Thursday, February 14, 2008

Chapter 2: Breakfast Burritos

Leonard truly has no one to impress in life. The only confidant and friend he ever had died the year before. His mother Marjory died quietly in her sleep, in her hairnet, in her love seat, in her townhouse. Leonard didn’t cry outwardly. He simply buried her alone on a sunny day in a cemetery off Highway 16 overlooking Gig Harbor. She was sixty-eight. He inherited the townhouse and a 1983 red Toyota Tercel that he still drives today although he hasn’t washed it once. The shocks on the front driver side are shot from the stress of his weight and the car tilts to the side slightly. He always jokes in his nasally voice, “It makes sharp left hand turns though, uh humph.” The people at the Jiffy Lube where he gets his oil changed every five thousand miles are usually unimpressed.

Leonard sits in his Tercel every morning and does pay attention to one personal detail. He parts what remains of his sandy blonde and graying hair and combs the rest across his balding head. Because of the grease, the hair will stay there, perfectly, throughout the day. This makes him smile sometimes, which he often does. His face, although round, scraggled, and squinty is warm. His expressions are often boyish and forlorn despite the unfortunate shell with which they have to work.

“Uh humph,” he mumbles as he struggles to stretch the seatbelt across his gut. He turns on the radio to National Public Radio. The BBC World News scratches on. He puts the transmission into drive and pulls out into the world. Its mid September and the sun is shooting through the hemlock branches. Leonard is annoyed that the defroster hasn’t completed its one and only job of removing the frost from the inside of the windshield. The frost wouldn’t be there if he removed all the fast food soft drink cups from the floor of the back seat. The car smells like onions.

The first big decision of the day is his toughest. He stops every day at one of two places, McDonalds or Burger King. He never knows which one he will choose until he comes around the corner and sees the morning sun shining off one of the illuminated plastic signs. Without fail he is always in the wrong lane for his choice and must frantically change lanes to make the drive through entrance.

“Good Morning, welcome to McDonald’s can I help you?” a familiar voice squawked at him in unenthusiastic monotone.
“Good Morning to you to Lydia, I’ll have my usual uh humph,” Leonard replies happily.
“Thanks Leonard, see you at the next window,” she perks up in a brighter tone. Leonard pulls his tilted Tercel forward where a pear shaped girl leans out to take his money. She has a pale round face, small mousy mouth, a collection of pimples on her forehead and her hair is pulled back and up into a black faded McDonalds visor.

“Hidey Ho Lydio!” Leonard giggles out the window as he grabs his large orange soda, no ice.
“Well howdy yourself there Lenny, starting your day off right today?” She asks sincerely.
“Only way to do it right? It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood a lovely day for a breakfast burrito!” He says trying to imitate Mr. Rogers. Lydia takes his five-dollar bill. She often enjoys these little exchanges in the morning. In her mind, Leonard is one of the only creatures on earth that knows she exists.

“You want me to toss the change in the Ronald McDonald House box again there Leonard?” She asks knowing the answer.
“You betcha, or keep it for yourself someday okily dokily?” Leonard says joyfully as he snatches the white bag from her hands. A glimmer of sunlight glints off his glasses, arms stretching and silhouetted against the rising sun.

“Toodles!” That’s right, Leonard is a toodler. It is one of the many catch phrases that makes up his comedic and old fashioned personality. He varooms off, exhaust putting away the morning chill. Leonard opens the bag with one hand, opens the breakfast burrito with the same hand and uses the hand like a surgical tool operating on stuffing his face. He usually can get a breakfast burrito down in three bites, there are two of them, and the hash brown patty in one. Leonard doesn’t care for condiments this early in the morning. He drives with his left hand resting on the molding of the door. He savors his orange soda as he slows to a stop approaching the last straight away before the narrows bridge. By this time its 7:15 and morning rush hour traffic is in full swing. School has just started up for the year and the traffic is thickening lately. Leonard pays no mind, he’ll make it to work on time, like always.

No comments: