Life's A Beach

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Life's A Beach: Chapter 28: Life's A Beach

Times quickly morphed back to normal and I returned to good-old-Kendall, minus my wonderful college boyfriend, because I missed the town so much.

Not.

Paula had me working overtime at The Snack Bar. Honestly, I felt like she couldn't hate me anymore than she did and I was growing not-so-fond of screaming purpled haired bosses. I'd never wiped so many tabletops nor cleaned as many windows in my entire life than what Paula made me do in one day. I swear the smell of bleach was damaging my brain cells and the Windex was turning my skin blue.

Okay, I may be exaggerating but if they tested my blood for Windex poisoning, they sure would find it.

"Hello, Paula." I grunted as I did the regular door jiggle to get it open.

It snapped open and the sunlight flooded into hell. Just kidding.

"Dish duty." she barked.

Or not.

I rolled my eyes and she shimmied her way back to the front of The Snack Bar screaming orders down to the cashier who couldn't tell the different between the quarters and nickels.

Poor cashier. Poor me.

"Welcome back, Sudsy." Foster hummed from his popping grill.

His hair was messier than usual and it looked like he hadn't hit water in days. I know he was homeless, but he usually took care of himself. The smock he wore had the usual burger grease splatters coating the front like an abstract piece of art and his combat boots were unlaced and hazardous. A thin layer of dirt seemed to coat his washed out face and he looked less glowing than normal.

I then met big eyes and a mass of curly untamed hair as I spotted a frantic Ryan at work with his only friend, the lousy onion.

"Sudsy?" I questioned while slipping over to the sink piled with dishes like The Leaning Tower of Plate Scum.

Foster spun away from the grill as Ryan fetched the finished burger on a plate and took it to it's rightful owner outside of the kitchen piled high with layers of lettuce. Foster looked completely drained but his grey eyes remained clear and soft.

"Yeah, like the suds made from bubbles when you wash the di-" I cut him off.

"You alright?"

Foster scratched the back of his neck before shuddering as if he got a chill. He nodded his head sending his hair flopping across his forehead and spun his spatula expertly between his two fingers. A waiter entered the room and pinned another order above the grill.

"I think I might be catching something. I'm fine." he muttered before turning back to the grill quickly.

I wish I could say I believed him. But I didn't.

~~~

The wind flicked my hair into my eyes and I quickly tucked the strands back as the toned ringer sounded on the phone. My lungs filled with the familiar smell of smoke from Foster seated beside me on our lunch break outside of The Snack Bar. He begged Paula to let him go bend an elbow and I tagged along.

European-backpacking-Jasper didn't pick up and, for the first time, it went to voice mail. I placed my phone on my lap and Foster noticed right away. It was a void in the usual routine.

"That's a first." he laughed before erupting into a fit of harsh coughs.

Typical for a smoker. He stomped the cigarette into the graveyard of others before running a hand through his disarrayed hair. His expression hardened as he glared at the cigarette like it was it's fault for making him cough. The last time I checked, they weren't good for you to begin with. I leaned over and smoothed down his hair setting it in place neatly. He quietly thanked me.