The Malted Shake
As a young man walked through the heavy glass doors, a bell went off overhead. The dusty wood floor and plastic tables did not look inviting, but that wasn’t important. The girl behind the counter wore a chocolate and caramel stained apron on top of her flowery dress, and one could sense her slender figure hidden underneath. When she spoke, the man could see how her body might shatter if knocked like a crystal vase to the floor.
“Do you know what you want yet?” she asked.
Before the man spoke, he swallowed and put his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “Hi, I’m Dod,” he began, reaching out his free hand to greet the girl. “I just came in to see what there was. And it’s still raining outside, you know.”
The girl nodded and waited there behind a glass counter where sat twenty different flavors, all of them prepared fresh daily, so the sign advertised. Dod saw them all laid out like jewels on a polishing cloth. The hand in his pocket began playing with four coins amounting to five and seven eighths monetary units. He had taken them from the jar, the last pieces of his household, before heading into town. He forgot that the reason he was in town was to buy the child’s formula. It was an emergency trip, and Gertrude had wanted to go with him, as she has an eye for spotting deals, but she was still feeling weak almost two whole months after the birth. The doctor blamed it on an iron deficiency.
“I said did you get wet at all?” repeated the girl behind the counter. She was eyeing the man strangely, and she thought that the movement in his pocket was doing something it wasn’t.
“No, just damp really. I am already drying off in here.”
The man smiled and took out the three coins from his pocket, and that made everything all right again. “I think I’ll have the malted shake,” the man said.
Without a word, the girl went to work gathering ingredients, scooping the velvety brown ice cream into a metal cup.
“Uhm, can you put strawberries in it as well?” added the man, and he stepped closer to the counter so that his arms were now folded across the top pane of glass.
“That’s extra,” the woman replied.
“It’s fine,” he said.
The mixing machine whirred the ingredients into frozen mush, and Dod stepped back from the counter. To him, the room began to spin, and spots of dark swam around in his eyes. He felt too weak to stand, and sat in one of the plastic chairs. He had not eaten for two days, despite the work he was doing. It was as if, people expected their shoes to be repaired for free. And no one was buying new ones, what with the price of leather being what it was. But to Dod, it was only a matter of waiting. The war could not go on forever or else everyone would be dead. This hope of the future always brought him over his dizziness. He noticed the whirring had ceased.
“That’s five and one quarter units,” the girl said. She placed a Styrofoam cup in which was the malted shake.
Dod’s mouth watered when he thought how it would taste with the strawberries. He handed over the coins as if the transaction did not matter to him, and for a moment his face brightened to the likeness of the town boys that come after school to spend their allowance on sundae’s, cones, splits, and fudge brownies.
At this, the girl giggled. “You’re eyes are sparkling,” she said.
Dod took the cup and tasted the concoction. He looked up and saw the girl staring at him. She had a delicate face and smooth, olive skin. Her cheeks were lightly freckled. Her mousy, brown hair had been lightened to blond in spots. Although it was pulled back in a bun, it had a ruffled appearance. Strands wisped out at random. She reached a hand across the counter.
“I think it’s still raining outside. Why don’t you eat that in here?” she asked.
The scenes of the time he would spend traveling the world, working odd jobs, seeing life as it was played out across the spectrum, making love outside in remote fields under the stars or in high lofts with balconies that look out over the cityscape. They would both be ripped from their current lives to form something new and magnificent.
“No, I have to be getting back before it melts,” he said.
The tucked the cup underneath his water stained jacket and headed back to Gertrude and the child.
What can our lives mean if they are only a dream? He hadn’t gotten the formula. Instead, that night they all tasted a bit of what was in the Styrofoam cup.
“Do you know what you want yet?” she asked.
Before the man spoke, he swallowed and put his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “Hi, I’m Dod,” he began, reaching out his free hand to greet the girl. “I just came in to see what there was. And it’s still raining outside, you know.”
The girl nodded and waited there behind a glass counter where sat twenty different flavors, all of them prepared fresh daily, so the sign advertised. Dod saw them all laid out like jewels on a polishing cloth. The hand in his pocket began playing with four coins amounting to five and seven eighths monetary units. He had taken them from the jar, the last pieces of his household, before heading into town. He forgot that the reason he was in town was to buy the child’s formula. It was an emergency trip, and Gertrude had wanted to go with him, as she has an eye for spotting deals, but she was still feeling weak almost two whole months after the birth. The doctor blamed it on an iron deficiency.
“I said did you get wet at all?” repeated the girl behind the counter. She was eyeing the man strangely, and she thought that the movement in his pocket was doing something it wasn’t.
“No, just damp really. I am already drying off in here.”
The man smiled and took out the three coins from his pocket, and that made everything all right again. “I think I’ll have the malted shake,” the man said.
Without a word, the girl went to work gathering ingredients, scooping the velvety brown ice cream into a metal cup.
“Uhm, can you put strawberries in it as well?” added the man, and he stepped closer to the counter so that his arms were now folded across the top pane of glass.
“That’s extra,” the woman replied.
“It’s fine,” he said.
The mixing machine whirred the ingredients into frozen mush, and Dod stepped back from the counter. To him, the room began to spin, and spots of dark swam around in his eyes. He felt too weak to stand, and sat in one of the plastic chairs. He had not eaten for two days, despite the work he was doing. It was as if, people expected their shoes to be repaired for free. And no one was buying new ones, what with the price of leather being what it was. But to Dod, it was only a matter of waiting. The war could not go on forever or else everyone would be dead. This hope of the future always brought him over his dizziness. He noticed the whirring had ceased.
“That’s five and one quarter units,” the girl said. She placed a Styrofoam cup in which was the malted shake.
Dod’s mouth watered when he thought how it would taste with the strawberries. He handed over the coins as if the transaction did not matter to him, and for a moment his face brightened to the likeness of the town boys that come after school to spend their allowance on sundae’s, cones, splits, and fudge brownies.
At this, the girl giggled. “You’re eyes are sparkling,” she said.
Dod took the cup and tasted the concoction. He looked up and saw the girl staring at him. She had a delicate face and smooth, olive skin. Her cheeks were lightly freckled. Her mousy, brown hair had been lightened to blond in spots. Although it was pulled back in a bun, it had a ruffled appearance. Strands wisped out at random. She reached a hand across the counter.
“I think it’s still raining outside. Why don’t you eat that in here?” she asked.
The scenes of the time he would spend traveling the world, working odd jobs, seeing life as it was played out across the spectrum, making love outside in remote fields under the stars or in high lofts with balconies that look out over the cityscape. They would both be ripped from their current lives to form something new and magnificent.
“No, I have to be getting back before it melts,” he said.
The tucked the cup underneath his water stained jacket and headed back to Gertrude and the child.
What can our lives mean if they are only a dream? He hadn’t gotten the formula. Instead, that night they all tasted a bit of what was in the Styrofoam cup.