The lumberjack with the leaf-green eyes, cherry-red lips, heavy-duty Master padlock earrings, and two-day stubble bristling on his rosy cheeks like a blooming cactus, strode up to the counter bowlegged, unstrapped his huge, ultrasharp axe, gently slammed it to the floor, and said, “I’ll have the usual,” in a voice softer than feathers.
The expression on my face worried me: eyes several inches bugged out of their sockets, ears burning well over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, stomach knotting, drool pooling. I looked down and drew a little question mark on the order pad, and then a whole row of them. Everything in me was stirring. If he saw my pencil moving maybe he’d think I was writing down a specific meal.
“My apologies for ordering the usual. I’ll spell out my usual so there’s no confusion,” he said. “Steak and eggs, steak well, eggs over hard, six of them, please, with the yokes a tad runny if possible, which I understand might be medium, but medium often translates into a generally softer type of easy egg which I don’t want any part of.” His hair was black, eyes electric, follow-me-to-the-promised-land blue. “Sorry to be so fussy, a small stack of buttermilk pancakes, home fries, also grilled well, tomatoes, bacon, sausage, apple sauce, four slices of sourdough toast, nearly burnt, buttered like a dairy truck crashed into them, if you know what I mean.”
I did know. At that moment I pictured a Carnation step van on Curly Ridge, careening out of control, up and over the guardrails, plunging down into the gorge 1000 feet below, slamming through the roof of Genoa Bakery. “Buttered beyond reason,” I said. I wanted him to like me.
He nodded and his padlock earrings jiggled in unison. “I actually like it drippy,” he said. “I need to bulk up. I’m losing weight from all the tree chopping.” He poked at his ribs.
We shook hands and I instantly felt like a toddler. Big Poppa, take me home.
“My name’s Zeus Lily. What’s yours?”
I pointed to the name tag on my shirt, not quite ready to talk.
His eyes did a double take. “Well, you’re my first Skeeter.”
I walked back into the kitchen and stared at the ticket. First I wrote well, then I wrote drippy, then I drew a caricature of Zeus tickling a bunny rabbit, and then I threw a 32 oz. porterhouse on the grill, cracked six eggs two by two, and stared at the potatoes, bacon, and sausage, which were already made, and thought about giant crackling redwoods thumping to the ground and Mr. Lily’s order and what it meant to me.
“That’s a mile of man,” I said. I was talking to myself. It couldn’t be helped. “Do I drop to my knees and pray? What’s the procedure for encountering wonders of the world?”
I ladled out pancake batter, put four pieces of sourdough in the toaster, grabbed a knife, and said, “Calm down, no more talking.”
What if he finds out I’m not really Skeeter? I thought fretfully, no longer talking to myself.
“Just cook a perfect meal,” I said loudly, unable to keep my trap shut for more than three seconds.
Shut up, I thought, you keep this bottom talk to yourself. Press your lips together now, pleasure the ultimate slab of man meat, nothing more. He will cut, gnash, tear, and swallow, then rise off his stool, tummy full, and digest in the forest like a sleepy bear. If I can only parlay this Epicurean highlight into a real-life dark-forest tryst starring me as pulverized entity in mattress of mud and thistle, and he the love gargantuan with anvil earrings, life would exceed previous expectations.
And then I wondered about our mutual loneliness. Maybe the lumberjack wants company. Zeus Lily has his trees and the forest and all the chipmunks and bullfrogs and eagles that trust him like a brother, father, super uncle, best friend. Maybe I’m loved, too, though I don’t know by whom, and I just need a little convincing, someone to compile a list of wonderful things and show it to me every time they add five more cheerful items to prove how special my life has become. Observe the fry cook in the midst of a carnal seizure. I see myself underneath a mile of Zeus Lily foreskin, shaded from the bright, early-morning sun. Where am I? It is so dark at dawn. As soon as I began to peel back his heavy velvet curtain in my inter-cranial porno, the toaster dinged and sent me off the ground in surprise.
I buttered the lumberjack’s bread, it’s me who does it now, I thought, butters him up, slathers, greases, lubes. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to make breakfast for a thing that was actually two large men poured into one monolith. I caught a peek of him through the serving window. All politeness and manners: straight military posture, napkin tucked into the neck of his Carhartt jacket, hands in lap, eyes closed, lashes fluttering as if deep in meditation. What finishing school did he attend? Delicate Ox Academy? His hands were triple the size of mine and his shoes seemed to be imported from the island of Tonga. “Penis,” I said out loud, like someone injected with truth serum, and then caught myself and moved back into safe silent thinking, penis, penis, penis. My brain was flashing a love monster so big I nearly choked on my own thought.
I flipped the porterhouse, the eggs, and hotcakes.
O, how I live to butter his ass, his thick loggy legs, and giant veiny feet; and with utensils known as tongue, toes, and tip of nose, I sang silently to myself, la la la, I shall butter his balls, which I picture crushing my eyelids like two full-tocapacity duffel bags.
If I bark or yelp when hit by a typhoon of semen I hope he doesn’t mind, I thought, as I raised the spatula to eye level and stared at a tear drop of grease. I do my best to purr. I am damp, perspiring, in the grip of slaughterhouse giddiness. Lily’s thumbs appear swollen, gorilla-like. I could be happy just sucking on one of those, I thought, my brain swelling to capacity. That would be fine for a first date. He was scarred up in the temples and neck like worn rodeo leather, and squeaked ever so slightly as if a tiny hinge inside him needed oiling. I flopped the steak onto a three-foot serving tray, the eggs, cakes, spuds, tomatoes, toast, condiments, parsley, orange slices, and everything else, and brought it over to him on the far stool away from the cash register. Just as he nodded thanks, one of his earrings hit the sugar dispenser and shattered a zillion pieces everywhere. We looked at each other, both of us startled. Zeus Lily opened his mouth to a perfect O shape.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I’m like an oil barge slamming into a butterfly house.”
“No you’re not. I mean, yes you are. I mean, let me fetch a broom.” I ran for one in the corner and started sweeping. Sugar looks pretty interesting on the floor, especially mixed in with broken glass that kind of resembles diamonds if you want it to. Zeus Lily slid his breakfast to the right and moved one stool over. He watched me sweep.
“Skeeter, how much do you weigh?”
“140, maybe.”
“Would that be soaking wet?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” He put a huge square of steak in his mouth and started to chew, the fork in his hand looked like a Barbie utensil from her miniature tea party set. “You know, Skeeter, most of the lumberjacks I chop trees with are homosexuals, myself included.”
I dropped the broom.
“That’s the spirit. Now why don’t you throw down that apron and join us? We sleep in the forest together. We’re happy.”
“What do you mean, happy?”
“I mean, we’re not depressed.” He took a bite of egg and potato. “We’re big men. We’re doing work we love. We’re out in nature. And we have sex with each other most nights and no one gets overly jealous.”
“That sounds like a pretty good situation,” I said, sweeping the last bits into a dustpan.
“What do you think, Skeeter, care to walk out of here arm in arm and become one of the lumberjacks?”
“I do.”
“We’re not getting married, you know, we’re just going to chop trees and live as one.”
“I understand,” I said, and untied my apron and looped it over a hook on the wall. “Do I have to wear a plaid shirt?”
“Yes,” he said. “First we’ll go shopping, then we’ll go into the forest.” He stood up and reached for my hand. “That was a lovely meal you made me, little buddy. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”