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Life, actually…
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A CHRISTMAS EVE BLESSING OF SHINY QUARTERS
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“Bless your heart,” somebody just pronounced, at the vacated table.
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The eatery is bustling with noisy diners, and a rather rowdy bunch is waiting for the bussers and servers to clear the surface, or at least redistribute the grease evenly so that the source of subsequent sepsis cannot be traced.
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The Bless Your Heart employee is addressing her grand tip of four quarters the previous gluttoneers set adrift on the placemat.
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She is not amused.
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The Bless Your Heart muttering is a form of automatic censure. This longtime denizen of chaotic kitchens and foot-bruising tiled floors and bossy bosses and entitled customers knows how to suppress what she really wants to say until she can grab a smoke next to the dumpster out back.
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Later in the long shift, at clock out time, the Bless Your Heart woman will stop by Dollar Tree and pick up a few Christmas trinkets to the tune of at least twenty-four quarter tips, wend her way home to her basement apartment that sports a wreath-decked front door and, within, a small musical Christmas Tree with twinkling lights.
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She slides the chain lock in place, groans a bit during shoe removal, slips into a so-soft robe, examines the contents of a refrigerator that holds no surprises, retrieves half a quart of eggnog, then sits lengthways on a caressing sofa, takes a sip while regarding the twinkling tree, looks forward to turning the Dollar Tree bag contents into something that will make her lone grandchild smile and laugh and clap her hands in love.
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The cares of the day loosen their hold, the memories of childhood Christmases loom sweetly, the echoes of distant family and friends diminish, and for just a moment, just a moment, the world takes time to bless her heart
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© 2022 A.D. by Jim Reed
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