Posted in Posted by Rudyard Kipling
A tall African woman walked into the little coffee shop on the roadside curb, her ears dangled with beaded earrings, a red and brown scarf wrapped around her slender throat. She smiled at Pierre, the man behind the counter, and slipped into her usual seat beside the window, looking out at the white afternoon. Snow slipped down the big glass windows, smudging the brightly colored advertisements for live music and buy one, get one free doughnut sales. The cars honked at each other and their tires made a soft nicking sound in the crunchy snow on the dark cement, but inside the tiny overlooked coffee shop it was cozy and fragrant with the smells of tomato soup and fresh fresh cold sandwiches. Pierre came from behind the counter and grinned, his teeth white and even, as he sat down in the booth opposite the young black woman.
"If it isn't Ginger Shi, out on a rainy day like this!" Pierre laughed, thankful that his break was going to last for a good long while. His voice rolled from his tongue in an eloquent foreign accent. He and Ginger had been friends for several years, ever since the young woman had moved to the tiny-town in M'aine to work on her second record album. Ever since she was a young girl, Ginger had dreamed about singing, and several years ago her dream had been realized with a record dealer who had fixed her up with the equipment. Ginger had music thriving in her very soul, so said her deeply religious Southern family, but her first CD had not been a huge success, mainly due to the fact that she "told it like it was" and held nothing back. Ginger's vibrant spirit had to speak out against the injustice that taunted the nation with overbearing laws and unwise wars with other countries. No one wanted to hear the truth anymore and Ginger refused to stop singing it, so she'd had to move up to M'aine for some peace and quiet while she worked on twelve more songs for her second CD. Her family stayed down in the Delta, a marshy stretch of land between several states, and called her rental house phone every day to encourage her and pray for her. Ginger Shi would have been all alone in M'aine, trying to get past virtual brick walls in her inspiration by herself, had it not been for Pierre. The coffee shop employee had literally run into her one summer afternoon while she had been walking down the sidewalk with some packages to mail to the Delta, and offered to help her. Ginger's inspiration had been coming "slow as a snail's grandma" that day and her soul was in need of refreshing, so after the boxes had been mailed, Ginger let Pierre show her to the little roadside coffee shop, nestled in the middle of the town. There in the quiet shop Ginger found herself telling the young man about her flopping occupation, and Pierre offered to treat her with free caffeine whenever she was in need of an energy boost. Ginger had been so downtrodden that day, she eagerly accepted and had been going to the shop nearly every day for rest, friendship and a free mocha.
"How's your mama?" asked Pierre, sipping at his steaming drink. He untied his cheery green apron and rolled up the sleeved of his wrinkled red shirt. His hair was thick and black, and a moustasche grew around his grinning mouth. His dark eyes twinkled with kindness as Ginger poured milk into her mocha and took a sip.
"She's doin' jist fine," Ginger answered in her Southern twang. It fell from her tongue with bounce and sass, and Pierre loved to sit and listen to her talk. "You wouldn't buhlieve all thet Momma's had to deal with in th' past several months, with her hip busted out an' all!" Ginger went on, smoothing the snug tie-dye vest over her long-sleeved burgandy shirt. "The kids are bein' raunchy, as always, an' she's bout outta her wits tryin' to keep up with 'em all!"
"Why doesn't she get help?" Pierre asked. Ginger laughed, her chuckle warm and rich. "You know Momma, she won't take help from nobody." Ginger took another sip, feeling the chocolate and milk slip down her weary throat. "Sakes alive, this is good!" Pierre smiled and nodded, watching the snow alight on the storehouse roof outside.
"Any thoughts on what...on what I'd approached you about on Wednesday?" Pierre coughed, his handsome face reddening. Ginger finished her mocha silently, methodically, and threw the Styrofoam cup into the large green garbage bin. Sitting back down, Ginger looked Pierre squarely in the eye.
"I ain't bout to make thet kinda decision without my folks here," she answered. "They have to have a hand in this, an' with Momma's hip out, they ain't no way the folks can come up here to help me out. I'm sorry, Pierre, it was a real swell offer...I jist cain't pay too much attention to it right now, with my tenth song well on th' way of bein' finished. You understand?"
Pierre nodded bitterly, the coffee in his stomach turning cold and sour. Ginger sighed and leaned against the plastic plaid booth. "I don't wanna hurt your feelin's, Pierre, I...jist cain't do it right now, thet's all." She snatched up her purse and strode quickly out the door, hating the little bell that rang as it slammed behind her. She passed the window as she bolted for her car on the roadside and saw Pierre's face through the softly falling snow. It looked...almost angry, for a moment, before a profound sadness overtook it. Ginger Shi couldn't stand it anymore and jumped into her car, nearly shutting her long African print skirt in the door, and forced the car to roar with life. Without another look backwards, she drove down the slick highway and out into the country.
