The 15th Ring

 

For fourteen times the phone rang.  Based on the time of day and the persistence, I just knew it was important, but there was no way I could answer it.  Nobody was supposed to be in the house, especially me, not now, not after…. well, you know.

It all began three days ago, at Newman’s Drug’s and Stuff.  I noticed a crowd gathering just beneath the lamp post.  Being curious, I walked up and asked one of the people what was going on.  A lady gave me an odd look and said, “Someone just took his pulse.”

“That’s terrible. Who would do such a thing?” I said.  A person on my left then looked at me and said, “Who are you and why so many questions?”  Surprised and just a little defensive I said, “Hey, I just got off that bus, isn’t this Palookaville? I had a one-way ticket.  I got off here because I thought this was it.”

I could feel the focus of the crowd shifting from the guy laying on the sidewalk to me.  They started to murmur, and I was getting very uncomfortable.  Then I felt a hand take hold of my arm.  I looked and saw it was an older lady wearing an apron.  It said, Larry’s Café and Stuff.  She must have been a waitress.  She had heavy, red lipstick and a lit cigarette bobbing up and down from her lips as she spoke. 

I wanted to tell her that I could use a cup of coffee, but her perfume was choking me up so much I couldn’t get the words out.  That’s when she tugged on my arm and said, “Come with me.  You look like you could use a cup of Joe.”

As we crossed the street, I could hear the crowd’s murmur die out.  They had already lost interest in the stranger in town.  “I’m Ned,” I said. She gave me a quick glance and said her name was Floozie.  This must be Palookaville, I thought. 

I took a seat at the counter and Floozie picked a coffee cup from a couple stools away from me and wiped it off on her apron.  “Cream and sugar.” She said.

“No, black” I replied. 

“No, I wasn’t asking if you wanted cream and sugar, I was just telling you what I was wiping off of this mug.”

I ignored that and instead I pointed at the cardboard sign that said, Sundries.  “Just what are sundries, anyway?”

Floozie grinned a little and said, “You know, I asked Larry that once and he just said it’s stuff.  That’s why he calls this place Larry’s Café and Stuff.  It’s the stuff."

“Shouldn’t that sign be at Newman’s Drugs and Stuff, and not at a Café?”

“Yea, Larry liked the sign so he bought it from Newman.”

That made no sense, but I let it drop.  I was focused more on the questionable coffee mug Floozie was now setting in front of me.

There were two coffee pots sitting on the heating plates behind the counter.  One had a brown top and the other orange.  I looked at Floozie and said, "I'm regular."

She stopped for a moment and just looked at me.  "You seem like a 44 in a coat and..."

"No, I mean I don't want decaffeinated coffee."

"These are both regular, honey.  The pots are different because that's the way they came." and she filled my cup from the orange pot, and by this time the ash on her cigarette was about to drop off.  As she spun around to set the pot back on the heating plate, the ash flew off and landed perfectly in the glass ashtray that was on the counter.

"I bet you couldn't do that again if you tried."

She gave me an odd look.  "Bud, I've been pouring coffee for years, I could do this all day long."

I didn't bother to explain that I was talking about the cigarette ash landing in the ashtray.  Obviously she had not noticed it, and I was also thinking there was something off, just a little, with this town.

I may or may not add to this nonsense.
I'm not sure yet.