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Ink in my Blood (prose edition)
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Weathered
Roll Up the Rim

Edgar Bee

    “One large regular with two milks on the side,” I ordered.
    I left the counter with my coffee and two milks, and a small slip of paper saying I owed a dollar fifty-four with tax and got in line for the cashier. There was a long lineup, but that was no problem with me. I was in no hurry. I had my eyes on the cashier, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I could have a chance with her. She was affectionate enough with me, but then not anymore than she was with many of the male students.
    I imagined myself nestling close to her and hugging, and felt a melting inside, like I was about to pour out of my skin.
    Then the last student ahead of me was walking away and the cashier was smiling at me and reaching for my slip of paper.
    “Hi there, how are you today,” she asked sweetly.
    “Fine,” I said and tried to think of something smart to add to that, but came up empty.
    “Are you going to win the car?” I heard her say.
    “Eh?”
    “Win the car,” she repeated, pointing at my coffee cup.
    I looked down at the cup.
    “Ah, yes,” I finally acknowledged. It was the roll-up-the-rim contest at Tim Horton’s, and you could win all sorts of prizes, mostly free coffees and doughnuts, but also much bigger prizes, including a car.
    “Will you come for a drive with me if I win?” I asked.
    “You bet.”
    “Then I’ll try all I can.”
    She laughed. “A dollar fifty-four.”
    “Oh yes, I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly energizing, putting my coffee down and reaching in my pocket for my money.
    “It’s okay,” she said smiling. “Take your time.”
    I handed her a five. She gave me back my change and I dropped the whole forty six cents in small change into a small cup for tips she had by her cash register, instead of the twenty-one cents I normally left, trying to impress her all I could. She thanked me and I moved away, searching my mind for a smart parting comment and coming up empty.
    I headed for the employee lunchroom. I’m a cleaner in the McLennan-Redpath Library at McGill University. She works in the cafeteria in Redpath, franchised by Tim Horton’s. I’ve been trying to make time with her for weeks, since I first saw her. I don’t even know her name yet, or if she’s even available or not. I’ve come up with the most clever things to say to her, but I’m shy, and things get stuck in my throat a lot. But I was more pleased with my performance today than I normally was. That tidbit about trying my hardest to win if she’d come for a drive with me if I did was the sort of flirting that usually got stuck in my throat.”
    I was back in line the next day, with another coffee and my small slip of paper, and my eyes fixed on my dream cashier again. She was a winsome looking brunette, with eyes that were dark but clear, a nose short and straight, small ears from which thin, attractive earrings dangled weightlessly, and lips that were naturally moist and bright, all set attractively in a well rounded oval contour, beautifully accentuated by the way her dark hair was combed upward and tucked under a black cap that was part of the Tim Horton uniform. But it was her trim and shapely figure that really had me drooling over her.
    “No luck with winning the car yesterday?” her voice purred inside my head.
    “No,” I answered, searching my mind again for something smart to say and coming up empty.
    “Too bad,” she said, grinning and flushing slightly. “I’d been looking forward to that drive you promised me.”
    I came close to pouring out of my skin again.
    “Don’t give up yet,” I muttered, lifting my cup. “I’m still at it.”
    “Good luck.”
    “If Tim Horton’s really wanted this promotion to be a success, they should have included your heart on there, as top prize,” I heard myself say. “I’d be investing all my paychecks into rolling up rims if it was.”
    “You don’t have to roll up any more rims if you really mean that,” she said. “You’re a winner already.”
    That melting again inside of me.
    And then I was returning to reality, moving up before her, as the student immediately in front of me walked away with his coffee and doughnut. “Hi, how are you today?” she wanted to know, reaching for my small slip of paper. “No luck at winning the car yesterday?”
    “No,” I said.
    “That’s too bad; I’d been looking forward to that drive you promised me,” she said.
    “Don’t give up yet,” I muttered, lifting my cup. “I’m still at it.”
    “Good luck.”
    I opened my mouth to go on with my next line, but I hesitated. I was sure she must have someone younger and a lot more attractive than I in her life already, and just liked to joke around with older guys. I was going to look foolish for imagining I might have a chance with her, when she’d just been kidding with me and figured I was doing the same. And then the moment had passed. She had handed me my change and was greeting the next one after me.
    I trudged away hating myself for being so shy. But then maybe it had been better that way. She was probably just joking with me, with someone in her life already, and totally unsuspecting about this older guy trying to make time with her.
    Oh well, he would be back, and try again, I was sure.



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