Things Get Better

Shirley winced as she took the test from Andy's hand, expecting the worst. Then she looked at her grade and froze. "That can't be right!"

"Congratulations, Mom. I told you, you could do it. You got an A."

"I never made an A before."

Andy shrugged, he was grinning ear to ear. "There's a first time for everything." Shirley opened her mouth to say something, but Andy stopped her. "No, I didn't," Andy denied, having anticipated his mother's unspoken protest. "That's your real grade, and you earned it."

Shirley smiled. I got an A! she said to herself, as if voicing the words in her mind might somehow make her believe them. She sat there and stared at her grade for a little while.

"Time for dinner." Shirley decided as she motioned to push herself up from her bed, but she was stopped by Andy's restraining hand.

"I already picked it up and I'll get it. You need to rest. You look like shit."

Shirley smiled at him. "Thanks honey."

Andy made his way over to the table with a bag on top. He reached in and pulled out two cartons of slightly warm and very greasy Chinese food. Grabbing two plastic forks from the bag and a few napkins, he handed his mother her share before sitting on his bed to eat his own.

They ate in silence. Shirley knew exactly what was going on in her son's head without his saying a word. Her happiness over her grade waned as she thought about their situation. What her son was thinking of was the only thing they ever truly fought about. As much as she wanted to avoid an argument, she felt she should say something. "Would you rather starve and live on the street?"

"Mom, quitting one of your jobs isn't going to put us out on the street." Andy's voice was laced with tension.

"No. But if I did, we'd have to cut down on expenses and couldn't afford food."

"You don't have to work five jobs."

She could tell he was struggling to control his frustration. "Yes I do."

"No you don't. You could let me help."

"You are helping. Your pay goes to your college fund so mine doesn't have to." It was a lie and they both knew it. His money did go to his college fund, but so did a good portion of hers.

"You know what I mean."

"And you know what I mean."

They stared at one another while their meal grew cold. The uncomfortable silence between them lingered until dinner was over and cleaned up.

"Can't you at least take some time off?" he pleaded.

That made her smile. She walked over to her son and kissed his forehead. "Good night, sweetie."

After taking a cold shower (so Andy could have a hot one) and brushing her teeth, Shirley examined herself in the mirror. She didn't like what she saw. Her hazel eyes were tired and had wrinkles at the corners. Her hair showed unwanted hints of gray.

"I guess things do take their toll." Shirley whispered to herself. She shook her head to clear it and crawled into bed. Shirley was exhausted and had a headache (again). She only had five hours to sleep before her next shift.

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Shirley collected her tip, stuffed it in her apron pocket, and wiped off the table. She glanced at the clock. One twenty-three. She had three hours of waitressing before she got off to start her shift at the motel.

Her stomach rumbled. The lunch rush had left her no time to eat. She glanced around and saw the place was empty, save for the couple a few tables down and two waitresses sitting at the counter reading People.

Shirley walked into the kitchen. A man was washing the dishes; a few cooks were cleaning the counters; and the head cook, Carl, was leaning against a counter watching the small TV in the corner. A commercial for diapers was flashing across the screen, and Shirley felt nothing but relief that Andy no longer needed those damned things.

"Do you think you could fix something for me to eat, Carl?"

The overweight and bald cook turned away from the TV and laughed. He walked toward the stove, "About time you ate. What is it? Three o'clock?"

Shirley scoffed, "Hardly. One twenty-three. And don't give me that bullshit about not eating. We can't all shovel it in by the truckload every chance we damn well get." That earned a bellow of a laugh.

Carl pat his belly and pouted at her. "I can't help it. No one trusts a skinny chef."

Shirley rolled her eyes. "You wanna get to making whatever grease ball you've got in mind for me? It may have skipped your notice, but I don't have all day."

He held his hands out in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just let the master work." She leaned against the counter by the window that looked into the diner so she could see if any customers entered. "How does a..."

"Whatever you make, it's got to be quick."

Carl gave her a fake glare. He turned back to the stove and muttered just loud enough for Shirley to hear, "Rushing genius, damned bitch."

