At The Dairy Queen
“I’d like a Peanut Buster Parfait,” Randee spoke up for the second time, only louder than before. The Dairy Queen in Irvington, Indiana was bustling with customers and employees alike.
Patrons, hoping to have their sweet tooth satisfied once again by one of the many delectable ice cream desserts, and employees, moving quickly to accommodate the needs of young and old alike that Saturday evening, contributed to the noisy din in the popular summer hang-out. A whiff of hot fudge and caramel syrup and vanilla soft-serve intruded on Randee’s senses as a female employee slapped two hot fudge sundaes down on the counter next to her for two pre-teenagers; syrup and ice cream stains were covering this waitress’s apron, due to the frequent wiping of her hands on it, with no time to use a wet towel.
Randee was contemplating changing her order to a grape Mr. Misty, due to her mild guilt in ordering such a calorie-laden dessert only two months after the birth of her first girl, Zoe. A familiar voice next to Randee was giving an order; she realized it was Stanley’s, her husband’s, voice saying, “ … and I’d like extra nuts and whipped cream on it. Thanks.” Stanley grimed impishly at yet another clerk who had just taken his order.
Randee moved closer to her tall, slim-built husband who slipped an arm around his wife.
“Ugh!” Randee mockingly made a face up at him, “You ought to be trying to lose 12 pounds. You , who doesn’t have a care in the world about how much or what kinds of foods you put in your mouth,” she concluded.
“Ah, but my dear, I stay slim and trim by all of the nightly 2:00am walking I take carrying and rocking one wailing baby,” Stanley explained, his eyes wide in a mock-perplexed expression.
“Tiffany!” a male voice from the back of the kitchen hollered, “Soft Serve machine is burping again!” The waitress who had served the kids next to Randee moments earlier, zoomed by.
She must be Tiffany! thought Randee, watching the retreating waitress with a small dab of whipped cream, dried to her elbow. With a skilled jerking of stainless steel levers, Tiffany quieted the burping soft serve machine.
As Randee and Stanley were turning from the counter with their tempting desserts in hand, Tiffany was returning to the counter. Randee met the girl’s blue eyes, and their gazes locked momentarily.
Tiffany did not appear to give Randee a second thought, as she bent over the counter, to take an empty Coke cup from a toddler, who was standing on white-sandaled tip-toes to give the cup to Tiffany.
“You want some more, Sweetheart?” said the plump-faced Tiffany, a bright smile that displayed straight white front teeth, though slightly chipped. The youngster shyly nodded, chocolate ice cream rimming her lips.
Upon sitting in the small, side dining area, Randee watched Stanley dig into her towering hot fudge sundae. But her thought returned to Tiffany.
Randee studied Tiffany across the restaurant, with a direct scrutiny that would have made the young firl squirm if she has been aware of Randee’s direct stare.
She can’t be! Randee mentally remarked. She fixed her eyes on Tiffany once again. But it’s possible---
Her first husband, Mark, had a daughter named Tiffany. That marriage had ended years before. 'I was too young to be married', was all Randee had told people after the divorce was final. But Randee had grieved the loss of Tiffany, gone from Randee’s life forever, for about thirteen years now.
Mark and she did not have custody of Tiffany; but they faithfully saw Tiffany every other weekend, sometimes every weekend—and always had planned a fun outing for the three of them to enjoy—be it the zoo, or Kind’s Island or swimming in the apartment complex’s pool.
“But Rand-e-e-e!” wailed the 5-year old Tiffany, “my mom said that she wouldn’t buy me a new dress for my first day of kindergarten!”
Randee remember the evil thought that she had had. Uhm! “Starlette”, the appropriate name of Tiffany’s cheap-looking mother, probably wanted to buy herself a slinky outfit to go night-clubbin’! Starlette’s selfishness did not surprise Randee, through the years.
Randee remembered little Tiffany putting her arms around her step-mother’s neck, and crying, “Randee, why is my mother so mean to me?”
“Mean?” Randee hugged the tiny blonde girl, “she’s not mean, Honey. She’s just upset that she got laid-off from her job. She doesn’t hate you, Baby.” Randee cherished this opportunity to hold Tiffany a little longer than their normal “hello-and-good-bye hugs.” Tiffany still have the scent of baby powder freshness on her skin; though at the age of five, she doubted if Starlette still used the stuff on her daughter.
