Page 2 of Bear Strength

I start fidgeting on my feet, as if the floor is lava, like that game Dom and I used to play when he was little. It seems like a whole lifetime ago.

Bill gives me a hard look, still trying to figure out what to do with me. I know that if I were him, I’d fire me. Of course I would. But, I’m hoping for one more chance. Just one. Dom has to start taking responsibility for his actions, too. That kid…

“This is the last time,” Bill shakes his index finger at me, but there is no threat behind it. At least, I don’t feel it. “Also, sort it out with Susie. Do her shift or something. I don’t want you girls to give each other the evil eye over this for the rest of my days.”

“Of course,” I nod quickly, realizing that he just said that he wants me to stay here indefinitely. “I’ll cover whatever shift she needs me to. You can be sure of that.”

“I really hope we won’t have this conversation again, Danica.”

His words linger in the air around us. I wait a moment for them to be fully absorbed.

“I promise, Bill.”

He just makes that shoo, shoo sound to get me out of his office, and I’m thankful for the clean slate. When I emerge back at the bar, I see Susie’s smiling face, greeting me. I doubt that girl even knows the meaning behind the word angry, being so mellow, but I’d rather not try and find out.

“Listen, Suse…” I start, and she just stops me right there, shaking her head.

“It’s fine,” she says it so simply, so sweetly, and I know there is no arguing with that. Why would I?

“Whenever you need a shift covered, or even if you need me to work the whole day, I’m here, OK?” I just add, wanting her to be sure that I really appreciate this and I don’t plan on taking advantage of her kindness.

“I have kids, too, Danny,” she nods gently. “I know how that can be. And, I have no idea how one can do it alone.”

We don’t say anything after that. Instead, we just exchange a deeply meaningful glance, which fortified our growing friendship.

In a new place, making new friends is hard. Anyone will tell you that. But, making friends when you’re a single mother trying to make ends meet… well, that’s downright mission impossible. And yet, I managed to make a friend right off the bat. A part of me wanted to scream at him that I am worthy of being loved, I am worthy of being someone’s friend, someone’s confidant, even someone’s partner and lover, but those wishes are only momentary. Reason takes over quickly enough, and I know what I need to do, and what I must never do.

I look around and I see that the place is still empty. It’ll be packed by lunchtime, but there are still 2 hours until then.

“You can go home, if you’d like,” I hear Susie say. “Come back around 2? We can just say we switched shifts today.”

“Nah, that’s not fair,” I shake my head. “I’ll stay to help you out, and I won’t ask Bill for overtime, of course. You take off whenever you want, Suse. I really owe you for this one.”

But, before she could say anything to that, we both hear the sound of the bell, which signals the entrance of a customer. We turn to the door, and the first thing I see is the leather jacket.

Whores and bikers. Birds of a feather.

I try to drown that voice in my head, and focus on the man, who is now approaching me. He gets comfortable on one of the bar stools. It’s hot in here. The air conditioning has been giving us some trouble lately, but he doesn’t take off his jacket. It is old and worn out,

It takes me a second to walk over to him, and slide the laminated menu over to him. He doesn’t even look at it. Instead, his eyes travel up and down my body, giving me a strange feeling, focusing on my name tag.

“Danica?” he asks.

“Yes,” I nod.

I glance over at Susie, but she’s already disappeared back in the kitchen. I don’t really need her help, but a gut feeling tells me I want her here, with me.

“Is that Jewish?” he asks, and I can see the yellow stains on his teeth, on his fingers. A smoker. A heavy smoker.

“It’s Eastern European,” I explain, with no particular gusto to discuss my name origins. I grab a kitchen towel and pretend to wipe a glass.

“So, you’re an immigrant?”

He continues with the questions, and I feel less and less comfortable. But, I can’t throw him out. I can’t ask him to leave. He hasn’t really done anything. So, I just continue to shrink underneath his stare, hoping that either Susie or Bill will eventually show up. Or, that he’ll finally order his food, eat it and be gone. But, life is rarely that simple.

“Weren’t all Americans immigrants at some point?” I snort back at him, feeling irritated. “So, what can I getcha?” I ask, hinting that this conversation is, hopefully, over.

“Well, what are you recommending?” he inquires, but doesn’t even look at the menu in front of him.

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