The Deli Counter
Somehow, it always does.
Yesterday,
Mommy took me, my Papa Paul, my big brother Robbie
and my baby brother Danny to our favorite local
luncheonette for grilled cheese sandwiches and
chips. We placed our order with the waitress and
anxiously waited for our lunch to be served. At the
booth, there was plenty for me and Robbie to do.
There were forks and knives to use as swords. There
were sugar packets to flick like hockey pucks and
salt shakers filled to the brim to pour on the table
for building "sand" castles. Just before things got
out of hand, Mom interrupted our fun by saying, "I
could really go for some sour pickles". "Me too!",
Robbie and I shouted in unison. "I'll go next door
to the deli and get some while we wait for our
lunch", mom said. "I want to come too!", I
exclaimed. "Sure, Kenny", Mom replied, "let's go".
We walked next door to the kosher deli, hand in hand. Mom held the door open and I ran up to the glass counter, eager to place our order. "We want spicy pickles", I yelled to the man behind the glass. The man averted my eyes, ignored my request and said to my mom gruffly, "Can I help you?" "Yes you can", she replied, "we'd like six sour pickles, please". The man behind the counter must have not heard my mom because he did not begin filling a container with pickles. Instead, he bent down and peered through the glass. I thought he was playing a game with me and I started to laugh. I looked at Mom and she wasn't laughing; she looked angry.
Before I could ask her what was wrong, Mom said to the man behind the counter, "it's a birthmark in case you were wondering". The man behind the counter still didn't fill our pickle order. Instead, he bent down again; this time leaning over the three bean salad dish. He was attempting to get a closer look at my big, red nose (clinically known as an arteriovenous malformation).
Then he motioned to one of his fellow counter men as if to say, "Hey, take a look at this kid!". The second man behind the counter bent down and looked at my nose. Then the two employees whispered something to each other and began chuckling amongst themselves. "Whad'ya say it was?", the second counter man asked loudly to my mom, a burn?" "No", Mom replied firmly, "a birthmark".
After that, every time I looked at the men behind the counter, they seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, almost like giants. But as big as they were, they seemed to be afraid to look me in the eye.
I felt uncomfortable. I wasn't sure if I was upset because of how the deli counter giants were acting or because mom seemed so annoyed. Whatever the reason, I knew there was something about the situation that just wasn't quite right.
I tried once more to gain the attention of the men behind the counter but they wouldn't dare look at me. I wondered what I must have done to make them act in such an unfriendly way.
Mom took the pickles from the man and paid for them at the cashier. I lingered by the deli counter and asked Mom if I could buy a cherry Fruit-Rollup. She responded quickly with an emphatic "NO".
Then we left the deli and returned to the luncheonette where it was "safe".
Our grilled cheese sandwiches were served and we all devoured them. Papa sliced the pickles in quarters for me and for Robbie, one pickle for each of us. Papa had two pickles and he ate them whole. Danny seemed entertained just watching us munch and crunch our pickles while making "sour" faces.
When lunch was finished, Papa helped us get our coats on and Mom paid the bill. She bought us lollipops for dessert and we all walked out to the car, excited about what the afternoon had in store for us.
Mom started the ignition and checked her rear view mirror to make sure we were all buckled in our seats. Just as we began to pull away, Robbie called out, "Mom, wait! We forgot the pickles!".
"That's okay", Mom responded, showing little reaction to Robbie's discovery. And we drove home.