She laughed. They were always joking around like this. Carl was one of the few friends she had. Her friends, Carl included, were always giving her a hard time about working too much. The difference between Carl and the rest of her friends was that he made it into a joke, whereas the others told her, 'If you don't take it easy, you'll die before you reach forty.'

Shirley knew her friends meant well, but it got tiring, especially since there was nothing she could do about how much she worked. She and Andy were barely getting by as it was with her working five jobs. If she were to cut back, she didn't want to imagine where they would be. She had to work even harder now. Andy would be graduating from Gower High this year and she was scrambling to add as much last minute money to his college fund as she could.

Andy graduates this year. What the hell will I do then?

Carl was flipping a burger over on the grill. "Should I take it through the garden and pin a rose on it?" Shirley laughed. Carl never failed to use diner lingo once he'd discovered it made her laugh. Taking it through the garden and pinning a rose on it meant a hamburger with lettuce, tomato, and onion.

"Nah. Make it a C.B." In other words, she wanted a cheeseburger.

"Any frog sticks with that?"

Shirley giggled. That was one of her favorites. "Sure, French fries would be good."

Carl served it up and placed it in front of her. "Want a flowing Mississippi?"

Shirley smiled at him. She could never figure out why she found diner lingo so funny. But she was more of a mind for iced tea instead of coffee. "Make it an English winter."

"Whatever you say." Carl winked at her, pleased with himself for making her relax.

Shirley finished her lunch. The bell above the door chimed to signal that another customer walked into the diner.

"Let's hope it's not a George Eddy."

Shirley rolled her eyes at the idea of waiting on yet another customer who never leaves a tip. "He'd better not be," she said, with a smile far too practiced to abandon her now.

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John sat in his favorite chair and turned on the TV. He was thankful for this day off. The office had been pretty crazy as of late. He owned and worked in a clinic called Family Health. He had slept until eleven this morning and was planning to kick back and relax for the rest of the day.

His German Shepard lay at his side. John sighed, "This is the life, huh Jackson?"

The dog wagged his tail and lifted his head to look at him. John leaned down and ruffled the fur on the top of the dog's head. "Glad to have me home, boy?" John was answered with a harder tail wag and a deep bark.

John laughed. Jackson was big and, more often than not, scared people away. But John knew his dog was nothing but a great big softie. In many ways they were alike. They were both big, strong, quiet, and loving. They were both picky in whom they liked, but once they developed a friendship with someone, they were protective and loyal.

John was searching for a show to watch when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Hey, Swift! How they hanging?" His best friend Bobby's voice came through the other end.

"Better than you! What's going on?" The two had been best friends for their whole lives, a fact which surprised many. Bobby was loud and, for someone who was lanky and weak, picked an awful lot of fights. However, he was always willing to help a friend in need, no matter what.

"Just finished poppin' some girl's cherry," he joked. "Since you've got the day off, do you want to get some lunch? I know a great place to eat. It's called Diner Fever."

"I've heard of that place. It's supposed to be pretty popular."

"So, what do you say?"

"I'll see you there."

A little while later, John and Bobby were walking into Diner Fever. It was a typical old-fashioned retro diner: shiny with neon lights. Tables lined the front wall by the door, a few small booths were located along the side wall, and the bar was complete with red bar stools. The kitchen staff could be seen working through an open window behind the bar. The diner was empty except for a customer giving his order to an older waitress while two teenaged waitresses gawked at a magazine by the bar.

John and Bobby sat down at a table and waited to be served.

"Heads up! New customers," one of the teenagers shouted without looking up from the magazine.

The waitress taking the man's order sighed loudly. "I see that. Can't one of you take care of them?"

One of the girls responded, "Why should we? We're still on our break. Besides, you're the one so desperate for money."

The waitress taking the order glared back at her. She finished the man's order and walked behind the counter to call through the window. "The George Eddy wants a Coney Island all the way, but cut the grass and drown one with hail." For some reason the woman started to smile when saying all of that, whatever it was. "Carl! Cut the bending."

Carl shouted back, "I'm not a bender!"

"Like shit you ain't. Now get on that order." Carl laughed as Shirley headed to the new customers' table. "What can I get you?"

Bobby, an incorrigible flirt, smiled while looking her up and down. "A couple of menus might be nice."

