Authors: H.J. Bellus
That night, I didn’t sleep in my empty apartment with my grocery bag full of belongings. I sat in front of the bakery staring at the articles in disbelief. I’d never lost a loved one to death, but I’d heard the saying about feeling numb and being in shock. I sat there all night experiencing those two feelings on repeat.
So every time I see the knot on my wrist, I imagine the two in heaven name-calling and arguing over food, and I’d still bet Alice could take Jeremiah in a heartbeat.
“Jacey, are you in there somewhere?”
Snapping back to reality, I say, “Yes, Isha, I heard you. Sorry. Trash, got it.”
Denver sucks, but this little diner is amazing. Isha is the owner, loves me, and lets me work my ass off for her. It’s open twenty-four hours, and nobody likes the night shift. I do. Work all night, sleep until about one o’clock, come back in around three to help Isha prep food, and then throw on my waitressing apron. Between the tips and hourly pay, it pays the same as two and half jobs, and the greatest perk is it leaves no time for memories to haunt me. This is the one thing that will make leaving Denver difficult.
“I need to talk to you about something when you have time, Isha,” I throw out as I head for the alley.
“You know where to find me, kid.” She picks up a bin of dirty glasses and turns to the sink.
I love the nickname ‘kid.’ At first, I thought she called everyone that, but after listening to her, I realized she didn’t. She typically uses asshole, scumbag, or hey you for others in the diner. Isha and I’ve had several deep conversations over the last few months while chopping veggies for the salad bar. Quickly I learn her motto, “You gotta be a cranky ass to keep the flakes out of your life. Be strong, kid, and always stand up for yourself.”
Walking back into the kitchen, my palms start to sweat, a sign of my nerves.
Isha says, without looking at me, “You’re leaving, right?”
“How did you know? How does everyone know I’m leaving?”
“You’re a runner, kid. Have nothing holding you down.”
“But still,” I say, sitting next to her. Grabbing a knife, I begin to chop olives with her in unison. I sigh. “I don’t want to leave you, but I hate Denver.”
“Hell, I know it’s not me,” she snorts. “How could anyone walk away from me and this shithole?”
“It’s not a shithole. You’ve been the one person I’ve opened up to here, and it kills me to walk away, but I’m scared here. Scared like I was back home. I’m always getting lost and wandering into questionable places. I need something a little smaller.”
“Understood,” she says.
“Suggestions?”
“Head toward Fort Collins. Smaller-ish and has some outlying towns you can nestle into.”
I nod, considering. “Thanks.”
“I’m not happy about this shit, kid,” she says, meeting my gaze.
“I know,” I mumble.
“Last day today?”
“If that’s okay?”
She lets out a short, resigned chuckle, “You’re a runner, and you’re seriously asking if it’s okay? Didn’t I teach you shit, kid?”
Goodbye, Jacey.
***
-28 Miles Gone
Isha set me up with an old buddy of hers, Danielle. She owns a bakery and drive-thru coffee shop. She has me working in both. I love working in the coffee shop. It’s super-fast-paced and leaves no time to think. The pay isn’t as good, and the tips are poor compared to waitressing, but it keeps me on my toes.
Going from working through the nights to working from five in the morning to five at night has been a huge shock to the system. I prefer working nights and being with Isha, but I love Fort Collins. I found Danielle’s bakery before locating a place to live. Literally, if I could crash on the corner, I would. I’m so sick of walking, making routes, and stressing about getting to work safe and on time.
Thankfully, I found another old-style motel that’s in a very rundown state. Just up my alley. It’s the roughest place I’ve stayed yet. I plan on living in Fort Collins for quite some time, so I have to freshen up the inside of my room bit by bit. The best part is it’s a block and a half from Danielle’s Desserts.
The little coffee hut is in the parking lot in front of Danielle’s. I’m not even sure hut is the right word; it’s tiny and made for only one person to work in. Danielle warned that when football season starts she runs a Tuesday special where all drinks are free if you are sporting a certain team’s jersey. I’m not looking forward to that at all.
