Carousel, Part 2

CAROUSEL
***by Somers

***Special Thanks to: Berry and the Lurker
***Song by: The Hollies



PART TWO: SOON YOU'LL LEAVE AND THEN I'LL LOSE YOU




Joan turned quickly when she heard Becky's scream.

The paper cup hit the floor and hot gourmet coffee splattered across the
white linoleum tile, showering the clean but worn floor in an ugly wave of
light brown liquid. Becky immediately started crying loudly, holding her face
in her hands in a vain attempt to hide the emotional display.

"Oh, honey!" Joan left the counter and immediately put her hand on the young
girl's back. She led her to the little metal folding chair that they kept
behind the counter and helped her to sit down. Joan quickly pulled a couple
of tissues from the shelf under the counter and handed them to Becky.

"Now just relax, dear. Sit for a second. I'll take care of it," Joan said in
her husky voice. She smiled at her, adjusted Becky's long, blonde pony tail,
and then turned to the waiting customer.

"I'll be right with you, just let me finish getting Mr. Gearson's lottery
tickets," Joan winked and smiled at the guy waiting for his coffee, defusing
the impatience that was beginning to well up inside of him. After viewing her
pleasant face, even his caffeine craving subsided a bit, especially in the
presence of the wonderful aroma that now pervaded the air of the little
convenience store.

Joan quickly printed out the tickets, made the change, then turned and
expertly ran new steaming coffee into a fresh cup while asking the customer
about whether he liked the flavored creams, and how much sugar to add. She
stirred it up, popped a top on and smiled broadly at him.

"Here we are again ! Thanks for waiting, hun. This one's on the house.
Enjoy!" She winked at him, and saw the previously poker-face break into a
genuine smile. He thanked her, and then looked over at Becky, who was still
sniffing and sobbing.

"It's all right. That happens," he said in consolation.

Becky just began sobbing more loudly in response to his comment, mascara
running down the smooth skin of her cheeks, so he sighed and made a quick
exit. Joan took the mop from the little cleaning closet and quickly washed up
the floor, sliding the black rubber mat around with her foot in an obviously
well-practiced manuever.

"Now, what's wrong, honey ? You haven't been yourself for a while now. Want
to tell me about it ?" Joan's brows knitted together into a wrinkle and her
eyes took on a concerned look. She put her hand up to her mouth to muffle the
cough that suddenly erupted from her throat.

"I'm sorry ..." Becky continued to sniff and her voice trembled.

"Sorry ? Oh, don't feel sorry! We all have bad days, you know. Things
bothering us, stuff that just goes around.. Last week there was a woman
buying a jar of honey and she accidently let it slip off the counter. Shoot!
Was she mad! It got all over her nice white heels, the sticky, gooey mess
with broken glass in it. She felt awful. But I helped her clean it all up,
and the two of us laughed about the whole thing when she came around again
the second time with a new jar." Joan talked as she finished mopping, stowed
the cleaning things away, then reached under the counter and took out her
pack of full-flavored Marlboro 100's.

"She told me that her car was running funny, and she had to get to the girl
scout troop with the honey for baking cookies. Thank goodness her car started
OK when she went out," Joan continued, slipping a cigarette from the pack. As
she spoke, the unlit cigarette bounced in her lips while she retrieved her
lighter and held it poised in front of her face.

"Now, what's been bothering you, Beck ?" Joan spun the wheel and raised a
flame. She tugged strongly on the long Marlboro, then removed it from her
mouth and drew the smoke deeply into her lungs, completing the manuever by
tossing her head back to clear the long grey/blonde hair from her shoulder.

"It's.... it's Bob.... He's .. he's gone!" Becky nearly began bawling once
more, but checked herself and remained at the edge of control.

"Awww......." Joan cooed, walking over and holding Becky's head against her
breast, then stroking her beautiful blonde hair. She held her cigarette
behind the young girl's head and made a comforting, motherly, humming sound.

"He took his things last Monday," Becky continued, "I knew he said he wanted
to move out, but I was hoping he might change his mind or something, and then
it just came up so fast, and I don't know what to do now," She was cried-out
at this point, and she was aware of how dry her mouth had become. She felt
the warmth of Joan's body against her through the coarse fabric of the light
blue store jacket and a tiny bit of security returned.

"We weren't fighting or anything, and one day he just said he wanted to leave
and now he's really gone. He wouldn't say why, just something about needing
to be on his own. I haven't heard from him for so long. It's so confusing. I
don't know what I've done wrong!" The concealed desperation came rushing out
of Becky's mind while she held Joan's body closely to her, encircling the
older woman's hips with her tiny arms and listening to the comforting sound
of Joan's breathing.

"It's OK, hun. Things will turn around. He's probably just going through some
confusion himself," she paused in the stroking of Becky's hair to take a slow
and pensive drag on her cigarette, then inhaled and resumed the petting once
again. Becky smelled the smoke and, despite being a nonsmoker herself, it
seemed to relax her, a sign that someone older and wiser was there to help
her.

