Deck the halls

Henry sat on a stool at the kitchen bar, munching on his stale waffle. Glenda had a habit of bringing home California rolls from Sushi and Kenyan for herself, and whatever leftovers from Casa D' Waffle she could muster for Henry, which, 90% of the time, was waffles. On a good day, he'd get hash-browns, but he was rarely lucky enough to get bacon or sausage. As he smeared his waffle into what little syrup he had left on his plate, the doorbell to the apartment rang.

Henry groaned. The only time anyone ever came to the apartment was when the landlord collected rent, and Henry did not want to deal with that. Regardless, he knew that if he didn't answer, whomever it was would probably continue knocking. Henry had the TV's volume up so loud that it was obvious someone was home.

Henry opened the door to find a group of kids, some his age, most younger, dressed in tattered clothing. Each carried a mini paint bucket, but only a few coins lay in each bucket.

"Merry Christmas!" They cried. "We're from the local orphanage, and we're collecting money to buy Christmas decorations for the orphanage! We'll also take Christmas decorations, if you have some"

He, of course, had neither money nor decorations to give. But he felt awfully bad for the children – growing up with a wealthy father, Henry's Christmases were always magical, and he received everything on his wish-lists.  He knew it was his job to do something. In a town as poor as this one, Henry doubted the children were ever successful in their fundraising. "Uh, can you guys come back to our hall in like 30 minutes. I really do wanna give, but I just don't have anything on me right now."

"Sure thing," said the oldest of the kids – a blonde girl, probably 17 or so. She looked angry, but not angry at the situation – just angry at the world. Well I'd be pissed, too, if I were 17 and had to live in an orphanage, thought Henry.

As the kids walked away, Henry hurriedly shut the apartment door and pulled out his dinky Nokia cell-phone. He used to have an iPhone, but he had to sell it, along with everything else. He opened his contact list, only to see one number – Glenda's. When he gave up his iPhone, he gave away all his friends, as well. With a phone that couldn't text, having friends' phone numbers was useless.

Henry called Glenda, and it rung 5 or 6 times before going to her voicemail. This is Glenda, give me a your name and num- Henry hung up before listening to the entire message and hit redial. And then called again, and again, 4 times before giving up.

Meanwhile, Glenda stood on a ladder resting against the front of Casa D' Waffle. Strands of garland hung around her neck, and cable wraps were shoved into her pockets. She had spent the past 10 minutes struggling to make the wreath hang just right on the "D" in the Casa D' Waffle's sign.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Glenda's cell-phone vibrated in her back pocket. "Ugh. I am NOT going to answer that right now," she said.

The phone continued buzzing. After missing four or so calls, Glenda decided someone must really be wanting to talk to her. She looped the wreath on her arm, and held it in place on her shoulder with her chin. She braced one hand on the roof, and reached her other hand into her back pocket to retrieve the phone.

Before even answering the phone, Glenda was tumbling to the ground, wreath, garland, ladder, and phone all falling with her.

"Help..." she groaned once she had landed. Her hands were bleeding from trying to brace her landing, and her wrists were turning red. Luckily for Glenda, one of that day's customers, Rosa Lee, worked at the Good Samaritan Health clinic, and was eating lunch at Casa D' Waffle right then. She ran out of the front door of the restaurant, and helped Glenda to her feet.

"How are you feeling? What hurts? Did you hit your head?" asked Rosa Lee.

"I- I- I'm fine," stammered Glenda. "But my wrists are throbbing, and I ruined my decorations," she said, as she motioned to the bent wreath that lie on the ground. Rosa Lee examined her wrist.

"Well, I don't think it's broken, but you should probably get it braced up. I would suggest you go to the clinic tomorrow, today's too busy – we're still dealing with the Swine Flu paranoia from last week."

"Alright," sighed Glenda. Have a hurt wrist would certainly cripple her from waitressing. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow."

Glenda headed home, taking the leftover garland and broken wreath with her. As she exited the elevator of her apartment floor, a group of children approached her.

"M'am," said one of the kids. "May we please have those decorations. We're from the orphan-" Without evening allowing her to finish her sentence, Glenda handed the girl the wreath. "Oh, absolutely. Anytime. Stop by here if you ever need anything. I can even get y'all some free food from the Casa D' Waffle." With that, Glenda continued on down the hall to her apartment. As she walked away, she glanced at the group of kids again. One girl, the oldest of the bunch, stood out to Glenda. Why do I feel like I know her? asked Glenda. Then it hit her. The hair, the eyes, the mouth, even the way she stood reminded Glenda of herself. And that, she thought, would be my daughter. Shit.

Dirt

Glenda quickly wiped down the last table at Casa D' Waffle, flinging crumbs onto the booth seats and the floor, rather than into her hands. As soon as she finished with the tables, she would be dismissed from her shift, the awful all-day shift that she had to serve once a week. Glenda had been on her feet since 5 am, and now, at 9 pm, she was ready to be home. On top of that, she was ready to kill Henry. All day long, her customers had talked about the fire at Forever 21 and the mysterious stolen left shoes. Maybe she was just imagining things, but Henry's sneaky behavior lately made Glenda want to point right at him and call guilty.

"I'm outta here," Glenda cried to Shaniqua, as she removed her apron, threw her hair net away, and signed out of her shift.

20 minutes later, when Glenda approached her apartment, she could hear the television on, some sport's announcer's voice blasting. Oh, thought Glenda. The nerve of Henry... 


"Hey Henry, will you please turn off the television, we need to talk," said Glenda once she entered the apartment. No response – Henry continued to stare at the television.

"HENRY!" screamed Glenda.  "TURN. OFF. THE. TV." Henry glanced at her, scoffed, and slowly picked up the remote. His fingers hovered over the power button, but at the last second, he clicked mute.

"What's up," he said.

Glenda placed her purse (not her Louis Vuitton) on the kitchen counter. Though she hadn't had the nerve to sell her Louis yet, she didn't dare take it to Casa D' Waffle with her – the thought of getting grease stains on it made her shudder. She then walked to the television and turned it off, then dragged a stool across from Henry and sat down.

"Look, Henry. I know you and I have never had to deal with the whole discipline thing, but I know what you did," she said.

His eyes widened. "I-I didn't do it all by myself!" he stammered. "And, it's not like anyone got hurt..."

He's weaker than I thought, Glenda thought to herself. "Okay, but how do you explain something like that?" asked Glenda.

"Well, me and the boys had been talking to their old teacher – that young guy that everyone liked that recently got fired, Mr. Shaffer. He was telling us how much he hates his new job at the theater. So, we decided, we'd burn down the place. But none of us had done arson before, so we needed something to warm up with. We all hated Forever 21, because the girls at school that wear those clothes are all teases..."

"Oh, great logic, makes so much sense," said Glenda.

"Exactly! And the shoes ... well, we thought the rubber would burn well, and we thought it would be funny to make the whole town smell like burnt rubber n' shit ..."

"First off, language! Secondly, okay ...  how do I go about handling this ..." muttered Glenda to herself. "And this is why I gave away my first child to that damn orphanage ..."

"What was that?" asked Henry.

"Oh, uh, nothing," stammered Glenda.

"Uh, uh, tell me about this child of yours."

Shit, thought Glenda. She clenched her eyes tightly together, then sighed heavily. "Well, it was a long time ago, I had a baby, and I gave it away to the orphanage down the street," she said. "But you aren't going to tell anyone about that, because I have blackmail against you now. You keep your mouth shut, and I'll keep mine shut ... Under one condition. You really wanna help out that teacher of yours, you better occupy your time better. I hear the theater is beginning production of a new play, and you're going to be a part of it. Now, you may think you've got dirt on me now, but the worst that could happen to me is that I get a weird reputation. You, you could go to jail ... Now, no more discussion. I expect you to go to auditions – they start tomorrow."

Henry stared at Glenda, his jaw hanging wide open. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that," said Glenda, as she marched down the hallway to her bedroom.

Tuesday

Glenda precariously shoved open the door to Casa D' Waffle's only restroom. She had gone to the bathroom to adjust her hair net, but before looking into the mirror, she examined the tiny, minimally decorated restroom. Being unisex, the bathroom had both pee on the floor and dirty tampons lodged into the sanitary products trashcan. Glenda's hand flew to her mouth as she nearly gagged at the disgusting sight. After the morning rush blew off, it would be Glenda's responsibility to clean that bathroom. It was her fifth day working at Casa D' Waffle, but her first on bathroom duty. "Oh, joy!" she murmured to herself, sarcastically. She then glanced at herself in the mirror and quickly determined that how she looked in a hairnet didn't matter that much considering all other things. Next, she ripped a piece of paper off the holster and used it to open the door, using her foot to prop the door open as she checked her hair in the mirror one last time.


