Cafe N'awlins

                                                    Cafe N'awlins

It wouldn’t tie right. No matter how many times Dobro tried, it just wouldn’t do right. The shirt was too big, first off. The collar was too big around for his neck, just like the new pants were too big around for his waist, but they might shrink, or he could grow. Better too big, he reasoned when he bought them, than too small. He wished he had something other than the cowboy boots to wear with the pants, but he only had the boots, or his running shoes. The boots were better, he reckoned, and looked similar to the pointy shoes the businessmen wore into the cafe.

    The mirror was not kind. He had set a wet washcloth on top of his head while he worked on the tie, but the tie just would not do right. It was times like this that he wished he’d had a daddy. A daddy could have shown him how to tie it right, but his daddy was long gone, and it wasn’t likely that he would ever come back.

    The washcloth on top of his head was on account of his cow-lick. Sometimes a wet washcloth was sufficient to hold the cow-lick down... sometimes. Dobro sure hoped that today would be a “sometime,” so he wore the wet washcloth up there while he tied the tie, but the tie was a son-of-a-bitch. It just wouldn’t do right, no matter how he twisted it around, nor which direction. Droplets of water fell from the corners of the washcloth, soaking the too big shirt.

        Dobro got the tie done-up the best he could and stepped back to look. His nose was a little wide, his lips pouty below dark eyebrows which caterpillared above soft, kind eyes. Above the brows a wild shock of black hair was being tamed by the wet washcloth. Looking at himself, Dobro wondered what in tarnation he was thinking buying new clothes? He was never going to impress anyone. Even with the brand-new shirt and tie there was something missing, some unknown secret to being well-dressed that was beyond him. It was the tie, he thought. It would not tie right. He would never look like those men "she" seated on the sidewalk, those men who looked so proper, and important in their stiff shirts and spectacles. Perhaps some glasses might make him look older, or wiser? Mother had some “readers” in her sewing basket!   

   

Dobro watched her from his park bench of a morning, the blue pigeons pecking at the laces of his running shoes as he watched. "She" worked at the cafe across the way, showing the beautiful people with their fancy clothes to whichever table she might choose for them. She was always the one to choose, and she always knew just the right table for every particular people. Before they sat she would carefully wipe the morning pollen from the tables and chairs with a clean, white, magical towel that never dirtied. She would leave the people then, returning soon with coffees and beignets to their street-side tables. She was most beautiful in her short, white skirt and black shoes. She would leave the coffee and curtsy the table, allowing the beautiful people to sip and nibble while she prepared the next table. Dobro watched her there every day, working at the cafe. He watched her pour the coffee and curtsy as the cars and the bicycles passed between them, going where they would. She poured and she smiled at everyone. That was how he fell in love, watching her. “How nice it would be,” he thought as he watched, “to be sitting at one of those tables on the sidewalk sipping and nibbling, instead of being across the street on a park bench with pigeons pecking your feet? How truly beautiful she must look up close, where you could see the white of her teeth and the pink of her lips when she smiled? His heart raced at the thought, and he knew he must do it, even though it was a different world over there, an entirely different world he would be entering, even if only a city street away!

       Dobro removed the washcloth, only to have the cow-lick spring back. He combed it as straight as possible and headed out. It was very early, so there were few customers. He only had seven dollars, and two of that was coins, but he had checked the prices on the board by the gate. Seven dollars would buy coffee and beignets. That was high, but he suspected that part of the added charge was in having “her” seat you and fuss over you. That must certainly be worth something! 

    Dobro stepped awkwardly to the gate. His heart beat against his chest so that he was afraid that people could see it. His tongue became thick and dry, like it did not belong in his mouth. He saw her. She was coming his way, wearing that same smile he had seen her wear for so many others. His head grew light, so light that he felt feint. She was speaking, but he could not hear for the rush of blood through his ears. “Al fresco?” He didn’t know what she was saying. Everything was happening fast... so very fast.

     Dobro felt a hand press his bicep, pulling him to his senses. “This way, Honey. Follow me.” She started walking. His legs followed of their own accord, as he did not have the power to make them go. She took him to the center table, along the railing, the very best table. His heart returned to its normal rhythm. She brought the coffee and danish without his even having asked for it, as if she knew what it was he had come for. 

    When she was gone he watched the bicycles pass, and the cars, and he felt proud to have the center table, the best table. Dobro sat very straight so that everyone passing him would see him there, and see that he was important, that he was somebody. He did not want to eat, as he would have to go when his food was gone, so he ate slowly, dipping the beignet into the coffee when no one was looking, so that the coffee then dribbled down the front of his shirt. Across the way he saw his bench in the park. An old man was seated there, tossing crumbs to the pigeons. The bench looked very close from here. Dobro realized that “she” had probably seen him sitting there many times. She could hardly have helped it. She might have even guessed that he was watching for her. She looked older up close, but still beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful for the confidence her age afforded her. His heart accelerated once more, so that he cursed it and the shame that the erratic thing had nearly brought upon him, and that it might yet bring.

    She returned. “Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

   Unable to find his voice, Dobro dug into his pocket and tossed his money on the table, suddenly afraid that it might not be enough. She carefully picked it up, every penny, and handed it back to him. “That won't be necessary. It is on the house.”

    Shame flushed his face and neck. Somehow she knew that he didn’t have the money. 

"Listen," she said. “The manager comes in every day at ten o’clock. You may come in one day per week, any day you like, before ten o’clock and I will see that you get coffee and a beignet, so long as you are wearing the tie.” She winked at him.

    She was treating him like a child. This was unacceptable. He stood. He could almost look her eye to eye, if he stood on his toes. “But it is not the danish that I love, it is you.” 

He could hardly believe he said it, but it had to be said! He looked at her through wide, but determined eyes. Her smile was gone, her face serious now.

    His heartbeat slowed as it pumped his chilled blood. She started to walk away, but then stopped. She looked back, over her shoulder, only her head turning to face him, that beautiful face looking back only for him. “I know that, Silly-boy, but should we not be friends, then?”

    And she was gone.