"I lived with Phil for almost ten years and that's when he suddenly walked
out, too. I never found out why, but we still see each other occasionally and
he's a good friend," Joan paused to exhale her smoke up into the air, then
the bells at the door jingled, signaling the entrance of another customer.

"We all go through times of being confused, but it passes by after a while.
I'm sure you'll get a chance to talk things out, and he'll come around." The
sound of a man clearing his throat suddenly broke Joan's concentration.

"Here, hold this for me honey," she said. She took a rapid pump from her
cork-filter, then handed the cigarette to Becky while she inhaled, turned and
smiled at the man standing in front of the counter.

Becky held the burning cigarette awkwardly between her thumb and index
finger, keeping the tip over the floor in the event that ashes fell. She
stared at the whisps of white smoke curling upward and watched the tiny
pieces of tobacco glowing orange beneath the covering of dull, grey ash
flakes. She thought back to yesterday after she had returned home from work
and found Bob's things gone. The weather was grey like the ashes of this
cigarette, and the empty apartment seemed so dim and lifeless where it used
to glow with warmth and excitement. She pondered the emptiness and longing
for Bob that had so quickly overcome her and felt like her life had just been
burned away.

The bells jingled again, and a second customer came to the counter just as
Joan was completing the last transaction. Becky continued to hold her
cigarette for her, watching as the smoke twirled and the lifeless grey ash
got bigger. She heard a man's friendly voice saying hello to Joan, then
asking for two packs of Marlboros. They spoke of the weather suddenly turning
better and Becky looked up, noticing sunlight streaming in the window for the
first time in several days. She turned to look at the guy, and watched as he
glanced over to her and smiled, the rays of light shining past his face.

His dark brown eyes sparkled behind cute wire-rimmed glasses, and there was a
warmth hidden in that glance that forced Becky to smile back despite her
depression. He looked as if he was in his twenties, as was Becky, and she
recalled his face as a frequent customer. He was quite handsome, having broad
shoulders, a trim figure and trim beard to match, wavy brown hair and wore a
pair of tinted glasses.

"Thanks a lot; have a good day!" He exclaimed to both of the women. Becky saw
him quickly glance at the cigarette she held in her fingers while she mumbled
goodbye, then she looked down and noticed that the dull, grey ash had fallen
away from the tip. In its place was a brightly glowing red ember. It seemed
to radiate and brighten as the draft from the outside door moved through.
Becky smiled weakly again, smelling the smoke as she gazed into the burning
cigarette tip.

"My, he's a cute one, isn't he ?" Joan remarked, then stretched out her
fingers in Becky's direction to retrieve the cigarette.

"You know," Joan continued, noticing Becky's reverie, "Why don't you come out
with me tonight ? I was going to get a quick bite to eat at Boston Market and
then meet Charlie for drinks a little later."

Joan watched for Becky's reaction while drawing firmly on the cigarette.

"No, that's OK. I was hoping Bob might call," said Becky, now standing up and
peering at her face in the tiny mirror they kept under the counter.

"Oh, please, hun? It would really do you some good to get away from your
place a little. Charlie won't mind at all. It would be wonderful to have
another woman there to talk with. Charlie's a lot of fun, but he can get on
my nerves at times." Joan completed her sentence, then exhaled a cloud of
smoke over the counter.

"Besides, Bob's got all this thinking to do, doesn't he ?" Joan giggled.

For the first time in a while, Becky felt a bit of happiness and optimism.
Here was a friend and something to do besides watch TV all night. She knew
that she had to do something else or she was going to go crazy. Then, there
was Joan's outgoing personality that always seemed so refreshing. Although
there was quite an age difference between Becky and the grey-haired woman,
she felt very close to Joan, and had shared much of her thoughts and her life
with her ever since coming to work at the store a few months ago. Joan at
first seemed like a mother, but in time, she had come to know her as a good
friend. In a way, Becky admired the way that Joan was able to express
feelings and events in her life, and hoped that someday she might be more
like her.

"If you're sure it's all right," she ventured.

"Of course, sweetie, Charlie will be tickled," Joan replied.

***

The pub showed a football game on the TV and some patrons were at the bar,
conversing loudly about a previous play. Others talked more softly at the
tables and booths. Blue aromatic cigarette smoke filled the air, and seemed
to muffle the clinking of glasses and the sharp voice of the play-by-play
narration, although the place was not quiet. Warm, yellow light illuminated
it, tuned to an intensity that could be described as neither extremely
subdued nor excessively bright. It was a friendly light, and it cast happy
tones to all the skin that it shone upon, making smiles seem warmer and
friends seem closer.

