Winder. "The thing's pure history."
I glance at the door. My mouth's watering, begging me to sip the shake. But it's rude to start without the other person. Drew never does. Closing my eyes, I say a silent grace. For one thing, it's a miracle I got here first; plus, I made it into the tunnel and back out. Alive.
When I open my eyes, the milkshake is still begging.
I glance at the clock above the entrance. An old Richmond Dairy farm clock. It says 5:05.
One sip. I decide one sip isn't rude.
Titus's shakes are so thick that when you sip through the straw, the roof of your mouth feels like it's going to collapse. But then the taste hits and all is forgiven. Cold, creamy, sweet. That hint of salt. Chocolate sending every taste bud into the Snoopy dance. I close my eyes again, relishing the flavor. My throat wants to hum.
"You want me to start the burgers?"
I look up. Titus is back at the table, wiping his enormous black hands on the apron that, once upon a time, was white.
I glance at the clock. Then lift my wrist, checking my watch because the clock has got to be wrong.
"She's late," I say.
"Yeah. No kidding."
"Drew's never late."
"So you want me to wait for Miss Never Late or start the burgers?"
"I don't know."
I really don't. This situation has never happened before. My mouth is watering and my stomach is growling, and Drew's not here.
She's always first.
"You want to live a little?" Titus asks.
"What?"
"Try something new," he says. "Until Miss Never Late shows up."
Every Friday, we've ordered the exact same meal. Cheeseburgers, fries, shakes. But I decide today is special. So special that I'm going to break tradition.
"What do you suggest?" I ask.
"My onion rings."
"Okay. Sounds good."
But Titus doesn't leave. He just stares at me with his large brown eyes. He's got this way of looking at you that makes you really nervous.
"I said I'll try them. What's wrong?"
"Tell me you don't want mayonnaise."
"I said I'd live a little, not a lot."
"You're going to ruin my onion rings."
"I can't help it."
He shakes his head. "Girl, you're not wired right."
This time when he walks away, he doesn't slap the jukebox. He pounds Journey on the back.
"Hey!" Journey says. "Can't I sing along?"
"Sure, if you want to starve."
The guys laugh. Somebody howls like a dog, imitating Journey's singing voice. But Titus never cracks a smile. He's like that. I've never seen him show anything resembling joy. Not even that first day when Drew and I first met him .
April 9. I will never forget it because it was Opening Day for the Richmond Braves . We sat together in the stands; Drew was scribbling statistics in her notebook. I was bored.
"You smell that?" I asked.
She didn't even look up from her notebook. "Concession stand."
"No — better. Way better."
I had to wait until the stupid game was finally over — Richmond Braves winning —and then Drew pedaled us from the baseball stadium on the purple Schwinn. I was balanced on the handlebars, my feet resting on the front wheel bolts. We rode through the industrial section behind the stadium, called Scott's Addition, both of us sniffing the air, growing more and more desperate tracking the delicious scent. By the time we found the small brick building with the white sign BIG MAN'S BURGERS, I was drooling.
And that was only the beginning.
Drew walked through the door, tripping that cowbell, and screamed.
"Titus Williams!"
The giant black man behind the grill just stared at her. Like we just landed from Mars.
"June 2001," Drew continued. "Bottom of the sixth, you hit two triples and a double against the Orioles."
She kept rattling off the guy's statistics, going all the way back to when he played for the Richmond Braves, the farm team we'd just watched at the city stadium.
Titus didn't smile. But you could tell he was impressed. So impressed, our meal was on the house. When we came back the next Friday — after a late afternoon game (the Braves lost) — a CLOSED sign
I glance at the door. My mouth's watering, begging me to sip the shake. But it's rude to start without the other person. Drew never does. Closing my eyes, I say a silent grace. For one thing, it's a miracle I got here first; plus, I made it into the tunnel and back out. Alive.
When I open my eyes, the milkshake is still begging.
I glance at the clock above the entrance. An old Richmond Dairy farm clock. It says 5:05.
One sip. I decide one sip isn't rude.
Titus's shakes are so thick that when you sip through the straw, the roof of your mouth feels like it's going to collapse. But then the taste hits and all is forgiven. Cold, creamy, sweet. That hint of salt. Chocolate sending every taste bud into the Snoopy dance. I close my eyes again, relishing the flavor. My throat wants to hum.
"You want me to start the burgers?"
I look up. Titus is back at the table, wiping his enormous black hands on the apron that, once upon a time, was white.
I glance at the clock. Then lift my wrist, checking my watch because the clock has got to be wrong.
"She's late," I say.
"Yeah. No kidding."
"Drew's never late."
"So you want me to wait for Miss Never Late or start the burgers?"
"I don't know."
I really don't. This situation has never happened before. My mouth is watering and my stomach is growling, and Drew's not here.
She's always first.
"You want to live a little?" Titus asks.
"What?"
"Try something new," he says. "Until Miss Never Late shows up."
Every Friday, we've ordered the exact same meal. Cheeseburgers, fries, shakes. But I decide today is special. So special that I'm going to break tradition.
"What do you suggest?" I ask.
"My onion rings."
"Okay. Sounds good."
But Titus doesn't leave. He just stares at me with his large brown eyes. He's got this way of looking at you that makes you really nervous.
"I said I'll try them. What's wrong?"
"Tell me you don't want mayonnaise."
"I said I'd live a little, not a lot."
"You're going to ruin my onion rings."
"I can't help it."
He shakes his head. "Girl, you're not wired right."
This time when he walks away, he doesn't slap the jukebox. He pounds Journey on the back.
"Hey!" Journey says. "Can't I sing along?"
"Sure, if you want to starve."
The guys laugh. Somebody howls like a dog, imitating Journey's singing voice. But Titus never cracks a smile. He's like that. I've never seen him show anything resembling joy. Not even that first day when Drew and I first met him .
April 9. I will never forget it because it was Opening Day for the Richmond Braves . We sat together in the stands; Drew was scribbling statistics in her notebook. I was bored.
"You smell that?" I asked.
She didn't even look up from her notebook. "Concession stand."
"No — better. Way better."
I had to wait until the stupid game was finally over — Richmond Braves winning —and then Drew pedaled us from the baseball stadium on the purple Schwinn. I was balanced on the handlebars, my feet resting on the front wheel bolts. We rode through the industrial section behind the stadium, called Scott's Addition, both of us sniffing the air, growing more and more desperate tracking the delicious scent. By the time we found the small brick building with the white sign BIG MAN'S BURGERS, I was drooling.
And that was only the beginning.
Drew walked through the door, tripping that cowbell, and screamed.
"Titus Williams!"
The giant black man behind the grill just stared at her. Like we just landed from Mars.
"June 2001," Drew continued. "Bottom of the sixth, you hit two triples and a double against the Orioles."
She kept rattling off the guy's statistics, going all the way back to when he played for the Richmond Braves, the farm team we'd just watched at the city stadium.
Titus didn't smile. But you could tell he was impressed. So impressed, our meal was on the house. When we came back the next Friday — after a late afternoon game (the Braves lost) — a CLOSED sign
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