"No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress...who, having previously taken an oath...to support the Constitution of the United States, engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof..." 14th Amendment, US Constitution Ratified in 1868, this amendment specifically targeted the KKK. Designed to negate the influence of oath-bound "ex-Klansmen" in high office, this amendment was crudely violated when FDR appointed Klansmen Hugo Black into Supreme Court. Others would follow. Show a Child You Care
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© Copyright 2002 Impious Productions. Used with permission.
The Man in the Coffee Shop
“What can I do for you, Jake?” The waitress spoke softly with inadvertent humility.
“Turn the iciest breast to fire ...with a love that gently kills ...and satisfies...”
She paused. “No ...I don’t. You know that. And stop quoting Cervantes, it won’t get you any play…”
“Then what can you do for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do.”
“What’s that?”
“Get me a coffee and cream, love.”
She smiled. “Smart-ass. You can’t be trusted.”
“That’s why I sleep in separate beds- I don’t even trust myself. Wait! don’t go!”
She stopped in her tracks and returned slowly. “What?”
“I-I need you...”
“Yes?”
“...to deal me in for a couple packets of Sweet & Low.”
Pam, my ex, scratched her perky button nose and wrote the order on her pad, afterwards abruptly walking away in weary but graceful, fragrant strides. I was quite relieved to find that she still had a good sense of humor despite the subtle taunt. Indeed, she was amused. I noted she was smiling rather merrily when she threw the Sweet & Low soundly against my forehead, and when she took a plastic spoon, bent it backwards with a cargo of steaming hot coffee and then catapulted it over my face.
Pam was a quiet, thin porcelain doll of sixteen. She was of medium height and pleasingly alabaster- an attractive, dark-haired girl with large, splendidly hypnotic eyes that were unusually shy and elusive… yet piercing nonetheless. She didn’t wear a speck of make-up. It wasn’t necessary her slightly freckled face was radiant with natural color, her features enchantingly hand-painted in heaven.
By now a light rain had blurred all the windows that quiet evening, gently melting the street lights together into an agreeable flashing palette. I was regrettably introduced to a few lines of a certain methamphetamine at a party (“crystal meth” to be exact) and I had not slept nor eaten for the last four days. I was too exhausted to speak anymore; much less to think- and my jaw could barely move from the incessant grating of my teeth the more creative drug patrons call “The Chaws”. Scanning the paper I struggled to keep my eyes open, at the time very glad to be alone. Or so I thought.
“Twelve or six-string?” he asked, pointing at the black, worn guitar case resting at my side.
“Six-string Yamaha, acoustic, of course.” I turned to the man in the adjacent table. He looked about fifty, his dress outdated- just a trifle cartoonish.
From the coffee shop window I watched the next bus pull over in front of the shop. A passenger disembarked, walking inside. He was a bespectacled man wearing a torn green shirt with plaid pants. He could have stepped out of the forties though he probably would’ve tripped over his trousers if he did. His greasy silver hair was neatly combed back, his glasses magnified his gray, curious eyes. In one hand he held a packet of photos with jaded edges, in the other a handful of daisies.
“Here you are Pam, pretty flowers for a pretty girl.”
Pam smiled. “Thank you Larry. I’ll put these somewhere near me.”
Sure enough, she put them near her. When he wasn’t looking, she tossed the daises in a trash bin beside her at the register.
Only one thought ran through my mind as he headed my way. Please don’t sit next to me, old man. Please don’t sit next me and proselytize….in his hands were what first glance, appeared to pamphlets.
“I used to play guitar,” he said hoarsely, smiling weakly at the memory as he took a seat next to me. “I have a Gibson electric at home, as a matter of-“ He coughed into his hand with an alarming severity, holding his chest with his face contorted in pain.
“Good guitars,” I replied absently, ducking behind the papers. “Bless you.”
“How well do you play that thing?”
“I don’t. It’s an air guitar. The case is just for show.”
Pam put my coffee down and giggled mercifully.
