The Chambers Kid
Date of events: Friday, April 29, 1960
The blonde-haired boy leaned into his workbook with a glimmer of excitement, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth in concentration. With a firm grip on the crayon, he skillfully laid down each waxy line with precision.
His brown-haired friend glared over his shoulder at his workbook, mortified. "Chris! What are you doing?!"
"This is my best Felix the Cat yet," Chris chuckled as he finished a a perfect set of ears for his toon.
It was one of many scribbles sketched onto the page. He had everything from Huckleberry Hound to Mighty Mouse, from to Daffy Duck to Tom and Jerry, and every single one looked like he'd traced it straight from a comic book. But there were no comic books in sight, or at least none that I could spot amidst the jumbled chaos of workbooks and textbooks strewn across the table.
"Did you do any of those problems, yet?" his friend asked.
"Yeah, I will. I'll just finish this."
"We've been at this for nearly an hour and you haven't done anything?"
"Stop being a wetend, Lachance! I said I'd do them, didn't I?"
"Seriously? It was your idea for us to both enroll in College prep!"
"And how else was I s'posed to stop you taking those in stupid shop classes?"
"Well, I'm not going alone. If you fail the test next week, you'll get kicked out, and I'm not stayin' in that class full of pussies by myself!"
"Gordie... face facts. I ain't passin' that test if I study or if I don't. Algebra is so confusing! It's like learning Egyptian hydragliphics or somethin'!"
"They're hieroglyphics. And this is just basic algebra. It'll make sense if you'd stop playing around and just concentrate on what I'm saying."
Chris drew a heavy sigh and pushed his drawings aside. "Fine, I'll try." He rummaged through his mess of school pages. "Where'd they go?"
"Probably somewhere between the Flintstones and Yogi…" Gordie muttered, burying his focus back into his workbook.
"Where's my pen?" Chris turned his books inside out with increasing frustration.
"It's right there," I said.
Both boys simultaneously looked up at me, surprised to see their waitress standing next to their table with their latest order.
I tried to point at the nib of the pen that stuck out from one of the text books, but it was difficult while holding two full glasses of ice-cold Coke. "Err... where should I put these?"
"Oh - sorry, Miss."
"Sorry, Miss."
Gordie began tidying up the table by closing the books to create some space, and uncovered the crumby plates and cutlery from the burgers I had brought them earlier. I set the drinks down on the table with a smile and wiped the condensation off my hands using my apron.
The boys were seated side by side in the booth closest to the counter, appearing as your average middle-class jeans and T-shirts teenagers. The blonde had a buzz cut that had grown out over the past few months, and his broad stature gave him a mature appearance that made him look older than his brown-haired friend, although it was difficult to tell if he was for sure.
They'd never been in before, but it was understandable they'd chosen our diner as a place to study. For one thing, it was late in the afternoon, and they were the only customers in, so apart from me banging around in the kitchen, it was quiet enough for them to focus. And for two, our booths have these rustic, wooden tables which only seat four, but are so wide that you'd have to stretch to kick your friends opposite you. They're not efficient on space, but they do make the perfect sized study surface. Violet said her late husband built every single one of those tables with his bare hands; just one thing that makes our diner so unique.
I picked up one of the text books, and the weight of it brought back memories of the pressures of school life as I flipped through the thick set pages. It had only been a few months since I had last held one, but it felt like years.
"Algebra was always one of my favorite subjects," I muttered to myself more than anyone. "You've got an important test coming up, huh?" I asked the boys.
"We have to pass heaps of them to get into the college prep courses next year," Chris said.
"Oh... you're in Junior High? I thought you were fifteen..."
"I'm nearly fourteen - next month." He grinned a boyish grin which, in itself, should have given away his real age. His complexion was way too pure for one in the midst of adolescence.
"Well, good luck with it." I set the book down before him, open at the middle as a cheeky hint for him to get to work.
"Hey Miss," Chris smirked. "Since you like Algebra so much, do you know the answers to any of these?" He ran his finger down the long list of problems in his workbook.
Gordie rolled his eyes but kept his head down as the answers appeared to flow effortlessly from his pen.
I shrugged my shoulders, thinking why not. "It's been a while, but I can try," I said. "What don't you understand?"
"Everything. It says,Solve for x. Who the hell is X?"
I chuckled. "It means you need to figure out thevalueof x. And all of these are clues," I pointed to the surrounding elements of the problem.
"Clues?" He looked at me, his blue eyes suddenly bright with interest. It was as if a penny had dropped into his thoughts.