Shirley rolled her eyes then pulled two menus from her apron pockets. "I would've thought you'd have it memorized by now."

"Nope. I have better things to look at when I come here," Bobbly said, looking her up and down again. Although John felt bad for the woman, he couldn't quite blame Bobby for gawking. She was beautiful. Her pink uniform came just below the knee and her high heels showed off her smooth and shapely calves. Her rich, dark brown hair was starting to gray a little and was pulled back into a tight bun at the base of her neck. Her hazel eyes were slightly blood shot, but they had long black lashes. Her lips were full and naturally red.

"You keep that up and I'll tell Carl to poison your food."

"Order up!" came from the kitchen and Shirley left to serve her other customer.

John looked at his friend. "Now I know why you like this place so much."

Bobby grinned and winked. "Great food and a great view."

John shook his head and told his friend to take it easy on the poor woman. She looked worked to death. Bobby consented with a shrug.

"Any idea what they were saying?" John asked while trying to decide what to get.

"You mean what she shouted into the kitchen? That was just diner talk. It's easy."

Just then Shirley returned to take their orders. John asked for a hamburger with lettuce and tomato and a Coke. Then Bobby ordered.

"Give me a bottomed Adam's ale and a flatcar with hope." He sounded like he knew what he talking about.

However, Shirley smiled wickedly and said, "You got it. Want a vanilla or a chocolate bottom?"

"Make it a chocolate."

"Whatever you say." Shirley walked away to give the kitchen their orders. "Burn one and take it through the garden, but don't make it breathe and drown one." Then that evil looking grin spread across her lips again, "I need a chocolate bottomed Adam's ale and a flatcar with hope." After she called out Bobby's order Carl's head stuck out of the kitchen to stare incredulously at her. He was wearing a hair net even though he was bald.

"You sure you got that order right?" he asked.

Shirley shrugged, her smile still firmly in place. "That's what he asked for, Carl."

Carl's eyebrows knitted together. "Okay."

Bobby wasn't the least bit worried. He had a tendency to be clueless and it never would have occurred to him that his order could be a bit off. John, on the other hand, couldn't wait to see what his friend had ordered. The reactions of the waitress and the cook promised something good.

When Shirley delivered their food, both men stared speechlessly at Bobby's meal. It was a glass of water with a scoop of chocolate ice cream at the bottom and pork chops topped with oatmeal. The ice cream was melting in the water and the oatmeal was slowly forming a tiny puddle on the side of the pork chops. Bobby's jaw dropped. He looked at Shirley, unable to believe it.

"That's what you ordered," she said before dissolving into giggles while John laughed with her.

"I can't eat that!"

"Then why did you order it?" John laughed.

Bobby glared at him, "Whose side are you on, man?"

Shirley managed between giggles, "Look. I'll get you what you want if you order normally, but you'll still have to pay for that shit." Bobby opened his mouth to complain. "You ordered it, the kitchen made it, I brought it. If it makes you feel any better, I can't remember the last time I laughed like that."

Bobby groaned. "Get me a hot dog with relish and a beer."

"Hey Carl!" Shirley shouted while walking to the kitchen. "Our soup jockey wants to order something else." She passed the failed dish through the window. "Get him a bow-wow with grass and some beetle blood."

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John made a point of it to eat all his lunches at Diner Fever ever since the day Bobby made such a fool of himself ordering in diner-speak. Bobby, on the other hand, was still embarrassed and made it a point not to go there as often as he used to. Something about the way that waitress Shirley had given Bobby exactly what he had asked for had John wanting to get to know her. She always looked bone weary, she cussed a lot, and she was blunt. But there was something about her. John liked the way she smiled whenever she gave orders to the kitchen in that strange code. Her smile came easily.

John's lunch hour coincided with the noontime rush, so he didn't get a chance to talk to her that often. It took him the better part of a month to memorize the segment of her schedule that mattered. She worked in the diner on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. He didn't know for how long. All he knew was that whenever he stopped by on those days for lunch she was always there and on any of the other days, she wasn't.

John took a Monday off and waited until one-thirty before going to the diner. He was hoping that the rush would be over and he could talk to Shirley and get to know her better. He was happy to find the place empty except for Shirley and the other two waitresses.

