Big Spenders / The Low Spark of Teenage Girls
by L Mari Harris
Big Spenders
Big Joe shows up every night around eleven to count the till, then disappears into his office by the bathrooms until close. I can hear him purring through the wall every time I’m in the last stall. Oh baby, yeah, that’s right, just like that. I always thought he was having phone sex with his long-distance girlfriend, until one night, Jason the bartender told me Big Joe was really talking to those live-cam girls. A full till means Big Joe will be on that phone the rest of the night. As long as my paycheck is good every week, what do I care?
Jason tells me he loves me every night at least twice. All I’m ever thinking about is how much my feet are killing me, how I just want the night to end so I can go home and put my swollen feet up above my heart line. Jason says he used to be a rock star. I tell him playing cover songs in shitty bars ten years ago doesn’t make him a rock star. Hey, I played Sturgis once. Opened for Slaughter. His chin drops and he stares at the concrete floor when I laugh, say Hey rock star, I need two Bud Lights and a whiskey Coke. Jason’s still living in the past, and I’ve got somewhere I’m trying to go.
Once I save enough money, I’m moving to Denver. I can make three times waitressing there than I do in this border town. Jason always hints maybe he’ll move there too. Don’t do it because of me, buddy, I have big plans.
Sometimes, I let Jason come over after we close. I keep discovering more of his belongings in my apartment: his acoustic guitar tucked in the corner by the couch, then a blue toothbrush on the sink. Then Suave Alpine Fresh 2-in-1 Shampoo & Conditioner in my shower caddy. I never say anything. Just let him make me something fruity and strong as he softly sings the songs he claims are written about me. How can I tell? Could be about any girl in any old town. I just nod my head, give him a sleepy smile, tell him it’s time for bed.
Big Joe walks through the front door ten minutes before eleven, sees all of the tables full, smiles. For a Thursday night, that’s a good crowd. Jason had suggested karaoke with dollar draws, two-dollar wells one night a week, about a month ago, and it’s turned out to be surprisingly popular with the factory workers and students at the ag college. Big Joe’s going to disappear into his office with his live-cam girls and spend big tonight.
I take another round over to the factory worker tables, pat the men’s shoulders and complement the women on their purses and new highlights. The factory workers know the value of earning a buck and tip well.
Jason motions me over, and I cover the bar as he heads over to the small stage he built out of plywood. He starts to sing, wistful, soft at first, until he reaches the chorus, tilts his head back, opens his mouth wide, belts out how love's knockin’ outside your door. The factory workers and the ag students cheer and clap. I pull bills out of my pocket, count how much I’ve made so far tonight, think how we’re all big spenders.
The Low Spark of Teenage Girls
Say we walk down the middle of the street at night. Cradle sweating bottles of Mountain Dew against our cheeks. Our cutoffs too short, our hair too long. Our tank tops a size too small. Say we push our shoulders back and walk like we have the answers tucked away. Pull little pots of lip gloss out of our back pockets, pinky fingers slick, stain our lips cherry red. Say we kiss boys drenched in summer rain. Boys who smell like warm blacktop, the fields, leather and salt. Boys who grip us hard, pull us close. Tease whispers of burning love on a dead-end road. Say we kiss the same boys, compare notes. Use code words like Cool Ranch Doritos and Fireball. Memorize their hearts but forget their names. Say we’re waiting for the one who sings lullabies in his sleep. Say all of this happens. Would we sizzle and snap, lightning shooting from our fingertips? The braggarts, the liars, scattering? Would their houses spark and blaze as we walked by? Would we feel a lightness? Say all of this happens. Say we call it electric.
L Mari Harris’s most recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in matchbook, Ponder Review, Milk Candy Review, CRAFT, Okay Donkey, among others. She works in the tech industry and lives in the Ozarks. Follow her on Twitter @LMariHarris and read more of her work at lmariharris.wordpress.com.