"Yeah. You know you're solving a puzzle, right? That's all maths is. Puzzles."
"Oh - so, how do you work it out?"
"Well, you need get rid of everything else so x is by itself." I leaned on the table and wrote out the process of isolation, step-by step, and noticed him becoming more engrossed with every line. "There you are. x = 5."
"And that's it?"
"Chris," Gordie elbowed him. "I explained that to you like, three times…"
"You never said there were clues! It's like, all the answers are right here in front of me! I just need to use all this stuff," he gestured at the problem, "to work them out!"
Gordie stared at him blankly. He stared and stared.
"That's it, Chris," I slapped him on the back. "See if you can do the next one."
"Thanks, Miss."
I raised my eyebrows and pointed to the name tag pinned to my chest.
"Cassie," Chris chuffed, and I nodded.
Chris reached for his coke with his left hand but struggled to bring the drink to his lips, so passed the glass to his right to take the sip. It was then that I noticed a long, thin scar on the inside of his elbow, spanning from one side to the other. I wondered what on earth he could have done to bust up his arm like that at such a young age. It didn't seem to bother him, though. He straightened his posture, and talked through solving the next problem with a new found spark of excitement. And within a minute, he had it done.
"You're a fast learner!" I said for encouragement. "Go on then - next one."
At that moment, the old, brass bell that hangs above the Blue Point diner's front door jingled. Cackles hit the walls as a familiar group of middle aged ladies paraded in, dressed in their Sunday best on a Friday and made up like they were going to a posh restaurant for a mid-afternoon luncheon. The funny thing is, our diner is more rustic than posh. It's like a well used antique, one that could do with a spit, polish and shine. And... the storefront could use a bucket of paint to cover the chips and wear over the years... And there's a few planks in the hardwood floors that squeak, and when you stand one end of a plank, the nail will pop right up from the other end... I stomp on them with my shoe to nail them back down to avoid any customer accidents... And the toilet flusher gets a bit stiff... but the diner is sanitary. I should know.
The four ladies settled into their usual booth, the second from the front on the left-hand side. One of them, the leader of the coven, waved me over with a derogatory smirk, arrogance filling the room. Her pompousness was laughable. The long-length, flowing dress she wore - I saw that very one in the window of the discount clothing store a few doors down only a day before.
"Come, girl," she said haughtily, appointing me as their maid for the afternoon. "We shall take delight in our usual culinary selection." She waved me off again to fetch their tea and scones with jam. They called it 'high tea'. I called them delusional. Don't get me wrong, our food is the best in town, but we're a diner, not some elegant tea lounge. However, since they always offered to pay elegant tea lounge prices and tipped like it too, I was willing to play tea parties with them as long as they didn't push it.
"Hold on tight to your purses, Girls," a second lady whispered in a posh English accent. "There is a Chambers in our radius."
Exaggerated gasps came from the other three ladies as they turned to stare at Chris and Gordie, a few tables away.
Both boys had lifted their heads from their books and were staring straight back at her from across the room.
"Which Chambers boy is that?" a third lady whispered, her eyes alight with excitement. It was like she'd struck gossip gold.
"Christopher," number one answered. Her nose lifted somewhat higher into the air, expressing her clear disproval of him. She caught me glaring at her. "What are you waiting for, girl? Get a move on!"
I collected the boy's dirty plates on my way back to my station behind the counter, then strained to catch every whisper of conversation as I worked.
"Is that the boy who stole all that money from the school?"
"Yes. That's exactly him."
"It was no surprise to me. The eldest started just the same! Everyone knows the whole family are thieves."
"All those boys will meet their ends in jail."
"Or become despicable alcoholics like their father!"
Chris stared at his workbook, but his pen was motionless. Gordie's attention shifted back and forth between the women and Chris, his body becoming visibly tense. Sensing the escalating tension, I locked eyes with number one and gave her a silent warning to quit the rudeness. But she just smirked.
"I heard he is attempting to enroll in the college curriculum for next year. My son told me so!"
"It's a sham. No Chambers has ever made it midway though high-school let alone college!"
"He shouldn't be granted the choice after what he did!"
"He's occupying a seat that could otherwise be taken by someone worthy!"
"The school board must have lost their minds!"
"It's the new principal's fault. He has absolutely no idea about such matters in this town!"
I had already set their teapot of Earl Gray in the center of our best gold serving tray and carefully surrounded it with four fine China teacups. But after hearing all of that, I didn't bother to heat up the scones, slopped some jam into their middles and threw them onto the second serving tray.
