Five (Lyla)

                                    

                                          
The bar man slides the poco grande glass into the space below my face. His hand releases its transparent stem while the smile on his face shows the pride he carries."Made it just the way ya likes it."
                          
"Boss Man'll be here soon. He's ordered dinner...Wants you to join him." 
                          
He throws the words over his shoulder as he turns to bottles and glasses that are calling for his attention.
                          
The colorful, little paper umbrella captures my attention. I twirl its toothpick handle and it calls out a trail of memories that led me here.
                          
I'm leaning against a brick wall in an alley where a rusty metal door stands silently under a single naked light bulb. The uneasy edges of the bricks draw indents across my back. 
                          
Running!
                          
Running away from the yelling and the ringing slap of my father's hand across Mother's face.
                          
Her screams bring me to the kitchen door. I see her falling to the floor and my father standing over her. 
                          
His face is crawling with lines that spell out hate.
                          
"If you don't get out of here you'll be next, bitch!" 
                          
His face twists into my direction, eyes and words slip out all twisted and windy behind a drunken fit of rage.
                          
Run! Run as fast as you can! These were the words that blasted trough my brain and powered my legs into this alley—leaning against the wall, breathing heavy.
                          
"What-cha doing out here all alone, sweet heart?"
                          
He slipped out of the shadows and pressed his lumpy body against my chest, his fingers twisting around my shoulders.
                          
"I likes young skin." His lips attack my bare neck. The rancid smell of skunky beer breath erupts out of his mouth and gives my stomach the notion to heave up the remains of a forgotten lunch.
                          
Shattering fear squeezes my body, thrashing my brain into a whimpering mass of quivering meat. Tears stream down my cheeks.
                          
"Help me...somebody," I scream into the drunk's face!"
                          
Behind !
                          
A door squeals and words force their way out of the inside it guards.
                          
"What the hell!"
                          
Heavy feet pound against the street and two beefy hands take hold of the drunk's shoulders. I watch his body slap down and skid across the alley. 
                          
The gravel surface growls.
                          
The voice turns, muscles flex on his arms, overworked and clinging to flexing fists.
                          
"You better git...before I be put-tin a hurt'n on ya!"
                          
I see the drunk skittering down the alley.
                          
"Are you hurt?" 
                          
"No...not much." My eyes take their first look at my savior.
                          
He reaches out a hand. "You can call me Boss Man." A smile crosses his chubby face.
                          
"Hey, Lyla. What's happen'n? You look too serious for a pina colada girl." Boss Man's words dance across the narrow room and hang around my ears.
                          
"Just taking a little trip is all."
                          
"Where's you's trip take'n ya?"
                          
"Back to that night." My eyes caress his smiling face. "When you saved me."
                          
"Any time for you, my pretty." His cheeks move apart behind a gentle grin. "Have a seat. Dinner is on its way." He points to a booth silently waiting in one corner, opposite the front door and out of the way of nosey ears.

                          
"What'd you order?"
                          
"Your favorite.
                          
Ribs an' lots a..."
                          
"Sauce on the side..." I finish his sentence.
                          
He lets the words settle into the brown padded seats. The bar man appears with a rum and coke and quietly sets it on the table under Boss Man's chin.
                          
"So...What'd you find out?"
                          
"He's got the eye alright." I take a sip from the cool poco grande, savoring the sweet taste of pineapple and rum.
                          
"How he be use'n it?"
                          
"There were these two ladies arguing about crowding in line. Sam...That's his name...just...looked at them. And...well...they just stopped and heard him out...Like he messed with their brains somehow."
                          
"Hmmm. I want ta see this for myself." The light from the ceiling glints off of Boss Man's smooth-shaved head, flashing a picture of a white question mark on black skin.
                          
The bar man glides next to our table. An armful of steaming dishes leave their perch and settle in front of welcoming eyes.
                          
The meaty part of a sauce lathered pork rib meets prying bites of white teeth. He wipes some drips of red sauce from his chin with one corner of the cloth napkin hanging awkwardly under the neck of his t-shirt. His dark eyes are fixed on fingers grappling with the slippery chew.
                          


                          
The empty bone falls from his fingers and clinks onto the waiting plate.
                          
"I'll be set'n it up tomorrow." His eyes flicker. "All you have to do is hang back and let us...An'... Sam is it? ...Do his thing," Boss Man let's the words slip out between grinning lips.
                          
"Okay Boss Man," the words trickle out of my mouth—happy dancing.