Considering it’s only July, I have some time to warm up to the idea of working that closely with another person. In the few short weeks I’ve been at the coffee shop, my mind has been overloaded with flavors, mochas, latté, hot, blended, and iced. Sometimes I have to hold back my laugher when someone orders one simple drink, but it takes them five minutes to spit it out because they are detailing all the things they want in it. I’m getting used to the regular customers who buy coffee on a daily basis.
The sound of an engine alerts me that a customer is pulling up. I’ve also become an expert on judging whether it’s a car passing by or pulling up to the window.
“Hey, what can I get you?”
I see a truck with college aged boys, shirtless and sweaty, filling the front and back seats of the vehicle.
“Pretty boy here thinks he needs a coffee,” the driver says.
“Okay, which one is pretty boy?” I ask.
The driver points to the guy sitting in the back on the passenger side. Well, damn, the driver is spot on correct. The boy is mighty pretty – almost panty-melting pretty. Almost.
Trying not to stare, I force myself to talk to him, “Pretty boy, whatcha want?”
The truck erupts in laughter, and the boy’s eyes widen with surprise. Some of the men are holding their sides from too much laughter, and I know I’ve messed up.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. He’ll get over it,” the driver leans out the window and says to me.
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Pretty boy just responds, “It’s okay. Lincoln is the only one allowed to call me that. You just shocked the shit out of us.”
“Lincoln?”
“That would be me,” the driver responds.
“Thanks, Lincoln, for getting me in hot water,” I say, reaching for a foam to-go cup. “Okay, what would the coffee drinker in the truck like?”
Pretty boy fires off his coffee order, and I busily make it, walking back and forth to gather all the syrups. They’re not discreet about their conversation at all. Each word can be heard inside the hut.
“Dude, she’s fucking hot.”
“Fucking A, she is. I’m one for long hair, but her short wild cut is giving me a boner.”
“Shut up, assholes.”
I recognize the last voice as the driver’s.
Trying to hide the flaming color heating up my face, I step to the window with all my confidence and hand over the coffee.
“Five seventy-five, please.”
“Pay it up, bitch,” Pretty boy hollers.
The driver snatches his wallet from the middle console and hands me cash, shooting me a little wink.
“Remind me to never bet you again. You’re shameless and will pretty much do anything to win a bet,” the driver says as I gather his change.
“Here’s your change. Have a nice day, guys.”
The driver raises his chin at me. “You new in town?”
One of the guys says, “Of course she is, dumbass. Hell, she didn’t recognize any of us.”
“I am,” I finally respond. “Is it a bad thing that I didn’t recognize any of you?”
“Naw, don’t listen to these jackasses,” he replies, “You have a name?”
“Maybe.”
“See you around, Maybe,” he says, pulling off, but slipping me a piece of paper before he does.
My fingers work quickly to unfold the paper, and I see Lincoln’s phone number staring back at me.
Well, that’s an easy decision. I’ll be filing this in the trash can for two very simple facts. One, I don’t have a phone, and two, relationships are entirely not on my agenda, ever.
“O to the M to the G! Do you totally know who you just served coffee to?” A high-pitched voice echoes through the small hut.
“Calm down, Jenni,” I hear Danielle scold.
Turing around to face the back door, I see Danielle standing with a girl about my age. She’s a platinum blonde and sparkled out to the max. She’s almost blinding to look at. Her skin is so tan and her hair is so light that I find myself staring at the odd combination on her. She doesn’t give me long to analyze her before she’s bounding across my workspace to talk again.
“Seriously, do you know who you just served up?”
Her question makes me giggle. I think it’s more the tone of her voice and her facial expressions.
“Um, no,” I reply, hoping she doesn’t have a heart attack.
She’d really die if she knew the driver’s phone number was mere inches from her right leg burning a hole in the trash can.
“Jenni, settle down. I brought you out here to meet Oakley. She’s the new girl. You two are about the same age, and I know you don’t have any friends or family here, Oakley.”
“That was a truck full of hot effin’ football players for CSU. They’re all back in town for training camps and shit like that. I’ve seen girls strip naked for those boys in public, and you just served them coffee.”