“It’s always harder at first ...learning the bar chords and training your fingers. Earning your first calluses...” he said.
“Yeah...”
I began to scan the front page, hoping he could respect my need to be alone at the moment. With my shitty luck my conversation with the man would somehow encourage another religious sermon old people in coffee shops and bus stops are notorious for. I crossed my fingers and hoped I was in the harmless, inoffensive company of a fellow sinner.
“Did you know, son, that Jesus Christ died on the cross for your sins?”
“No! I don’t believe you! I heard he died in a jet ski accident!”
You get the picture. He seemed to regard this as the greatest, best kept secret of all time. If I may just summarize his thirty minute sermon: I learned how religion saved him from a life of sin and alcoholism, and how I should try to follow his example- because as he so bluntly put it- I “look like an alcoholic” (I’ve never touched the stuff). He said simply that I should do the sensible thing and be like him, and how I should repent for my sins because heaven is waiting for those who believe, etc., etc. I listened patiently until I realized he wasn’t playing with a full deck precisely as I suspected- he said that he, too, could talk with God as well as see him standing by the bear claw doughnuts.
“...yes, yes- I believe you, I understand. Sir, I really don’t mean to sound rude but I’m tired and I just want to rest a little and finish reading the paper.” I ducked behind the pages again, irritated at his persistence.
“Sooo...” he continued, “how’d the Dodgers do?”
“They won.”
“Really? What was the score?”
I tossed him the sports section and tried to read the front page. Not for long, though.
“Yup. They sure did. Do you play baseball?”
“Sometimes.”
“Really? What’s your favorite position?”
“Missionary. Woman on top ranks a close second, though.” I threw the paper aside and confronted him. “What is it that you want from me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“You don’t have to get angry about it!”
Pam refilled my cup and scolded the man. “Don’t bother the customers, Larry. Can’t you see that he wants to be left alone?”
“Pam, I’m only trying to be friendly, and you-you never have anything nice to say to me- as if it was beneath your dignity!”
“Look,” I resumed, “if you want the rest of the paper you can have it, if that’s what you want. I’ve had a real bad day and all I want is a little peace and quiet. I don’t want to be saved or born again- I’d rather go to hell where at least I’d be in the company of friends. Besides, if I went to heaven I could have the misfortune of seeing some more scatterbrained cretins like you again. No thank you. You don’t see me running into your house and locking your Bible in the cabinet, do you? Live and let live! For the last half hour I’ve asked politely if you’d just leave me alone but you don’t care…”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll leave you alone, you fucking smart-ass.”
“Thank you.”
I enjoyed two more minutes of silence before he spoke again.
“My daughter has a shirt like yours. It’s white with gray vertical stripes.”
“I feel much better now. It’s not every day that some rambling centurion tells me I dress like a woman.”
“Don’t be sarcastic with me! I’m not being sarcastic with you, am I?”
“Why shouldn’t I be sarcastic? If you don’t respect my wishes why should I respect yours?”
“Because I’m old enough to be your grandfather, you obnoxious little bastard!”
“Oh fuck off!”
Larry shook with rage and so did I, but neither of us had any intention of letting the argument get physical when we stood and faced each other off.
“Don’t raise your voice at me, boy! I’ll break your jaw, damn you!”
“Blow me, you yammering old fu---“
Larry swung wildly and landed one, much to my chagrin. I couldn’t bring myself to return the punch as I rose from the floor. Instead I touched my lip tenderly as Pam arrived, my ears roaring from the blow. She demanded that Larry leave immediately.
“Get the out of here, Larry, get out of here now before I call the police!”
My fingers were bloody and I could taste the bitterness as my sensations returned to me.
“I said now!”
Larry stood dumbfounded, speechless. All the anger was gone, both of us staring stupidly at each other as Pam got a napkin for my mouth. She asked if I was okay but I don’t recall answering her.
“Do you feel better now?” I asked after spitting out a mouthful of blood and saliva in the lavatory.
He was motionless. “I didn’t mean to do that- really- here- hit me back! Hit me back!” He put his arms behind him, waiting desperately. “Do it!”
