Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
The first time I went to McDonald’s I was twelve years old. I couldn’t believe a restaurant had furniture nailed to the floor! And no knives and forks! How did I eat a hamburger anyway? Pick it up in my hands? Let the sauce smear my fingers? Yuck. I couldn’t do it. Then I saw my sister Susan pick up the fries between a tissue. She held the tissue in her fingers and gently picked up each fry and ate it. No saucy smears. I could do that, too.
What I really liked, and still like, are the chocolate shakes. Cold, sweet, creamy. I even like the fake chocolate taste. It doesn’t pay to think about what’s really in the shake, but it tastes so good in the moment. Although not so good later, when I burp up the shake mixed with fries.
A few years ago, I went to a McDonald’s in Queens. It had originally been someone’s home, a beautiful white clapboard house, not the usual dark brick with the red roof. I chose a seat by the window, settled down with my shake and fries, and opened my book. I could see past the McCafé into the children’s playground beyond. They sure didn’t have those when I was twelve.
A small glass partition hid the bathroom beyond. They tell you McDonald’s have clean bathrooms. That hasn’t been my experience. Depends which McDonald’s, I guess.
Next minute, the automatic glass doors opened and a man wearing a cowboy hat entered. He had a short ginger beard, sideburns, faded jeans and a checked shirt. I noticed him because he kind of swaggered over to the counter and took a straw from between his teeth before he placed his order with a young black girl behind the counter.
“Four cheeseburgers, two large Cokes, ma’am.” Clearly not from New York.
“Four cheeseburgers, two large Cokes,” she repeated.
“Nah. Make it three large Cokes. I got a helluva thirst.” He leered and winked.
“Twelve dollars, eighty-two, sir,” the girl said, not blinking.
He slapped down a twenty. I returned to my book.
Clutching his tray, he looked around to choose a booth right at the moment I looked up. Our eyes met and he grinned. I nodded and pointedly turned back to my book.
He chose the table right beside me. “Howdy.”
“Hi.” I didn’t look up.
“That’s a pretty blouse.”
My heart sank. I just wanted to read my book and drink my shake. I did not want to make small talk with this urban cowboy, a complete stranger, and a sleazy one at that. I tentatively sipped at my drink, which surprisingly didn’t taste so good any more.
“Where’re ya from?” he persisted.
“Not far,” I mumbled.
“Why, I detect an accent!” he grinned.
Now I felt really uncomfortable. I should just get up and leave. He surely wouldn’t follow me, especially not while he sat there tucking into his cheeseburgers and Cokes. But I saw he was eating fast, and I had to go now or he’d be done.
I stood up and picked up my shake, only about a third left, and threw it into the nearby bin. I shouldered my backpack.
“Have a nice day,” I said and made for the exit.
It was boiling hot when I got outside. In the doorway, the warm gusts of air fought with the air-conditioning, and for a second I felt sucked into a vortex of cold and heat, dark and light, stale and fresh air. I put on my sunglasses and headed for the subway steps. Sweat trickled down my neck into the curve between my breasts.
When I got back to my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and peered into the fridge. The almost-finished shake had left me with a horrendous craving for something sweet. My eyes settled on a box of Cadbury Roses Mum had sent me for Christmas. I chose one with a dark brown wrapper, a chocolate caramel. I slouched on the futon, under the fan, unwrapped my candy and popped it in my mouth. I sat there, sucking it slowly, not moving, just watching the shadows fall long and low over the parquet floor.