The soles of my shoes slapped the hardwood floor as I stormed over there, and I dropped the two trays right in the middle of their table, the racket making three of them jump.
"Excuse me, ladies, I couldn't help but overhear you disrespecting other customers who are dining with us today. We'd appreciate it if you would refrain from expressing any negative opinions."
"These scones are cold!" number two said after biting into one.
"Bring us some hot scones," number one said. "And none of these old ones from this morning. They must be baked fresh!"
My lip curled as I picked up the scone tray and took it with me towards the kitchen. One more word out of them, and they'd be eating pavement.
"Are you OK?" I asked the boys as I passed them. Chris and Gordie were packing their books away in their satchels. "Wait, you don't have to go."
"It's getting late," Gordie said. He counted a few coins on the table and slid them over to me. Chris did the same, but turned up short. Way short.
"Do you have a few cents more?" I tried to keep my voice low as I asked, but the vultures had ears like a hawks.
"Well, that's no surprise!" one said.
"It's just as I told you. All of those boys are thieves..."
I dropped the tray on the other table, and my runners hit the hardwood once again.
"It's time to leave."
"I beg your pardon?" The first woman placed a ring-clad hand on her chest, clearly taken aback.
"You're distressing other customers. I clearly warned you, and you chose to ignore me. OUT."
"Why I never!" number two exclaimed, starting to gather her things.
"Sit back down," number one ordered her friend. "I demand to speak to the manager."
"I am the manager."
"Nonsense. Where's the red-haired girl?"
"She's not here."
Her red lipstick-smeared lip curled into a condescending smile as she rose from her seat, until her pointed nose was level with mine. My imagination took me on a brief fantasy of grabbing the ketchup bottle off the table and squirting red, sticky goo all down the front of that pretty floral swing-dress and covering every one of those stupid-looking over-sized buttons.
"When the 'real' manager sees the terrible article about this establishment in the local paper, you'll no longer have a job," she snapped. "My husband is the owner, and I could have such an article written to it by tomorrow morning! I could run articles every single week!"
My face burned intensely enough to make my eyes water. I fixed my gaze tight on her miserable face, noticing every wrinkle that she'd tried to conceal under layer upon layer of caked-on makeup. It was infuriating that people like her exist in the world. I opened my mouth to speak, to let it rip what I really thought of her but bit my tongue. If her husband truly worked for the paper and given her attitude, she probably wasn't bluffing. I knew I wouldn't lose my job over this, but the potential damage to the diner's reputation was concerning.
Still, I wasn't about to let a bitch like her get one over on me.
I stood tall, my gaze firm and unwavering. "Your behavior has been disruptive and disrespectful to other customers. I going to have to ask you to leave the premises."
"Then good riddance to you!" she spat.
Number two shot up from her seat in outrage and the other two followed suit.
"Let us go, Cynthia!"
"The service here is ghastly anyway!"
"Yes! Cold scones!"
"Well, I never!"
The four bumbled around, gathering their things, and eventually slammed the diner shut behind them so hard it rattled the windows.
"And good riddance to you." I took a breath and a moment to let my temper settle and my mind regain clarity.
"Are you OK, Cassie?" Chris's small, soft voice came from behind me, and I turned to see two pale faces. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"Are you seriously blaming yourself?" I asked him. "You had absolutely no control over that."
"It's just who I am," Chris shrugged. "It follows me around wherever I go."
The boys slung their satchels over their shoulders while I just stood there, stunned into silence, and as they walked out, the brass bell jingled for the final time that day. What a day.
I wiped down both tables, arranged the sauces and salt and pepper shakers, tidied the stacks of napkins, and aligned the menus. It was then that I realized something was missing - the box of crayons Chris used to draw his toons. They were the only pack of crayons in the diner and the only tool we had to keep the little ones entertained while they waited for their food. I checked under the seats and the neighboring tables and scoured around for a few more minutes but came up empty-handed.
I guessed Chris accidentally scooped them up with his books in his haste to leave… however, I must admit, the accusations the ladies raised did cross my mind. I supposed there could be some truth to it all. Not that it mattered much to me. To me, he seemed like a good kid, keen to work if given the chance. And whether he slipped those crayons into his satchel knowingly or not, I had some faith he'd do the right thing and return them. In hindsight, that should have seemed like a longshot, (I mean, they're just a pack of well-used crayons) but… what can I say? I believed in him from the start.