“No! No. That’s alright- forget it....”
In spite of what happened Larry was reluctant to leave the shop. “Pam, can I finish my coffee? Please I...I...” He hid his face when the tears finally streamed down his tired face. Larry returned to his table for his pictures.
“Finish your coffee.” I said.
“You sure?” asked Pam.
“Yeah. Forget it, Pam. It’s alright.”
She resumed her work without another word. I sat numbly, wiping the blood from my swollen lip as the bleeding subsided and my napkin was drenched crimson, trying hard to ignore his tears. A few minutes later Larry placed the sports section courteously on my table, followed by a clean napkin. He returned to his seat, sitting pensively with reddened, moist eyes, gazing into his cup. His hands were shaking, and he took a little bottle of prescription medication from his pocket, washing a couple of pills down with lukewarm coffee.
“I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“We’ll be friends from now on, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Would you like to see my pictures, son?”
“Why not? Bring ‘em over.”
He brought the photos over to my table with the eagerness of a child. The first picture caught me by surprise though it shouldn’t have. It was a photo of a tree in a back yard.
“That’s my favorite. I call her Nancy,” he said. “You’d be amazed at how much water she drinks up.” He eyed the photo with genuine affection. It was followed by a photo of his hedge Bobby, a dying rose bush named Sarah which was surrounded by weeds, a dilapidated yellow Pinto with a wrecked fender he affectionately called “that broken down piece of shit”, and an anonymous garden hose. The pictures told a thousand words. They poignantly disclosed his loneliness to the point that I finally understood. They left me speechless.
“Do you live by yourself?”, I asked finally.
“For the last twenty-five years.”
“The pictures were interesting. Very nice. Thanks for sharing them with me.”
“They were taken by a disc camera, you know.”
“It shows.” I stood, digging my hands into my pockets for the bus fare. “Shit! I spent my money on that coffee!”
“What money?”
“My bus fare! That’s a long ass walk in the rain- fuck!”
Larry stood, turning his back to me. In the meantime I was frantically searching for extra change. I saw him in time to see Larry shake the white lining of his trouser pocket for the last nickel he had.
“How much do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“No. That’s not true. How much do you need?”
“Eighty-five cents. But I was planning to walk home, anyway.” I flushed beet red and retreated to my chair.
“I have ninety cents here and I don’t need them. You live five miles away. I live on the next block. Take it.” He held the change in front of me with gentle demeanor and an outstretched arm. “Besides, I don’t want your guitar case to get ruined in the rain.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’m always here, everyday.”
“I’ll pay you back tomorrow. I promise.”he returning din of night traffic on Huntington Boulevard.
“You too, “ he said.
Larry finished his coffee, leaving as it started to pour.
The next day I followed the usual routine. I went back to the shop for some coffee.
Pam wiped the counter hastily, avoiding my eyes. Her mascara was smeared on her comely face, and she was wiping a clean spot over and over again. I had seen this face before, and I assumed the problem was another break-up with her boyfriend Nick. They’d been fighting over the stupidest reasons lately, with neither satisfied until they found another excuse to fight again. There was also a fresh bruise on her chin that I didn’t see the previous day.
“Nick and you fighting again?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me your were? If he hit you again?”
She hesitated. “Yes…but hey-hey, are you looking for your friend?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s four o’clock sharp and he’d better be ready for some music lessons. Where is the nut?”
“He left something for you. As soon as I finish this I’ll get it for you.” She took her time as I found a nearby seat, resting my guitar beside me. She finished the job silently, then wiped her hands on her red-checkered apron before going into the back room.
“Where’d you get that bruise, Pam?”
No answer.
“Where’s Larry at, then?”
She placed the gift thoughtfully on the counter. “He left right after you did but he came back and told me to give this to you ...He said you liked them.”
“These are the pictures he showed me yesterday. He shouldn’t have. I lied.”
“He wanted to apologize because he wasn’t going to make it here today.”