I notice Danielle shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. I know it’s my turn to say something, but have absolutely no idea what to say.
“I see,” is all I can come up with.
My response doesn’t stop her from going into another verbal convulsion.
“OMG, you’re like the new girl, Oakley, and you’re working here.”
“Um, yes,” I mumble.
“My name is Jenni, and it’s nice to meet you.”
Manners dictate I reply, “You, too.”
“Holy shit,” she squeals, “We are Jenni and Oakley! That’s so catchy.”
“Well, I’ll let you two talk for a bit,” Danielle says.
My eyes must be playing a trick on me, because they watch as Danielle leaves Jenni behind the coffee shop.
What am I supposed to do with her?
Awkward just got amped to a whole new level.
“So, what’s your story?” she asks.
“Oh, it’s a boring one, trust me.”
“That’s no fun. Did my aunt tell you, I’m going to beauty school just down the road?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“I swear she’s so self-absorbed all the time. She only worries about her business and making money. Totes drives me wild.”
“Well, to be fair, she is a really hard worker. I love working for her.”
She finally takes a seat on an empty part of the counter and continues to blab on forever. Finally, when I feel the blood draining from my ears, I’m ready to wave a surrender flag.
“OMG, I’ve been going on and on about me and all my friends. What do you do for fun?”
I heave a mental sigh. “I work. Just trying to make a living.”
“So, you don’t go dancing or partying?”
I shake my head.
“Camping with friends, shopping at the mall, or play miniature golf?”
I shake my head again and wonder how many more things she’ll run by me before she gives up.
“Day spa, lunch dates?”
“Nothing,” I reply, hoping she’ll get a fucking clue.
“Boys? Dates? Pedicures? Facebook? Insta?”
She’s officially Captain Oblivious, totally unable to take a hint.
“Nothing, I’m a loser. Pathetic, I know. I work. I go home. I wake up. I go to work again, then I go home again,” I say very slowly, dragging out each word.
Her happy, bubbly face immediately drops, her jaw all but hitting the floor, and she says, “You really are a loser.”
Eureka! Einstein finally solved the equation.
“Well, don’t worry about that. I’ll be around the rest of the summer since I enrolled in beauty school. We can totally be like BFFs.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, she may be the dumbest person I’ve met to date. I’ve known my fair share of airheads and valley girls, but she takes the cake. I’m not quite sure how to tell her I’d rather stick needles in my eyeballs than hang with her. Truly, I’m afraid my IQ may drop if I spend too much time with her.
“Thanks, but I like the way I’m living now.”
“All right, well, if you ever want a real life, you know where to find me.”
There can only be one thing covering my face in this moment, and that’s pure shock. I would have bet all I have that she wouldn’t give in without a fight.
Jenni heads for the door, and before leaving, hits me with one last compliment, “For not having a life, your hair is super cute and trendy.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Jenni would die if she knew how much time I spend on my hair. Five minutes on the days I get distracted, and that’s the most ever. I was blessed with the perfect hair texture, and it’s straight as a board. It’s truly amazing I have any left after the bottles and bottles of lice shampoo that’s run through it. Mom finally got tired of receiving notes from the school, so she started treating me, but before that she just let the bugs live out their cycle in my hair.
Receiving a hair compliment from a diva like Jenni is a true compliment. Thank you, hair Gods, thank you easy pixie haircut, and bless cheap scissors. I’ve mastered the art of following the lines of my hairstyle. The first time I trimmed it was just a couple months after I left home. Needless to say, I wore a baseball hat for days. Now, I’m an expert on the trim.
My gut does tell me before summer is over Jenni will be dragging me to a salon. She’s been gone nearly ten minutes, and I truly do believe she’s the most annoying person on this planet. However, the silent coffee shop seems a little eerie now.
Chapter 6
Lost at 1,014 Miles
“Oakley, thanks for working late. I know it will put you behind at your waitressing job. I’m so sorry,” Danielle says, closing the door on the walk-in refrigerator.
“No, worries, Danielle. I’m just going to freshen up the bathroom before I have to go,” I reply.