. “Sit down and talk awhile. Since you don't want to talk about yourself, I'll tell you about me. I'm a fascinating topic.” Mary laughed.

“I've lived here all my life,” Joe said. “It's like a big family. I know everybody. Everybody knows me. My dad owns Langston Hardware on the square.”

So -- not a planter's son, after all.

“I'm gonna be a millionaire before I'm thirty. I'm going to get out of this town. My dad thinks I'm going to stay here and run the store when he retires. I'm not.

“I'm bright. I made good grades in school. I'm going places.”

Mary smiled a crooked smile. “How are you gonna make the million dollars?” she asked.

“I haven't decided what I'm gonna get into yet -- stocks, oil, electronics, something -- wherever the money is, that's where I'll go.

“The first thing I've got to do is get out of here -- go to college. Problem is, where to get the money.”

“I thought you said your dad owned the hardware store,” Mary said. “Can't he afford to send you?” Joe turned his head and muttered something she couldn't hear. “Sure, he could. He doesn't want to. He thinks college is waste of time. He just wants me to take over the store. If it was up to him, I'd never see anything outside of Clayton County.”

“Don't you like it here?” she asked. “Oh, sure. It's home. But that doesn't mean I have to stay

 here forever. I mean, I can go, see other places, and still come back, can't I?”

“I think it would be nice to find a place to be at home, where people know you and care about you,” Mary said quietly.

Joe's attitude turned from casual to careful. He looked at her closely. “Has your life been that rough?” he asked. “Why did you leave home?”

Mary turned quickly and went back into the kitchen. It didn't take Polly long to notice. Girls thinking about boys project an aura; a palpable signal that other girls pick up like radar.

“So you met him, huh?” Polly asked suddenly.

“Met who?”

“Joe Langston. It's gotta be him. You've been actin' like a damn space alien lately.”

“Joe?” Mary felt a jealous shock. It came as a surprise to her, that Joe had not suddenly appeared in Hungry Jim's Cafe from another planet. She didn't like the idea that other people might actually know who he was.

“Bad, huh?”

“You know him?”

“Honey, this is a one-horse town. Everybody knows everybody. And most especially everybody knows Joe Langston. Him and me played doctor together when we was in first grade.”

Mary flushed deeply. Polly turned away smiling, leaving Mary feeling miserable.

----- 

      Joe came every day after that. He never asked any more probing questions. He talked, and she listened, glad just to be taking part in half a conversation. He told her the short, simple story of his life in the small town; his dreams, hopes and desires.

She began to live in his words. They wrapped her up, enfolded her, gave her a home. No birthday. No past. Dropped from the sky, left here by aliens. No home. Can this be home? Looking at Joe, she could almost imagine it.