Traveler by L.E. DeLano

Author:L.E. DeLano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

25

Dirty Job

I stare at myself in the mirror and watch as my face changes slightly—the makeup gets heavy and turns very goth-looking, with a lot of black eyeliner. I have an eyebrow piercing. And bangs—ugh! I step through into the bathroom at the pizza parlor.

I give myself one more glance in the mirror, shaking my head, especially when I remember the entire notebook full of sad, death-related emo poetry that’s in my bag. I wrinkle my nose and step out of the bathroom.

I’m early, so I kill some time by ordering a slice of pizza to go with my soda. I toy with the idea of getting a beer or a glass of wine since I can, but I decide I’d better keep my wits about me.

It’s been at least three-quarters of an hour, and I’m about to call it quits when they finally walk in. The mom looks nice enough, and the boys look about ten and six. The younger one is sitting on the outside, making my job easier.

“Right. I can do this,” I tell myself.

I stand up, grab my soda, and walk like I’m heading for the bathrooms, with a slight detour by their table. I do a pretty credible job tripping—mainly because I really do start to trip once I try to fake it—and I end up throwing not only my soda at the kid, but my whole self as well, knocking him over in his chair as I go staggering.

He starts shrieking almost immediately, and it’s a horrible sound, like I’ve seriously injured him, and I am terrified. I run back to him immediately and his mother is right next to me, pulling him up and into her arms.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…” She’s rocking him back and forth as she repeats it over and over again, and I see him desperately pulling at his shirt, trying to get the wetness of it away from his body as he continues to shriek.

Something in the way she’s soothing him, the dirty look his brother is giving me, and the child’s overblown response clicks, and I crouch down next to him, completely horrified. I look at the mother.

“I’m so sorry. Listen, I have a tank top on under this.” I lift up my shirt to show her. “Can I give him my shirt? It’s dry. He won’t notice the wetness that way.”

She looks at me gratefully. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I feel terrible about this.” I yank off my T-shirt and hand it to her.

“It’s okay,” she reassures me, as her eyes dart around to all the people staring her down. I watch one woman in the booth next to us mouth the word brat, and I am suddenly on my feet.

“He’s a little boy!” I say to the woman in the booth. “I just startled him badly and his shirt is soaked through, making his skin cold and wet. He’s having a hard time processing all of it at once, okay?”

The booth woman looks at me

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