Becky sat in a booth with Joan and Charlie. Joan was smoking a cigarette with
her elbow propped up on the table, the burning tobacco never far from her
lips. Charlie, a man in his mid 50's with a balding head and intense blue
eyes, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Now, just look at me, here with two lovely blondes! " He raised his mug to
his mouth, and turned to Joan while gulping his beer.

"Ahhhhhhh..... ," he licked his lips after the healthy taste, then added:
"Well, at least she used to be a blonde..."

Joan nudged him playfully in the side, knowing it was a comment about the
nearly-complete greying process of her hair. She flipped her long, flowing
hair over her shoulder and turned to take a drag from her full-flavored
Marlboro, pretending to concentrate on the pull and ignoring the man at her
side. Becky watched Joan and imagined what she must have looked like before
she developed the grey. She imagined her face a bit younger, without the
small wrinkles. Becky knew that Joan was in her 50's, yet she was clearly a
very attractive woman. She must have been a real knockout at 25, thought
Becky.

She enjoyed watching Joan and Charlie joke with each other, and their
happiness was contagious. Becky also began to enjoy the whole atmosphere of
the place, and glanced around at the different types of people. There were
two girls of college age in tight jeans at another booth, chatting with
animated movements, waving their long white cigarettes around. Some older
guys were occasionally shouting at plays on the TV while smoking cigars, and
spent commercial times drinking and joking. A woman in her 30's, dressed to
kill, was alone at the bar smoking a long, brown cigarette and dangling a
spike-heel shoe from her toes. One didn't have to wonder what was on her
mind.

"Younger blondes are better, though," Charlie said, absently taking another
sip of his beer and winking at Becky.

"And why is that?!" Joan demanded, smoke pouring from her mouth in
astonishment.

"Because when you say 'se--nile', they all try to show their teeth and the
older ones don't have any," he answered.

That remark earned Charlie a kick in the shins from Joan. She returned her
focus to the cigarette, and Becky giggled at the two of them.

"But, did you hear about the two Blondes that were found frozen to death in
their car at a drive-in movie theatre?" Charlie continued unmercifully.

"They went to see 'Closed for the Winter'" he said in response to their
silence.

The jokes went on. Why shouldn't Blondes have coffee breaks? It takes too
long to re-train them. Why did the blonde scale the chain-link fence? To see
what was on the other side. Becky giggled, laughed, and then roared at the
man's continued comedy. It felt so wonderful to be able to feel mirth after
so long a depression. She felt this long-forgotten sensation of happiness,
and basked in the magic of the moment. Charlie ordered continued rounds of
drinks for them, and she quite forgot how many she had had, though knew that
they were having an effect on her mood.

"Why does it take longer to build a Blonde snowman as opposed to a regular
one?" Charlie asked.

"I dunno, Charlie," Becky said innocently, sipping her drink. Joan rolled her
eyes toward the ceiling as she lit another Marlboro in an endless stream of
cigarettes.

"You have to hollow out the head," he finished.

Becky laughed again, and Charlie admired the sparkle in her eyes.

"Such a pretty friend of yours, Joan. So why no boyfriend tonight ?" Charlie
asked Becky with his characteristic lack of subtlety. He was suddenly
startled by a strong pinch to the side of his ribcage, courtesy of Joan.

Becky grew more serious.

"He.. well, he kinda went off to think," she replied in a logical way.

"Think ? Well, the longer I keep looking at you, the more I keep thinkin'
about just one thing,"  Charlie said, staring at Becky's breasts and raising
his eyebrows for emphasis.

"You old fool !" Joan rebuked him with her deep and sensual voice, finishing
her statement by blowing a cloud of smoke in Charlie's face. She then whipped
her grey hair behind her back again and glared at him. Becky sensed something
happening under the table between the two of them.

"Hey, now, I'm just lookin' at the menu! you know I get all my meals at home,
darlin' !" Charlie then reached behind Joan's back and the couple kissed with
an intensity that Becky found envigorating. She immediately developed a new
level of admiration for Joan, extending beyond mother and friend, into the
dimension of one experienced in other ways.

"Well, I guess my boyfriend must be like a blonde," Becky said, playfully
caught with an urge to break up the intimate spirit and say something
derogatory about Bob, "He's been staring at his frozen orange juice for days
now because it says 'concentrate'". Deadpan, she downed half the remaining
wine in her glass and crinkled her nose at the older pair.

Joan's eyes widened, then she broke out in laughter. Charlie followed, and
the table grew loud enough to draw temporary attention from the football guys
at the bar.

"Honey, you're terrific," Joan exclaimed.

Hearing Charlie's guffaws, Becky began to laugh at her own joke and they all
nearly cried with mirth. Joan's laughs were displaced by a bout of coughing,
and Becky had a fleeting thought that it somehow made her seem even more
provocatively interesting.

"You're your own lady, Becky," Charlie proclaimed, "You don't need no one to
complete your life. Here's to you," Charlie raised his glass and Joan did
likewise.

The three friends clinked their glasses together.


CONTINUED

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