Porous Borders
The Flatheads, the local car guys, were holding court down at the Diner yesterday, talking hemis and 12 volt conversions between ribbing Brenda, that morning’s breakfast waitress. Brenda can hold her own and the tips double with her saucy backswings. Crazy Karl asked her if she was nervous after the latest mass murders.
“Don’t get started, Karl,” Ralph said. “My wife won’t go to the mall. Says I got to do the Christmas shopping this year. She thinks the Muslims will attack us during the holidays.”
Two Toke Tom stopped his fork midway to his mouth and began eavesdropping in earnest, mostly why he eats at the Diner with me, I figure. That, and he’s got his eye on Brenda but hasn’t worked up the nerve. She refills Ralph’s cup and says to Karl, “Me worried? Naw, I bought a gun this week.”
The entire table of carboys rotate their heads the way Les Schwab rotates tires. The way sunflowers turn to face the sunset. The way the NRA stops to admire the guns at Cabelas. “Whadja buy, Brenda?” Bronco Barry hollered across the cluttered tables.
Poor T.T. I could see he was reconsidering his adolescent secret romance. Brenda said she’d bought a shotgun. “Phil down at the pawn shop said that way I couldn’t miss.” Half the Flatheads nodded knowingly. Two Toke moaned quietly, then couldn’t help himself, his disappointment grave and overwhelming. “Miss what?” he asked and now all eyes swung to the Pacifist Table. I pulled my hat lower and slid deeper into the booth, trying to merge with the naugahyde.
“The terrorists, ya numbnut,” Karl smirked. “Brenda,” I whispered, “I’ll cash out, okay?”
“The terrorists?” Tom asked, incredulous. “Holy crap, seriously?? You think they’re pouring in off the beach or what???” “That’s what my wife thinks,” Ralph moaned. “I think the government ought to call off Christmas this year.”
Brenda laughed. “You just don’t want to go shopping, Ralph.” The car boys forgot Two Toke for the moment, considering the hell that might befall them too once the panic spread. I took the momentary pause to scoot out of the booth, startling Brenda. “Don’t shoot,” I mumbled, throwing up my hands. Nobody laughed, trust me…. I don’t know yet if T.T. made it out alive or not.
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