Sweet Dream Baby by Sterling Watson

working on his car. He’s got long black hair, and there’s a lot of oil on it, and it’s combed back like Elvis. He closes the hood and looks at the window, and I wonder if he can see us standing here. My Aunt Delia counts her change and says, “I got enough for one more malt, Travis. What do you say?”
    I look at her and at Mr. Tolbert, and he smiles, and I say, “Sure, if you’ll share it with me.” Delia puts her hand on the top of my head. “Travis, that’s sweet, but I don’t want any more.” She touches her middle. “As my grandmother used to say, ‘I have had a sufficiency.’” Mr. Tolbert laughs. I guess he remembers my Aunt Delia’s grandmother.
    We sit on our stools again, and the bell at the front door rings, and I know the boy in the black leather jacket is here. His thick boots bark and scuff on the floor, and I hear him slide into the booth where Sifford and Bishop sat. I spin around and look. He takes a pack of Camels and a silver Zippo lighter from his jacket pocket and starts tapping the lighter on the table. Delia doesn’t turn around, but she doesn’t tell me to mind my business. I like watching the boy. He’s big and his big hands are greasy. He’s got a silver ring with a red jewel on his right middle finger, and he’s wearing a white T-shirt under the jacket and his silver dog tags hang outside his shirt.
    Mr. Tolbert puts another malted in front of me and says, “There you go, Travis.” I turn around and look at my Aunt Delia, and she’s got that small tight smile on her face again, and I wonder if she’s thinking about Sifford.
    The Zippo keeps tapping on the table, and Mr. Tolbert says, “Griner, what can I do for you?” Mr. Tolbert’s voice is too loud. He sounds like my dad when I’m getting on his nerves. The boy in the black leather jacket says, “Jack, I’m sitting here waiting for you to bring me an ashtray.”
    Mr. Tolbert bites his jaw down hard and says, “Griner, I’ve told you you can’t smoke in here, and I’ve told you not to call me Jack.”
    Griner looks at Mr. Tolbert for a long time, and a drop of sweat comes out of his shiny black hair and rolls down his forehead. He ignores it and says, “Everybody smokes in here, Mr. Tolbert, and I seen you come round that counter quick as a monkey and bring them ashtrays. If them boys that just left out of here wanted to smoke, you’d sure-God bring them ashtrays.”
    Mr. Tolbert says, “Griner, you are sorely trying my patience.”
    Griner shakes a cigarette out of the Camel pack and lights it and draws in a big chest full of smoke and blows it at Mr. Tolbert. He says, “I’m just as good as any customer that comes in here.” He pulls out his wallet and takes out a five-dollar bill and slaps it on the table top. “I got money to spend just like them rich boys.”
    Mr. Tolbert bites his jaw and slowly shakes his head. “Griner, you’ll be legal to smoke in here when you’re twenty-one. Now put out that cigarette.”
    Griner takes another big puff and huffs it out and smiles. He pulls up his leg and puts the thick sole of his engineer boot on the red upholstery and sticks the cigarette in where he’s rolled up his jeans. It hisses, and a puff of smoke rises from the burnt cloth. He smiles bigger and says to Mr. Tolbert, “Now we’re legal. How ’bout you bring me a co-cola there, Jack?”
    Mr. Tolbert looks at my Aunt Delia, and his eyes tell all about his patience. He fills a glass with ice and Coca-Cola and just leaves it at the end of the counter. He turns his back and starts washing glasses. Griner looks at the Coke on the counter and then at Mr. Tolbert’s back. He shrugs and comes over to get his Coke. He puts a quarter on the counter and picks up the Coke and catches me looking at him. At first I think he doesn’t