Ficlets

“Freshen that up for ya, Dennis?” The waitress was loud, too loud for mid-afternoon. Dennis sighed when he realized he was old enough that she was too loud for any time of day.

“No, time. I best be gettin on.” He fished the crumpled bills, leaving a nearly exact 15 percent tip. Old habits. Old haunts.

A glance at the yellowed clock confirmed what he felt in his bones. Somewhere deeper, an ache resurfaced, a bittersweet memory. Hands bent by years of hard work and arthritis gripped the steering wheel to assist entry. Tears came to dry eyes as Dennis remembered.

“Thanks for pickin me up, gramps.”

“Anything for my little Joanie-bear.”

“Ah geez, gramps, come on. I’m 16 now.”

“Don’t matter. You’ll always be my Joanie-bear.”

“Love you too, gramps.”

With a rough flannel sleeve, Dennis smudged away the tears. He didn’t have time for memory. He didn’t have the energy for it, to be honest.

“Always,” he muttered with a huff, backing out, and guiding his truck along familiar routes.