“You know what” Randee forced the words, even thought they were husky-sounding, her jaw was right as she covered her emotions, we to not further upset the youngster. “Why don’t we go to the swing store before we go to the mall?”
Tiffany brightened, and pulled back from their embrace. With the exaggerated facial expressions found on most excited 5-year olds’ when asked if they wanted to do something—something an adult was sure would bring shouts of flee, Tiffany broke into a wide, brightly lit grin.
“Can you hold me up to look at all the pretty buttons and de-, da-, deca--,” Tiffany frowned for a brief moment, seeking Randee’s help with the word.
“Decals, Baby?” Randee supplied the word she knew for which Tiffany was struggling.
“Oh-Yes—DECALS! Tiffany squealed in excitement, her eyes lip up like a Jack-‘O-Lantern’s eyes.
“You’ve got fudge sauce on your nose,” a male voice pointed out. “Why don’t you just bury your nose in it” Randee’s expression of deep concentration turned to one of amusement. Her husband was teasing her again.
“How long have I been away?” Randee asked of Stanley, who had already finished his treat.
“Long enough for that fudge sauce to dry, and my five o’clock shadow to surface,” teased Stanley. “Hey, mind if I get a couple of coney dogs. I LOVE their coney dogs!” he gushed with an exaggerated tone.
“Honestly!” Randee pretended to be shocked, “feed that bottomless pit of yours, if you must!”
As Stanley sauntered to the counter with that well-known spring in his step, Randee returned to another scene of many years ago.
“I have to go potty!!!” said the three year-old child at Randee’s elbow. Tiffany, Mark and Randee has gone to the 4-H fair at the Indiana State Fairgrounds. Being so hot for the month of June, Tiffany had been drinking a lot of soft drinks; it was no wonder what she needed to do.
Randee spoke to Tiffany, “Can we finish looking at these prize sawing projects, or do you need to go now?”
“Now!” the toddler said, raising her voice emphatically, as she clutched the crotch of her shorts.
Randee reached for Tiffany’s hand. “Here, hold my hand. I’m going to zig-zag through all these people, and I don’t want to lose you.” She walked Tiffany and herself over to Mark, who was meticulously studying an intricate design on a hand-made quilt, so engrossed that he had not heard his daughter’s plea.
“Tiffany and I are going to take a little walk to the Ladies’ Room,” Randee informed him, “don’t let a little old lady nab you with her knitting needles.” She loved to tease her husband of two years; he was so good-natured, most of the time.
Inside the restroom, Randee attended to Tiffany’s urgent situation first. Once taken care of, Tiffany, full of mischief asked, “Randee, can I crawl under the door? I need to wash my hands! We’re ‘pposed to, you know,” said the three year old.
“Okay, Baby, just stick close, I’ll be out in a minute,” Randee instructed the little bundle of energy.
Randee, feeling a little nauseated from the heat, was in the stall longer than she had expected. “Mommy! MOM-M-M-Y-Y-Y-!” a little voice wailed a few moments later.
The restroom had filled with buzzing women, a multitude of conversations, water running, punctuated with flushing toilets filled all echoed in the large tiled restroom. It sounded like Tiffany, but the wailing child was calling “Mommy”, not “Randee!” as she was accustomed to hearing from the child.
With the sudden realization that it could be morning sickness, and not the heat, Randee was trying to pull herself together to leave the stall.
The cry came again, quite insistently. “Mom----, RANNN-DD-EEE!” she heard.
Yep, it was Tiffany alright.
Simultaneously with the last cry, Randee stepped from the stall, and saw that Tiffany was several years away. The women pressing around her attending to their own needs, probably confused Tiffany, thought Randee as she reached forward into the crowd of women, grabbed the child’s arm, and pulled her to a less crowded part of the restroom.
“Honey,” Randee soothed as she held tightly to the trembling little girl, “you just strayed too far from me. And I’ll bet you forgot which stall I was in, hmmm?”
A little blonde head slowly bobbed from somewhere in the folds of Randee’s blouse. She continued, “Honey, you know that I wouldn’t leave without you? Don’t you?”