John sat down at his usual table and smiled when Shirley came over. "Want the usual, John?"

"No. I'll take a coffee and...I guess a grilled cheese with bacon."

"Carl!" She hollered at the kitchen.

"Yeah?" Carl stuck his head out. He was still wearing his hair net.

"A java and a Jack Benny!"

"Coming up!"

"You wanna talk?" John asked before Shirley went back to cleaning tables.

"I guess. What about?" Shirley sat down across from him and his mind went blank; he hadn't thought that far ahead.

Come on, man! Think! "Why do you smile when you call out orders?" Shit! That was dumb! Now she's gonna know you've been watching her! John mentally kicked himself. Why am I so nervous around her?

Shirley gave him a confused look. "I do?"

"Well, I mean, I've...uh...noticed it a few times." You're a regular Cary Grant.

"I guess it's 'cause I think it's funny," she shrugged.

"I think so too," he said, kicking himself for sounding so foolish. "What's your favorite?"

Shirley smiled at him, "Frog sticks. That's French fries."

"Frog sticks?"

She held her hands up, "Don't ask me. I just use 'em. I don't invent 'em."

John laughed. "Any idea how they came up with those names?"

"Actually, I thought it was pretty obvious." Shirley shrugged. "Just sit around getting high and smashed and see what you come up with."

John raised an eyebrow. "Is that their secret?"

She smiled. "Let me ask you this. How else do you see 'ant paste' when you look at chocolate pudding?"

"Touché."

Shirley yawned. "Sorry. I didn't get much sleep."

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you always so tired?"

"I work. A lot."

"Do you have to work quite so many hours?"

Shirley closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Great. You said something wrong and now you're on thin ice.

"I have my son to look after."

John felt the air leave his lungs. If she had a son, she might have a boyfriend or even be married. Why hadn't that occurred to him? She probably had tons of men trying to date her.

"What?" She asked him. His face must have shown his surprise.

"I, um...are you married?"

Shirley looked shocked. "No."

Great! "Boyfriend?"

She shook her head no. John was relieved. He hadn't thought about trying to date her until it occurred to him that she might have a husband or boyfriend. But she was single and, if he was lucky, she might want to go out with him. The more he thought about dating her, the more he liked the idea. She was funny, drop-dead gorgeous, nice, and there was just something about her.

John realized he'd been quiet for too long. "What's your son's name?"

Something in her face softened when she replied. "Andy. I'm his mother so I'm biased, but he's the greatest."

John smiled. She obviously loved him very much. He opened his mouth to ask another question but was cut off.

"Order up!" came the cry from the kitchen, and Shirley dutifully hurried off to retrieve it.

She returned with his food, and then she turned to leave.

"Wait! We can still talk while I eat, can't we?"

She smiled and sat back down. "What about?"

"Your son. I want to know all about him," John replied honestly.

She chuckled. "You don't want me to go on and on about him, trust me."

"Sorry, but I do."

"Just remember, it's your funeral. He loves basketball and has been saving up to buy tickets to the upcoming Celtics game. When he was little, he'd go over to his best friend's house for a sleepover and they'd play basketball until they couldn't see the ball."

"Sounds great. What's his favorite team?"

"Atlanta Hawks."

"Cool. They're doing pretty well. He must be proud."

"He is. You like basketball?"

"A little. I'm not a big fan or anything, but I keep abreast of the standings." And then he froze the moment he realized he'd just said 'abreast' to a woman. Shirley instantly noticed the change in his demeanor and burst into laughter. John chuckled nervously, afraid that he had just made a fool out of himself.

"Well, Andy would cure you of that. The boy is crazy about the game. You know what? Just crazy in general. The kid wants to be a chemical engineer?" She laughed again.

"Wow. A chemical engineer...that's impressive. How old is this kid?"

"Eighteen."

What?! There is no way she's old enough to have an eighteen year old son.

She noticed the look on his face and sighed. "I'm thirty-one, my son is eighteen. You do the math. Yes, he's mine. And no, I sure as hell don't regret having him," she said.

John tried to make peace. "I'm sorry. I was just a little surprised."

"I just get defensive. People can be very cruel and hateful."

Something about the way she said it and looked off into the distance made John realize she must have been through Hell itself.