“Yeah? I should’ve given him my number, or asked for his. He must be at work or something.” No...
“Hold on ...hey...something’s wrong ...What’s wrong? Why
“We’re friends, remember? You don’t have to.”
“I’ll come regardless. Bring your guitar- we’ll jam together on some blues.”
Larry gave me the money. “You betcha, son. Some blues. You know what’s hip, don’t you?”
“I’ve been accused of that, I must admit.”
“You will be here?”
“Count on it.”
“I’m sorry about your lip, son...”
“Call me Jake. Don’t worry about it. I knew I had it coming sooner or later.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you like that, really. Thank you for looking at my pictures.”
“Anytime. I’ve gotta go. I’ve got five minutes before the bus comes. See you tomorrow at four o’clock sharp. Bring your Gibson, and please take care of yourself.” I pushed the door open and a cool gust of drizzle met my face as I stepped into t
are you crying? Did Nick fuck you up again- what’s wrong, Pam?”
“I was so mean to him yesterday! And when he said that it was beneath me to say something nice to him- I really felt that way!” She wiped her face with the back of her hands and labored to regain composure.
“I liked him, Jake. It would’ve meant something to him if I could tell him but I never did! No matter what I’d do to him, he never changed- he always had time for me.”
“Spit it out. What happened?”
“Officer Jernigan came in this morning. They found Larry on a park bench in the middle of a downpour.”
“And?”
“Blow me, you yammering old fu---“
Larry swung wildly and landed one, much to my chagrin. I couldn’t bring myself to return the punch as I rose from the floor. Instead I touched my lip tenderly as Pam arrived, my ears roaring from the blow. She demanded that Larry leave immediately.
“Get the out of here, Larry, get out of here now before I call the police!”
My fingers were bloody and I could taste the bitterness as my sensations returned to me.
“I said now!”
Larry stood dumbfounded, speechless. All the anger was gone, both of us staring stupidly at each other as Pam got a napkin for my mouth. She asked if I was okay but I don’t recall answering her.
“Do you feel better now?” I asked after spitting out a mouthful of blood and saliva in the lavatory.
He was motionless. “I didn’t mean to do that- really- here- hit me back! Hit me back!” He put his arms behind him, waiting desperately. “Do it!”
“No! No. That’s alright- forget it....”
In spite of what happened Larry was reluctant to leave the shop. “Pam, can I finish my coffee? Please I...I...” He hid his face when the tears finally streamed down his tired face. Larry returned to his table for his pictures.
“Finish your coffee.” I said.
“You sure?” asked Pam.
“Yeah. Forget it, Pam. It’s alright.”
She resumed her work without another word. I sat numbly, wiping the blood from my swollen lip as the bleeding subsided and my napkin was drenched crimson, trying hard to ignore his tears. A few minutes later Larry placed the sports section courteously on my table, followed by a clean napkin. He returned to his seat, sitting pensively with reddened, moist eyes, gazing into his cup. His hands were shaking, and he took a little bottle of prescription medication from his pocket, washing a couple of pills down with lukewarm coffee.
“I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“We’ll be friends from now on, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Would you like to see my pictures, son?”
“Why not? Bring ‘em over.”
He brought the photos over to my table with the eagerness of a child. The first picture caught me by surprise though it shouldn’t have. It was a photo of a tree in a back yard.
“That’s my favorite. I call her Nancy,” he said. “You’d be amazed at how much water she drinks up.” He eyed the photo with genuine affection. It was followed by a photo of his hedge Bobby, a dying rose bush named Sarah which was surrounded by weeds, a dilapidated yellow Pinto with a wrecked fender he affectionately called “that broken down piece of shit”, and an anonymous garden hose. The pictures told a thousand words. They poignantly disclosed his loneliness to the point that I finally understood. They left me speechless.
“Do you live by yourself?”, I asked finally.
“For the last twenty-five years.”
“The pictures were interesting. Very nice. Thanks for sharing them with me.”
“They were taken by a disc camera, you know.”
