"Last night I dreamed of Johnny
Depp," Lavergne said.
Ruthanne laughed. "Welcome to the
club."
Lavergne paused in her work, her
buffing rag smothering the business end of the spoon that would, in
eighteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds, catch the sluggish sugar
poured from a dispenser dotted with ketchup and fingerprints,. "What
club?"
"Dreamers' club." Ruthanne
cracked her gum. "People begin to dream when they realize their
lives are limited. Maybe they're out of options. Maybe they've
reached the halfway point in their lives and are wondering: What
have I done that is remarkable?
Johnny's telling you something, Lavergne. Telling you about what's
missing."
"It was just a
dream."
Ruthanne nodded.
"That's what we all say. Dreaming's easier than making things
happen. Cheaper too. I got braces to pay for. College bills, too. I
ain't got time to dream. 'Sides, we need what's missing to appreciate
what we got."
"What do you
mean?"
Ruthanne wiped the
counter with a damp blue sponge then held it up, studying its flesh.
"See these holes? It's the holes in this sponge that give it
structure. You got holes in your life, too."
Lavergne frowned.
"I don't want holes in my life."
"We all got
'em. Regrets. Choices. Missed opportunities. All that builds up your
life. It's what makes you you and nobody else."
"I can't live
that way, Ruthanne."
Ruthanne nodded and
dipped the sponge into the dishpan, filling the holes of the sponge
with water. "Then quit dreaming, kid. Get out of here."
"You're firing
me?"
"I'm setting
you free. Now go, before I change my mind."
Ruthanne watched
Lavergne untie her apron and walk out the front door before setting
down the sponge and picking up the telephone. "Angie? Listen, I
got a hole in my schedule. Think you can pick up the breakfast shift
for me?"
"You finally
fire that kid?"
"You could say
that." Ruthanne laughed gently and cracked her gum.
"She'll be
back, sooner or later."
Ruthanne nodded. "I
know it."
Kelly Garriott Waite on Google+
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