Page 25 of Bump and Run

Frank passes a kind glance back at me and smiles. “What can I get you and the lady?”

“Two big slices, two colas, and enough tokens to choke the machine.”

“Coming right up, Junior.”

Frank turns and passes through a curtain into the kitchen.

I stare at Junior, pausing until the old man is out of earshot. “Who’s Maggie?”

He searches my eyes for envy that isn’t there. “Maggie is my sister.”

“Ahh…”

Frank sidles back through the curtain with two huge paper plates, each with a giant slice of pepperoni pizza laying on top. “Here you go, you two,” he says, slapping them down on the counter between us. He reaches below into a small fridge and pulls out the sodas as well.

“Thanks, Frank,” Junior says, passing a crisp twenty over to him.

Frank snatches it up, opens his cash register, and counts back the change in nothing but quarters. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, his wrinkled eyes shifting between us. “Refills, more tokens…” he leans closer to Junior, “mood music.”

“I’ll let you know,” Junior chuckles. He juts his head back, signaling for me to follow him.

I grab my plate and drink and we navigate through the sporadic minefield of tables and running children, all the way into the back where a lonely table for two sits off to the side in the quiet corner.

“I guess you and your sister come here a lot?” I ask, taking the seat across from Junior as he sits down.

“Sometimes,” he answers. “Not as often as we did growing up, but sometimes.”

I pause. “You grew up here?”

Junior picks up his pizza, easily balancing it in one hand. “No, about twenty minutes more down the highway. Frank’s an old friend of my dad’s, so we came here… almost every weekend when we were kids.”

I glance around, trying to imagine what Junior was like as a child. I can barely even remember what I was like as a little kid. I certainly didn’t get to go to places like this very often… if at all. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Wait until you try the pizza,” he says, chewing softly. “I’ve never had better — but you might have, I guess. You’re from New York, right?”

“I am.” I slide my plate a little closer. “Let’s give this a try…”

I pick up the huge slice with both hands and fold the crust to make it easier to hold on to before taking a big bite of it. The cheese melts the instant it hits my tongue, mixing with a thick sauce and an even thicker pepperoni. My taste buds dance.

“Oh, wow,” I say, setting it down and covering my mouth. “That’s good.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It…” I swallow it down. “It kind of reminds me of this street vendor near the boarding school I used to go to...”

Junior takes a swig of his soda. “Boarding school?”

“The drop-off zone for absentee parents everywhere,” I say. “Cary Pierce wasn’t exactly around and my mom… well… she liked to enjoy herself.”

“Ahh…”

“Could have been worse, I guess.”

“Where is your mom now?”

Her face flashes in my memory but only for a brief second. “She died a few years ago.”

Junior’s face falls. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

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