Dabs obeyed the blond girl with the big forehead and joined her funeral procession back downstairs. The narrow stairs seemed dangerous to Dabs, one misstep, and he would bowl right over this pinhead with a ponytail.
“They call me Egghead. It’s not my real name but that’s what everybody calls me. I was going by my real name for awhile but everybody kept calling me Egghead so I just went back to Egghead. What’s your name?”
Grabbing for the rail that wasn’t there, Dabs said, “Dabs.”
“Is that your real name or is that what they call you?” The girl knew each step like a mountain goat.
“Both.” Dabs said with his last step.
“Oh it’s your last name, huh. How original.” She said raising her eyebrows to
her own audience.
The café felt empty to Dabs. “Where ‘s Edna?”
“Oh that bitch, she’s out of here.” Egghead said while she shoved a handful of sweet n’ lows in her purse.
“Maybe you should put those back; those are not yours you know.” His hand was on his hip, it made him think of his mother, so he dropped his hand into his pocket.
“Don’t start with me. I’ve got a headache and I’ve had a bad day. I told you about my mother didn’t I?”
“Yeah you did but I’m so very sorry.” The hand went into his pocket.
Before Egghead could let the tears go, the bells on the door jingled as a young Native man walked in. “Put them back, Egghead.” He didn’t look at her, the door nor Dabs. The cell phone in his hands had him occupied. With his free hand, he took off his coat and grabbed an apron.
“Hi, I’m going to be working here too this summer. My name is Dabs.” Dabs offered his hand.
The young man chose his cell phone over Dabs. “Yeah, I know who you are. I saw Edna at the Ferry Terminal.”
- How Ketchikan’s Weather Makes Us Pretty (aelasage.com)