Read Memory Boy for Free Online Page B

slams.”
    Inside, the place was full of farmer types and businessmen. There was a major pause as they gave us the twice-over. We smiled. My mother waddled to the counter. Slowly their conversation resumed, but I kept looking around. It was odd to see a full restaurant of people drinking coffee and eating eggs and pancakes like it was back in the 1990s.
    â€œOrder me a number three, okay?” Sarah said as she headed to the bathroom. Several men followed her with their eyes. Behind the counter the greaseheads wore the usual short-sleeved stupid uniforms with shiny name tags that said SHERRI and JUSTIN and DAVE — ASST. MANAGER . Everybody had the usual perky smiles. Above the counter were the usual mug shots of burgers and drinks, though I noticed that the prices were blank.
    â€œMaybe the sky’s not falling after all,” my mother said to my father as she looked around the place.
    He said something back that made her laugh.
    My parents (probably all parents) have coded language they’ve developed, and I can usually interpret it, but today I was too hungry to bother. It was just nice to see them together, talking. When we finished ordering, the cashier (Sherri) looked up brightly and said to my mother, “That will be ninety-two fifty.”
    â€œExcuse me?” my mother asked.
    The clerk repeated the price.
    â€œAre you kidding?” My mother laughed. “Almost a hundred bucks for breakfast at McDonald’s?”
    The clerk shrugged. Her smile slipped, and conversation died as people turned to stare.
    My mother glanced about at the full restaurant, then back to the clerk. “So tell me, is everyone in this town rich? How do all these people afford such prices?”
    â€œWell, actually they don’t,” Sherri murmured.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œAh, they live here.”
    There was absolute silence in the restaurant. Sherri looked behind for help.
    â€œJust pay,” I whispered to my mother.
    â€œYou mean you have two sets of prices?” my mother pressed.
    Dave the Assistant Manager stepped forward. “That’s right, folks. One for local people. One for strangers.”
    At the word strangers , the silence got even quieter.
    â€œMiles is right,” my father said softly to my mother. “Just pay, and we’ll be on our way.”
    My mother bit her lower lip and slapped down five twenty-dollar bills.
    â€œHere or to go?” the clerk asked. Her cheerful face was back.
    â€œHere!” my mother said. “If we’re going to pay over ninety dollars for breakfast, at least we deserve a damn table.”
    We ate, and made sure we used plenty of syrup and catsup. My mother continued to fume over the prices, but the rest of us ate. And ate. It was like we’d never had fast food before. We were sweaty by the time we finished pancakes and eggs, juice and milk and coffees. A man in the next booth watched us eat. He had a kindly, round face and a seed-corn cap tilted to one side.
    â€œYou folks must have been hungry.” He smiled.
    â€œYou got that right,” my mother said.
    â€œPassing through?”
    â€œThat’s right,” she answered.
    â€œThat’s good,” he said; his kindly smile slipped a bit.
    My mother raised one dark eyebrow; she didn’t reply.
    â€œWhat I mean is, we got more and more people think they got to get out of the cities,” the man said. “They think if they get themselves to a small town, other people will take care of them.” Men around him nodded.
    â€œNope, that wouldn’t be us,” my mother said, her voice picking up the edges of his speech, finding his own rhythms and bouncing them back. “We’re headed north … on vacation. Right, gang?”
    We all nodded pleasantly, then bent low to wipe our mouths.
    Outside, my father let out a long breath.
    â€œThat was scary,” Sarah said, looking over her shoulder.
    â€œWe’d best keep