Tiffany looked at Randee with enormous blue eyes, “You don’t have me with you for keeps. ‘Jes sometimes. You might forget me.”
“Baby, you silly goose!” Randee said to the now-calmer child. Randee know that that would make her smile; and it worked.
“The onions are heavenly on this coney-dog! Want some?” Stanley held out one of his messy sandwiches to Randee.
Randee was back at the Dairy Queen, with its noise, aromas--- and Tiffany. "Get out ‘o here!" she pretended to throw a wadded-up napkin at her husband.
“Hope it’s sunny where you’ve been,” remarked Stanley, who had absentmindedly noticed that his wife had been dreaming for some time now, but the presence of his favorite coney-dogs took his immediate attention.
“I just think I see somebody I once knew,” Randee said in a vague voice. She did quick mental arithmetic: she last saw Tiffany twelve years ago at the age of five. This waitress, who responded to the name “Tiffany” looked like she could be 16 or 17.
Without another work to Stanley, she pushed back her chair, wet her napkin in her water and tried to scrub the dried fudge off of her face. Randee stood up and strode over to the counter, and addressed who appeared to be the manager of duty.
“What is that waitress’s name,” Randee shyly asked, pointing in the direction of the cheery waitress, now over by the drive-up window, and out of ear-shot.
He turned to look, and turned back to speak to Randee. “Why, her name is Nicolette. ‘Scuse me, I am about to burn some French fries!”
“But, I heard someone call her ‘Tiffany’!” Randee, very disappointed, pointed out.
The manager, not wanting to be rude, laughed, and explained to the woman, “All the guys call her Tiffany. She reminds them of a past employee. A real dingbat, that Tiffany, according to them.”
Randee just stood there, dumbfounded. She was sure—it had to be her: She had tried to age five-year old Tiffany in her mind, about twelve years. This girl has the same blue eyes and long blonde hair. Her expressions on her face reminded her of Mark. She even had Mark’s stance and build.
“What’s her last name” Randee insistently asked, very aware of her almost insane obsession to make this girl into the Tiffany she loved and missed---still.
“What? Her last name? I don’t know. She’s a new trainee, and I just got transferred here. “HEY, NICOLETTE! WHAT’S YOUR LAST NAME?” he bellowed over the ruckus in the Dairy Queen.
In that brief split second she remember Mark calling Tiffany “my little Dynamite”. Her initials were T.N.T….Tiffany Nicol Teagarden.
Nicolette, in all of the noise and clatter of the restaurant, did not hear her manager’s question. Randee thought about ordering another drink while standing at the counter.
By this time, Randee felt quite foolish for being carried away by her vivid memories of life with Tiffany. Hey, Nicolette, could you get this pretty little lady a Coke? Diet, right? he spoke the last two words to Randee, who blushed. Do I look like I need “diet?” she thought.
Nicolette brought the Coke and served it with a smile to Randee. Once again, their eyes locked and held each other’s gaze. Nicolette had brushed Randee’s hand when she handed the Coke to her, and Randee has smiled shyly at the waitress.
Randee ventured, “You know, you remind me of someone from years ago.”
“And they are probably 100 years old, right?” Nicolette quipped, merriment all over her face, flashing Randee a broad smile.
Randee slowly walked to the car with her husband. As she climbed in, she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes so that Stanley would not detect the action. She had used the hand that had brushed with Nicolette’s only moments ago. The scent of fresh baby powder was now noticed by Randee, as she swiped once again at her eyes.
“Good-bye, Baby,” she whispered to Nicolette’s hurrying form that Randee could still observe through the glass of the front doors.
Nicolette looked up at the gentleman, for whom she was preparing a banana split. Looking past him, she saw the “pretty little lady” sitting in her car with her husband. Nicolette’s face beamed as she raised her arm to bid Randee farewell. And Randee cupped her hands around the memory of Tiffany, and held it in her heart. Always.
This story is dedicated to Tiffiny Nicole Thompson,
a step-daughter of many years ago. This
story is all true in its entirety,
both in the present storyline…and all references to the past happenings. All of it.
This was the most precious child to me.
Site Created
by RebelWebMaster
Copyright © Rebel Odyssey -- All Rights
Reserved.