Sloth in Red's Cafe

"I used to be a hell of a runner," Blue says pulling carefully the label from a wet bottle of beer. His head is level with the brown, smooth bottle in the airless cafe.

Red's cafe is dark and cool toward the back away from the front window and the open door propped open with a squirrel-box fan. This helps blunt the edge of the headache Carroll Blue Sky is trying to avoid by nursing his beer. Keeping the full blown hangover at bay is almost an art to Blue Sky, but not one he has completely mastered. Much like the art of pulling labels, Blue manages to get the silver-foiled label almost all off intact when it slightly tears and is ruined. Such it is with his drunk, almost ruined by the headache.

Blue puts his head in his folded arms on the bar and turns with squinting eyes toward the California tourists at the window table near the door. Set off from the backlighting of the sun, they look like a Rockwell painting of some family of a long time ago. Blue Sky doesn't like tourists, much less California tourists, in Bubble Water, but what can he do? They are eating hamburgers and drinking cokes. The little boy is blowing bubbles in his drink and his older sister is looking sideways at Blue shushing her brother to be quiet. The mother is staring straight at Carroll Blue Sky.

Blue turns his head away thinking, "yeah, I'm real scary, little lady. A tough Muck-

tuck, salmon-crunching Eskimo. Shut the kid up or I'll show you."

Blue is now looking back deeper into the cafe at the empty tables and green vinyl booths that grab hot summer thighs like Velcro and hold you there. There are two silent pinball games and one pool table further in the back. Even further is an unlocked walk-in freezer where Red keeps his meats and beer cold. More than once Blue has plotted to go back there and take what he wants on occasions such as now when Red is out of the place. There's also a jukebox back there somewhere and Blue wishes someone would put some money in it and ask him what he wants to hear. This would be good, he thinks.

In his booth in the back is Jacques. His back is against the wall and legs are stretched out long on the seat. His eyes are closed and a beer is on the table in his left hand. Jacques has spent most of the previous night talking on the phone to a friend from high school. They talk about what they would do if they could only get started. Jacques was smart and got good grades and even went one year at Western Washington State before he dropped out for a year. That was five years ago, but Jamie will go back when he figures out where he's going. Right now, he rests and waits and sells dope from his booth in the back of Red's cafe.

The fourth grade teacher is sitting and smoking at a clean table in the center catching as much breeze as she can from the fan in the door. If she gets up and sits in the chair opposite of the one she's in she'd get more air, but it's too much trouble.

"Hey, Stevie, remember when we was in school when I was so fast," says Blue to the teacher's reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

She smiles and her eyes return to her student's papers and she taps the ash from her

cigarette in the empty coke can. She's thirsty but she has to get back to the papers that are neatly stacked around her. It's August and she has to have them graded and recorded before the new year begins next month so her students can have grades other than "incomplete." Some of the papers are partially graded.

"You used to run, 'ey?" Jacques asks, his eyes still closed.

"Yeah, hell of a runner."

"What happen?"

"Dunno."

"Don't know, 'ey?" Jacques opens one eye and lowers his head to look at Carroll's back all thick and hunched over. "I'll bet you do."

"I could sleep forever, I'm so tired," says Carroll his voice muffled from his face being in his arms.

"Then shut up and rest old man," Jacques says and almost smiles.

Carroll is not an old man, but when he moves he moves old. He might be forty, but probably thirty-five. He has some food stamps in his back jeans pocket to sell to Red when he comes in around one in the afternoon.

"Sleep, Blue. I'll wake you when Red gets here," says Stevie, not looking up.

"I don't want to sleep. I want to rest," Blue says reluctantly shifting his weight on the bar stool.

"Rest? From what?" says Jacques sitting up just a little. "You don't do nothing but sit." Jacques nearly laughs this time, but manages a smile instead. He is baiting Carroll, but

the big Indian will not bite.

"I'm tired," is all Carroll can say.

The tourist family is through with their burgers and are looking around for someone to pay or get the check or something.

"What did you get?" Stevie says to the family.

The mother is a little startled by Stevie's abruptness and her ability to read her mind. "Three hamburgers, three cokes."

"Leave about four bucks on the table," says Stevie and she stops grading papers, puts her pen down and takes a drag on her cigarette. She looks at the Rockwell family for the first time. The little boy is anxious to get to the lake and swim. His mother is wearing a halter top with a wild floral print. Her daughter is nervous about something.

"Canadian, OK?" the mother asks.

"Yeah, just leave it on the table. I'll get it later." For five bucks American, she thinks, she'd get it now.

The tourists stack their utensils on their plates and cap the ketchup bottle. Finally, they put away the salt and pepper shakers on each side of the napkin dispenser and leave avoiding the fan rattling in the doorway.

"Old True Blue Sky," says Jacques. "Old True Blue is tired. Rest True Blue. Tomorrow you're gonna do something, 'ey?"

Carroll thinks that tomorrow is Monday and he can get his welfare check that is two days late, not counting today which is Sunday. With my paycheck, he thinks, I can maybe

buy some dope. Yeah, first I'll get some rest. Then I'll get up and kick Jacques's white ass. Then when Red gets here I'll sell him some stamps. When I get my paycheck from the state maybe I'll buy some dope. First, I'll get some rest, he thinks.