For You(17)
Author: Mimi Strong

“I’m not really in the mood for beer,” Sawyer said. “What do you say we go get some burgers? I know a great place. Steak burgers, no filler.”

“No filler? But I love filler. It’s the best part.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

I shrugged. “You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.”

Bruce said, “Hey now.”

Sawyer was already moving back toward the door, so I grabbed my things and followed him in a daze. I didn’t like Bruce cutting my hours, because I needed the money, but I had a feeling that when he’d hired me, he hadn’t actually needed another server. Most of my part-time shifts were weekdays, and never the closing shift. That way I could still get up to get Bell ready in the morning for school without too much pain, though there was always some pain, since I never was a morning person.

The sunshine outside the bar was painfully bright and sent me sneezing.

“Two helmets,” Sawyer said. “You’ll notice I have a spare one now.”

This time, even in my state, I remembered to move my purse cross-wise before doing the helmet. My head was even bigger than usual that day, but I got it on, and in a moment I was on the back of the bike, my arms wrapped around Sawyer like this was just a regular routine thing I did.

The vibrations of the bike combined with his body next to mine awoke a yearning in me. I didn’t want my real life anymore, with all the lies and stories and fear I’d be caught any day. I wanted to be a regular girl who got dressed up to go clubbing with her friends, or took rides on motorcycles with boys.

We drove through traffic, getting caught in rush hour and breathing exhaust at every intersection.

The City of Surrey wasn’t like any place I’d lived before. The strip malls and squat industrial offices weren’t tall or dense, but they stretched out forever, and everything looked the same no matter where you looked. People drove vehicles there, everywhere, and not many people walked.

The people you did see out for strolls were usually older men with long beards and different-colored turbans. I’d never seen so many people from India before. I hadn’t been out much beyond Surrey, but I’d heard some areas of the Lower Mainland had a big Chinese population, and nearby Richmond had a mall where you’d swear you were in China once you were inside.

We pulled into a strip mall, and I saw why Sawyer had chosen that place. The burger diner was right next to a pool hall. He grinned at me as we took off our helmets.

“First a burger, then a lesson,” he said.

“But I haven’t even seen your piece of art,” I said. “I’m supposed to be helping you, trading, not just taking.”

“In time. No need to rush.”

I wiped out getting off the bike, twisting funny on my foot and landing on my ass.

“Had a few drinks,” I said from the ground.

“You don’t say.”

I yelled, “Stop looking at me.”

He turned his back and waited patiently as I got back up. A wave of nausea passed over me, making my eyes water, then passed on.

I breathed a sign of relief and said, “Maybe I should eat something.”

He turned back, grinning, and offered me his elbow in a cute, old-fashioned sort of way.

I nearly took it, but remembered the wedding ring on my finger. As far as he knew, I was married. So what did that say about him?

He held the door to the burger place open for me.

I stopped and stayed on the sidewalk, still in the bright sun. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Is it serious?”

“It’s not fatal.”

“Do you ever give a straight answer?”

“Do you ever just relax and stop clutching your day in a tight little fist? Let it unfurl. Shake out your hands and see what comes to you.”

He let the glass door shut and took a step back into the sunshine to stand before me.

“Like this.” He clenched his fists at chest-level and then released them, shaking out his long fingers. I’d seen him do this after drawing, but just with one hand.

I made the fists and then shook them out. I felt self-conscious, like people were staring at me, but we were on our own, on the concrete in the middle of a city that sprawled out forever. We were two dots on a map, and I shook out my hands. He clenched his fists, blew air on them, and shook them out again. I did the same. Two dots on a map, surrounded by other dots.

“Now we can get some burgers,” he said.

I nodded and followed him, feeling obedient.

Inside the restaurant, the smell of food woke up my hunger, the way putting my arms around him on the motorcycle had awoken other desires.

He announced he was hungry and ordered a double cheeseburger with the works.

“Single cheeseburger, no fries,” I said when I placed my order.

“Two orders of fries for me,” he said to the pretty girl at the counter. She wore enormous hoop earrings and dark red lipstick. She looked about my age, but I could tell by her face we had nothing in common. She thought she was too good to work there, too good to be serving someone like me.

I tried to pay for our meal, but Sawyer wouldn’t let me. “I’m not a starving artist,” he said. “I play bass for a friend’s band when their regular guy is off the grid, and I get paid cash for that. Plus I deal drugs.”

The cashier coughed in alarm.

“Kidding,” he said, chuckling. “No drugs, but I did pimp booze once upon a time. I used to work for your uncle, did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“That was before I got my current thing. The thing that actually pays—not that working at the bar wasn’t decent, but you girls make way more tips than an ugly guy like me.”

The girl with the hoop earrings handed him his change, a sly grin on her face. “Don’t be crazy. You’re not ugly,” she said.

He handed her back a five-dollar bill and winked at her. “Keep the change.” To me, he said, “That’s how it’s done.”

We took a seat in the half-full restaurant. There were only a dozen tables, and they were an unappealing, acid-yellow color. The lights overhead were fluorescent tubes, and extension cords and Christmas tree lights were strung along one wall as decoration.

The food was ready almost immediately, and we took our first bites in silence. Sawyer picked up a handful of his double-order of fries and tossed them on my plate.

“Try them with the malt vinegar,” he said, pointing to a square-shaped glass bottle with a metal cap.

“Isn’t that soy sauce?”

“Nope.” He held his fists up and unfurled them with a shake before grabbing the bottle and shaking the brown liquid onto his fries and on a portion of mine.