Cafeteria Style

Fats sat at the kitchen table silent and serene as a lanky Buddha except for the dry snips of the fingernail clipper dexterously managed by his slim fingers. The clippings snapped off in random directions sometimes hitting the gray formica table top and bouncing across the surface. He appreciated the way he could get a real itch out of them, but before long, his repugnance won out and he had to cut them back. The trimming satisfied him, made him feel clean and neat in a way he rarely felt outside of the kitchen. Momentarily mesmerized, the white clippings, mingled with the darker flecks floating in the formica, reminded him of neutrinos, the building blocks of life; which was how he saw himself, as a builder of life--one child at a time. Oh, he didn’t do it alone; he was part of a team of crack servers that fed lunch to six hundred children and staff per day. He had been a student there himself once, and, in fact, it was his science teacher that taught him of the neutrino. He pulled himself from his reverie, unbent his long, naked legs slowly, stretched them and splayed his toes like a cat. He dumped the remains of his instant coffee in the sink and headed for the shower.

 

Mr. Jenner pinned Fats to the wall of the cafeteria one afternoon and bemoaned the teenagers of today. 

“It’s soul sucking to stand in front of a classroom and work on my whiz bangs and whipper snappers. An essay, a story, a novel! No! A novella! Longer than a short story but shorter than a novel. Some pathetic act of salesmanship. How can I compare to a meme or some bot farmed click bait?” He hesitated and waited for Fats to answer. “They don’t read!” he continued in one final gasp.

All Fats could summon was, “I’ve gotta run to the store and get some mayo.” But Mr. Jenner insisted.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jenner said exasperatedly.  “The spectrum of customers in a classroom is exactly like the grocery store--from produce aisle to the accounting office. Chapped fingered stock boys and oily faced girls sliding our purchases across a scanner, to the doctor dropping in to pick up some milk or the octogenarian in a three wheeled electric cart searching for instant folgers or the undead in flannel pajama pants, filthy fuzzy slippers and a jacket in search of Code Red and Jacked Doritos.”

His whole face was red now. “Those are my students! It’s the perfect metaphor.” Mr. Jenner loosened his tie and sat on the round stool of the cafeteria table and rested his head in his hands.

Fats pushed his ball cap back on his head and gave his former English teacher a pat on the shoulder. “I still love to read, Mr. J.”

“I’m sorry, Norman. I’ve been at this for too long.”

“Alright, I gotta get to the store.”

He’d seen the chink in Jenner’s armor more and more lately. This wasn’t the first time his ear had been bent. It had started after Jenner’s divorce. The change was like a sharp pain in the bowels that you never got checked. It forebode something dark, evil in its intent, something that couldn’t be undone. He suspected it was too late for Jenner.

Not Fats though. He imagined himself a cog on a wheel--a part of a vital piece of machinery that never needed to be replaced, would always need to exist, was just expected, not overlooked or looked through. He wasn’t perfect, but Fats didn’t consider himself a bad guy. Sure, he’d skimmed a little here and there just for some walking around money. It was possible once the system became automated and it was never too much to notice. And really, he was just getting it from the state. That money was reimbursed by the government and the government was a thief. Everybody knew that. He was stealing from thieves.  

The mayo bottles filled, he prepared to take his place in the serving line. The dark faced girl who sat in the corner when he arrived at school in the morning was in line now. Her hat low over her eyes and bangs lower than that. He’d seen Jenner sitting across the lunch table from her one morning last week while she drew on her art pad. Then yesterday Fats had been gassing up and there she was again sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables near the shelter in the park and Jenner’s car sat in the lot by the swing sets. Fats had a feeling about Jenner but attributed it to the gulf he imagined between their social set points. The proximity had him thinking though.

He was fundamentally an analog guy. For the most part the digital world was superfluous to his needs. Like most people, he neither knew or was interested in what was happening outside of his experience. His curiosity only extended to the logistics of preparing meals for 550 students, elaborate Trudy-inspired fantasies--the beautician that lived beneath him, and cat fishing, which he decided to do after he had finished at the cafeteria. 

He sat in his camp chair, ate licorice and worked his way into his third beer of a six pack he’d purchased for the occasion. A deep contentment overwhelmed him. The close pungency of the mud and heat of the sun on his back, the feel of the gentle wind on his face all added up like a math problem whose solution was this moment right now.

This mid-May air was new--like it’d all been replaced overnight with something warm and soft and aromatic. The river was still high and Fats was impaling an enormous night crawler on a #6 hook.  The split shot he’d bit down on was still tingling his molars. As he made his cast, Fats imagined a giant catfish hugging the muddy river bottom weeds, suspended in the brown water of the Willow just waiting for the moment a juicy piece of bait was dropped down in front of its nose.

He heard the purr of an engine from the parking lot behind him. Shit. He had hoped the place would be all his. A tangle of alders separated him from the parking lot and their leaves didn’t quite fill the gaps yet. He stood up and leaned into the brush and looked into the windshield of a car. There was the dark faced girl looking straight ahead. Her head was still but her eyes caught his and Fats nodded acknowledgment. The driver flipped up the visor that concealed his face and Mr. Jenner’s eyes widened. Fats swore he mouthed the word, Norman. Suddenly, it felt like someone grabbed the end of his pole and pulled it toward the water. Fats spun around and pulled the rod tip to the sky and reeled. It was like dragging a log up from the bottom of the river. The line was taut and rod tip bent. He knew he needed to be gentle and consistent or he risked snapping the line. A small wake formed as he pulled it into shallower water where he could see what he had. Then, with a sudden shudder of the rod tip, a tangle of loose line blew in the breeze and the fish was gone.

“That was a big one.” It was Jenner as he walked towards him. Fats noticed a change in Jenner’s voice.

“Yeah, they’re down there.” 

“I didn’t know you were a fisherman, Norman.”

Fats’ anxiety got the best of him. “What’s going on with that girl? Isn’t she one of the students?”

Jenner paused for a beat.

“Yes, Norman, she is and I’m hoping you’ll keep this between you and I.”

“Keep what?” He couldn’t believe Jenner would be fiddling around with a kid. He’d heard of teachers like that when he was a kid, but never more than rumors.

Jenner looked across the river. “Do you remember Ms. Gilmer? She was a science teacher here fifteen years ago.”

“Sure. She was one of the good ones. Real pretty. We all had a crush on her. She wasn’t here long.” He was reminded of the neutrinos, again. Jenner stepped back and looked over at the car and then turned to Fats.

“She and I had a relationship. A brief relationship.” He looked at Fats expectantly. “She got pregnant. I was married. And wanted to stay that way.”

“So that’s why she left?”

“Yes. We agreed it was for the best.”

“And the kid?” Fats nodded towards the vehicle.

Jenner exhaled slowly. “She’s my daughter.

“Holy shit, Mr. J!” The paradigm shift was too much for Fats to contain. “What about the mom? Why is she here?”

“That’s all I’m going to say on the matter, Norman, and I don’t want you saying anything either.”

“But how will you--”

“That’s my concern, Norman.” There was a maleviolence in his voice. “You won’t say a word.”

“Of course not, Mr.J. It’s our secret.”

“Yes it is.” He turned and walked back through the opening in the brush and then stopped.

“Norman?” He was using his teacher-voice now. “I know about your stealing.”