Showing posts with label Busy Bee Interlude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Busy Bee Interlude. Show all posts

Wednesday, September 15, 2021

The Busy Bee Cafe -- A Visitor

     Another lazy day at the Busy Bee. Shortly after Harry's unfortunate incident involving his roundabout visit to 1943 and back, and after the Bee was restored to "real time," another incident followed which found Laslo, Denise, and a few diners looking curiously out the long front window of the cafe. They saw not the familiar 18th Street and the bicycle shop across it and the Kansas City downtown skyline beyond, but an expansive clearing of tall, wild grass and beyond that, a dense cluster of oak and locust amid some low, sparse shrubbery. There were no streets or buildings in sight.
    "Another time shift?" Laslo had set his coffee cup down on the counter, and Denise came over to stand by him. They both peered curiously out the window. A scattering of diners seated at tables by the window glanced up but then returned to their food and conversation without much interest.
    "Kind of seems that way."  Denise looked down at Laslo's coffee mug and absently filled it from the pot she had been carrying in one hand. 
Then she said, "Hmm.  Look at that!" 
    Laslo nodded. A man, naked except for a loin cloth, was now standing outside the window, looking in at them intently, leaning close to the glass as he tried to defeat the reflection of the bright sky behind him. He was light skinned, but tanned, with piercing blue eyes and long, yellow hair that touched his shoulders. On his face was a look of curiosity without a trace of fear. 
    Denise looked away from the window and addressed Laslo. "Uhm . . . where are we, do you think?"
    "Look."  Laslo raised his arm and pointed at the window, above and to the right of the blonde haired man.
    "Are those Native Americans?" Denise asked.
    "I think so." The smaller figures in the distance had emerged from the oak grove, carrying spears as they ran toward them. They were about 50 yards away, but getting closer by the second. The blonde man turned and saw the spear carriers and then turned back toward the window. This time his face showed fear.  He pushed on the large glass pane experimentally.
    Denise looked at Laslo, who got up from the stool and took two steps toward the cafe's entrance, stopped and turned to Denise and raised his eyebrows. Denise's brow was furrowed with hesitant caution, but she nodded. Laslo strode across the dining room and pushed the front door open and leaned out just enough to motion to the blonde man. The gesture, universal, was welcome, and the blonde man shuffled quickly to the door, pausing only briefly before stepping inside. Laslo pulled the door shut and as luck would have it--as luck always seemed to have it around here--the warning bell, the big red metal bell on the wall above the ice machine, began its long, ten-second clanging.
    During that time, the customers who sat at the two tables by the window turned and regarded the blonde man for a few seconds before returning to their meals and their conversation. Laslo and the newcomer stood and looked at each other, and Denise looked from the two men to the scene outside the window, which had changed back to 18th street just as a rusty 2027 Volkwagen Jetta coughed and sputtered its way past the diner. She relaxed, as had Laslo, knowing that the spear wielding pair outside had, by now, been dead and buried for centuries. It was hard to tell with no historical references, and Denise didn't think they had ever shifted this far back. 
    Still standing by the front door, Laslo and the visitor looked at each other carefully.  Laslo smiled. "Well, who are you?"  
    The blonde haired, half-naked man who stood barefooted on the black and white tiles of the floor of the Busy Bee Cafe looked from Laslo to the scene outside the window, the puzzled look on his face changing from perplexity to acceptance as he looked back. Whatever the events in this man's life that had led him to this moment, his superb adaptive qualities had served him well so far. Now, he became calmer as he surveyed the scene outside and then turned to take in the inside of the cafe and the man and the woman who stood watching him. The man was big. Capable. The woman was beautiful and looked capable as well. He looked at her red hair and smiled. He then said to Laslo, forming the sounds carefully, "Wall hoo arr yu." 

Monday, August 2, 2021

A Rumination (Writing Practice)

        Laslo awakened from a bad dream. As he arose out of the fog of sleep his surroundings coalesced into reality and in an instant he realized the dream was probably better. It was approximately high noon and he was laying face up in the bed of his old Dodge pickup. It was hot and muggy, and the sun beat down upon him unmercifully from its blinding perch in the middle of a hazy blue sky. He was wearing jeans, t-shirt and work boots. Around him were toppled, mostly empty, cans of beer. Some had spilled and sloshed on the uneven wooden planks that made up the bottom of the pickup bed. His clothes were wet in places.  

        He heard the droning sound of a farm tractor and he knew without looking—he remembered—that he was parked atop a levee along the Missouri River near the town of Sibley. The river would be to his right, the field of soybeans to his left. 

He needed to relieve himself, and he was hungry. He wondered if his head would hurt if he sat up. Maybe if he did it slowly. 

        He woke up again. This time he was lying on the black and white checkered tile floor of the Busy Bee Café. Denise knelt beside him, hovering over him. Her red hair formed a curtain-like halo around her face. “Hey!” 

        “What?” Laslo said.  He struggling to get his bearings and seemed to find a reference point in Denise’s green eyes.

        “You OK?” 

        “Uh huh yep. I’m good,” he said. 

        “Get up then,” said Denise. She stood and stepped back. “You’re too big for me to do it for you.” 

Doris appeared. She looked kindly with her frazzled orange hair and her cook’s apron. Staring right at Laslo, she spoke to Denise.  “Is he OK?”

“Maybe if he ever gets up.” 

“I’m good, I'm up. I'm up,” Laslo said. He sat up and that made his head hurt. He rose to his feet, looked around the café, out the front window onto 18th Street and then behind him at the counter and the kitchen beyond that. The tables on the dining floor were empty. The café was closed. Norman and Dave had gone home, and apparently the burglars, or whatever they were, were gone—after hitting Laslo over the head with something.  A frying pan? Laslo touched his head. 

“That’s going to be a goose egg,” Doris said. The mood lightened. 

        Laslo turned to look at Denise. “You all OK?”

Denise nodded. “Snorri drove them off with his sword!” Doris let out a guffaw and that made Denise giggle. Laslo smiled. 

“Vikings,” he said simply, shaking his head. 


Sunday, February 28, 2021

Friday, October 9, 2020

Notice

 Busy Bee Cafe installments can be viewed by clicking on the "Busy Bee Interlude" label link at right, (top of right hand side-bar of this page.) 

They are not necessarily in the book's internal chronological order, and edits are ongoing. (e.g. there is at least one name change.) 

I welcome feedback regarding grammar, confusing sequences, inconsistencies, (but not anachronisms, because time travel,) irrelevant and/or exquisitely boring passages, and places where there are two spaces after a period. 

Picture from the web site
of the Busy Bee Cafe, in 
Ventura, California.
Visit their web site, at least,
at: busybee.cafe