“It shows.” I stood, digging my hands into my pockets for the bus fare. “Shit! I spent my money on that coffee!”
“What money?”
“My bus fare! That’s a long ass walk in the rain- fuck!”
Larry stood, turning his back to me. In the meantime I was frantically searching for extra change. I saw him in time to see Larry shake the white lining of his trouser pocket for the last nickel he had.
“How much do you need?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“No. That’s not true. How much do you need?”
“Eighty-five cents. But I was planning to walk home, anyway.” I flushed beet red and retreated to my chair.
“I have ninety cents here and I don’t need them. You live five miles away. I live on the next block. Take it.” He held the change in front of me with gentle demeanor and an outstretched arm. “Besides, I don’t want your guitar case to get ruined in the rain.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’m always here, everyday.”
“I’ll pay you back tomorrow. I promise.”he returning din of night traffic on Huntington Boulevard.
“You too, “ he said.
Larry finished his coffee, leaving as it started to pour.
The next day I followed the usual routine. I went back to the shop for some coffee.
Pam wiped the counter hastily, avoiding my eyes. Her mascara was smeared on her comely face, and she was wiping a clean spot over and over again. I had seen this face before, and I assumed the problem was another break-up with her boyfriend Nick. They’d been fighting over the stupidest reasons lately, with neither satisfied until they found another excuse to fight again. There was also a fresh bruise on her chin that I didn’t see the previous day.
“Nick and you fighting again?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me your were? If he hit you again?”
She hesitated. “Yes…but hey-hey, are you looking for your friend?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s four o’clock sharp and he’d better be ready for some music lessons. Where is the nut?”
“He left something for you. As soon as I finish this I’ll get it for you.” She took her time as I found a nearby seat, resting my guitar beside me. She finished the job silently, then wiped her hands on her red-checkered apron before going into the back room.
“Where’d you get that bruise, Pam?”
No answer.
“Where’s Larry at, then?”
She placed the gift thoughtfully on the counter. “He left right after you did but he came back and told me to give this to you ...He said you liked them.”
“These are the pictures he showed me yesterday. He shouldn’t have. I lied.”
“He wanted to apologize because he wasn’t going to make it here today.”
“Yeah? I should’ve given him my number, or asked for his. He must be at work or something.” No...
“Hold on ...hey...something’s wrong ...What’s wrong? Why
“We’re friends, remember? You don’t have to.”
“I’ll come regardless. Bring your guitar- we’ll jam together on some blues.”
Larry gave me the money. “You betcha, son. Some blues. You know what’s hip, don’t you?”
“I’ve been accused of that, I must admit.”
“You will be here?”
“Count on it.”
“I’m sorry about your lip, son...”
“Call me Jake. Don’t worry about it. I knew I had it coming sooner or later.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you like that, really. Thank you for looking at my pictures.”
“Anytime. I’ve gotta go. I’ve got five minutes before the bus comes. See you tomorrow at four o’clock sharp. Bring your Gibson, and please take care of yourself.” I pushed the door open and a cool gust of drizzle met my face as I stepped into t
are you crying? Did Nick fuck you up again- what’s wrong, Pam?”
“I was so mean to him yesterday! And when he said that it was beneath me to say something nice to him- I really felt that way!” She wiped her face with the back of her hands and labored to regain composure.
“I liked him, Jake. It would’ve meant something to him if I could tell him but I never did! No matter what I’d do to him, he never changed- he always had time for me.”
“Spit it out. What happened?”
“Officer Jernigan came in this morning. They found Larry on a park bench in the middle of a downpour.”
“And?”
“He had a heart attack, one he probably could have survived had anyone been around to help. Jake, Larry had a heart condition…I could have drove him home!” She went into the back room again but she didn’t return to the counter.
I still have those pictures. They’re something to treasure. It’s all I have to remember him by. Here was a man who refused to kill the weeds in his garden because they, too, had a right to live. Larry had no known relatives; no one knows where he’s buried. All I know is that his name was Larry, and that I’m grateful that he reached out to me like he did. I only wish I could pay him back.