When Glenda returned to the dining room, she was shocked to find that a large cluster of people had formed in front of the shop. At only 5 minutes til 6, Glenda was not prepared to have to deal with people. During her first four days of work at Casa D' Waffle, only about 6 or 7 customers had been in the restaurant at any given time.


"It's Tuesday," the other waitress on duty, Shaniqua, said. Glenda looked at Shaniqua with a "deer in the headlights" look. Shaniqua scoffed and shoved a crumpled piece of paper in Glenda's hand. The top of the flyer, in bold, all caps, Comic Sans type, read "CASA D' WAFFLES SPECIALS." Glenda cringed at the lack of an apostrophe in WAFFLES and at the tacky flyer. Then, noticing Tuesday's special offer, free waffle with a purchase of a small coffee, she looked up at Shaniqua.  


"So that explains the crowd!" Glenda said. 


"Yup," said Shaniqua. "Okay, so I'm gonna have you man the floor for the customers that eat here, and I'll stay at the register for the to-go orders. Now would you please go unlock the door? It's 6:01, can't keep the customers waiting."


Glenda walked briskly to the door and flipped the sign. She then unlocked the deadbolt and allowed the crowd to rush in. 


Glenda hoped, incorrectly, that the large crowd meant she wouldn't have time to complete her bathroom cleaning duty before her shift was over. Unfortunately, after waiting both the breakfast and lunch crowds – nearly 8 hours of endless work– Glenda had to clean the bathrooms. 


When she walked in the bathroom for the second time that day, Glenda spotted something different. Shoved into the frame of the mirror was a torn piece of the menu, about the size of Glenda's palm, with something written in lipstick on it. Glenda snatched the piece of paper and brought it into her focus. It read, "Have a prayer request? Come to St. Magdalen's!"


Glenda did, in fact have a prayer request. She had quite a few prayer requests. Plus, she thought, St. Magdalen's was right next to the orphanage – right next to where her long lost daughter might be. Glenda shoved the scrap of paper into her back pocket and proceeded to clean the bathroom of Casa D' Waffle as a million thoughts and possibilities flooded her head.

Waffles

Glenda's hand hovered above the doorknob to the Casa D' Waffles. 

That morning, she had arrived in this crappy town, hiked with her two measly bags from the Greyhound Station to the Castle Apartment complex and met with the landlord. The landlord, a scruffy man in his 50s, who probably used to be attractive, had told her that there were only two units left – the penthouse, which was far exceeded what little money Glenda had in her pockets, and one next to an alcoholic baseball washout that threw things all the time. For the sake of her sanity, or what was left of it, at least, Glenda chose the penthouse and vowed to sell her precious Louis to the local pawnshop that very afternoon. That would set her for a month – hopefully. Then, before the dinner rush began at Casa D' Waffles, Glenda and Henry darted over there as soon as they could. 

Glenda wanted a job so badly, but the sign that sloppily hung on the Waffle place’s door read, “Employee wanted,” rather than “Employees wanted.” Glenda contemplated whether she should let Henry have the job, because he would probably get more tips because he was younger, or if Glenda herself should take the job – she was, of course, the designated “bread winner” in their two person family. 

An old, homeless man on the corner tried whistling along to Wilbert Harrison's "Kansas City," that played on his ratty CD player, but he failed miserably. His rotten, yellow teeth prevented him from even emitting one note. 

Henry looked at the homeless man with a disgusted look on his face, and Glenda elbowed him in the side. The old man clearly had seen the interaction, and blurted out, “The truth with all its power lies inside me!” Henry shot the homeless man another quizzical look, whispering, “What the fu...” but Glenda took it as her cue. She shoved Henry her bags, whisper-yelled, “Stay here!” to him, and marched into the restaurant. 

A twenty-something girl standing behind the diner counter slowly turned around as the doorbell chimed.

“Hi-i,” Glenda stammered. “I’m here for the job offer?”

The girl, not saying a single word, disappeared behind a set of swinging doors, and returned a second later with a crumpled piece of paper and a pen that had been chewed on. 

“Here,” the girl said, as she shoved the paper and pen across the counter to Glenda. “Fill this out. Between you and me, I'm not into the whole interview thing. So I say you got the job. Boss will probably give you a call by the end of the night. How’s 8 bucks an hour sound? Tips only come from the tip jar.”

The girl spoke so quickly that it took Glenda to comprehend what she had said – plus, Glenda was very distracted by the wad of gum that popped in and out of the girl's mouth. 

Finally, Glenda sighed heavily and closed her eyes tightly. On one hand, she was thrilled to not have to interview. On the other, she had only worked two jobs in her life – a secretary job for her imprisoned husband and the waitressing job she had held until she recently moved. The secretary job had no pay, it was simply to help out her husband. The waitressing job gave her $12/hour plus reasonable tips. Dear God, Glenda thought. This plan you’ve made for me better have a reason behind it.

“So…” the diner girl asked, as she taped her manicured fingers on the application. Glenda's eyes popped open as she brought herself back to the present situation.

“I’ll take it,” Glenda said, as she nodded her head, subconsciously reassuring herself that she had just made the right decision. “Um … do you by chance have any other job openings, like for a teenage boy?” Glenda asked abruptly, wanting to get Henry off her hands.

“Wait a few weeks, he might be able to bus. But we'll call you later tonight to let you know when you’ll start working.”

“Thanks...” Glenda smiled, and she slowly walked out of the restaurant doors, back to the sound of the homeless man’s attempted whistle. 

The homeless man called after her as she and Henry walked away, “The truth with all its power lies inside me!” Now Glenda thought to herself the same question Henry thought moments before: What the hell… 

She then thanked herself for taking the waffle job – she would sneak the homeless man free waffles in an attempt to find out whatever “truth” lay inside him.

the Greyhound

The day started with the torturous, infinite dripping of water from the faucet. Glenda and her 16 year old stepson, Henry, had spent the night in a Motel 6 in some town out in the sticks. For the night, the hotel had cost only $14.99, and it included continental breakfast. Unfortunately for Glenda, that $14.99 was a weeks worth of tips from her waitressing job. Also unfortunate for Glenda, the motel was so run-down that the leaky faucet in the 4 by 4 bathroom would. Not. Quit. Dripping. Not that Glenda could complain. The night in the motel was far better than the nights she'd spent awkwardly couch hopping at her stepson's friend's houses. Ever since her former husband, Chuck, was found guilty of ponzy, Glenda and Henry had been broke. The bank took everything– the house, the cars, even Henry's private school funds. When Glenda's "friends" found out she had lost it all, they dropped her like a bad habit. After a month or so of staying with Henry's friends, Glenda had had enough. She packed what few items she had left and she and Henry skipped town. They boarded the first Greyhound bus that arrived, and headed as far away as they could. And now Glenda stands at a crossroad, or, rather, a Motel 6, wondering what her next move should be.

 First thing's first: get that water to quit dripping. Glenda slid out of the creaky heart shaped double bed and wrapped herself tightly in her robe. It was just her luck that the last room available for the night for Glenda and Henry to rent had been the honeymoon suite. But at least it was a bed. Glenda tip-toed to the bathroom. It wasn't the sink faucet that had been dripping, it was the shower head. Glenda reached into the shower to tighten the tap, then changed her mind and put the shower on full blast, thinking she might as well go ahead and get a start to her day. Two hours later, bellies full of powdered scrambled eggs and stale coffee, Glenda and Henry sat at the bus station, waiting for the next Greyhound to arrive.

It didn't matter where the bus was headed, Glenda just had to get out of town to reinvent her life. No longer could she rely on her second husband for everything. He was a convict, and she was on her own, having to take care of her stepson. The Greyhound pulled up to the curb. Glenda boarded the bus, Henry following, and placed her Louis Vuitton tote into the overhead compartment. That was the one bag she refused to sell to the pawn shop along with the rest of her belongings. That bag was the only thing she had left of her old life, and she would not let go of it for anything. The glass doors at the front of the door creaked shut, and the bus driver placed the overhead speaker microphone to his mouth. "Folks, we're headed to City Block. It'll be about a 6 hour ride. There will be no stops, so I hope y'all ate up. Bathroom's in the back." He then put the mike back into its holster and turned on his radio to the local country station. But Glenda wasn't thinking about the long bus ride ahead or the southern whining that drifted to the back of the bus where she and Henry sat. Glenda's heart pounded to the words that had come out of the bus driver's mouth. Glenda knew City Block. It was the town her grandmother had lived in. The town that smelled like wet pavement and coconut-scented fake tanner. The town Glenda's parents had shipped her off to when she got knocked up at 19 years old. The town that held the orphanage that she dropped her precious newborn baby girl off at 17 years ago. Oh, this was going to be one interesting new chapter in Glenda's life.