The other day I read that when Charles Manson was a young boy, his mother sold him to a waitress for a free pitcher of beer. I thought that was sad and funny, so I decided to write a scene about it. It definitely turned out more sad than funny, but because there is an extreme lack of Kent (and therefore lack of posts) I wanted to post it anyway.
Also, on a related note: KENT IS NOW MARRIED! Details to follow…
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The setting is an almost deserted restaurant/bar on the outskirts of somewhereville. Date: unknown. It is night, and the establishment is dimly lit. Smoke hangs in the air, and has yellowed the walls. A few regulars wear denim jackets and smell of booze and sweat. There is one waitress and the coffee is always on; she doubles as the cook.
In a booth sits a 4-years old Charles Manson and his mother, Kathleen. Charles has a set of four crayons (red, blue, green, and black) with which he is coloring a children’s menu. With a beer in her hand, and one on a coaster, Kathleen reads a menu and pays no attention to her young son.
Over at the main counter our waitress, Billie Jean, is cleaning up spilled coffee as the regulars stare down the front of her shirt. She doesn’t even notice, or care, anymore. In her head she is dreaming of a child that she will never have. Toast pops out of the toaster behind her, but she lingers over the coffee for a second more - giving the people what they want. She likes to fill her day with small favors, its something that she can smile about when she tucks herself in to bed.
KATHLEEN: What are you colorin’, boy?
CHARLES: I draw’d a picture of me next to the lion. The circus made me the lion tamer.
Putting his red crayon down, Charles attempts to show his mother the drawing. Her eyes do not leave the menu as she takes a long swig of her beer. The glass empty she pounds it on the table, causing Charles to shift in his seat. He goes back to drawing.
KATHLEEN (to the room; boisterous): Can we get some help over here?
One of the regulars turns to her and shakes his head. Billie Jean perks up, slightly annoyed, and makes her way to the table. She has a pad of paper and a pen in her hand, like a waitress should. Without looking up, she blows her bangs out of her eyes.
BILLIE JEAN (groggy): What can I get fer ya?
KATHLEEN: ‘Nother draft, that’s fer sure. …And, this jalapeno burger I see here. Hot, is it?
BILLIE JEAN (still looking down): That’s what the jalapeno’s is for; never had one myself, so I can’t vouch fer it.
KATHLEEN: Yeah, I’ll take that. Put some Lawry’s on them fries - lots.
BILLIE JEAN: Sure.
Billie turns to go back to the counter, but Charles lets out a muffled peep calling for attention. She stops and does an about face to see Charles sticking his neck out so that he is as tall as possible in the booth. He fidgets with the crayons. Her eyes light up and she beams at him.
BILLIE JEAN (with delight): Well, I’m sorry, Little Mister. What’ll you be havin’?
CHARLES: The circus told me I should have the hot dog.
BILLIE JEAN: Oohh, the Hot Dog. A good choice.
KATHLEEN: The only choice.
BILLIE JEAN: What’s your name, Little Mister?
CHARLES: Charles, but also the Lion Tamer.
BILLIE JEAN: Charles, huh? That’s a lovely name.
CHARLES: Bah, its not good enough for me.
BILLIE JEAN: Oh, really?
KATHLEEN: You shut your mouth, Charles. You’ll take the name that your mother gave to you, and you’ll like it.
Charles recedes into the booth, and looks at his shoes.
CHARLES: Sorry, mom.
Silence.
BILLIE JEAN: I wish I had a boy named Charles.
CHARLES: Really?
BILLIE JEAN: Yes. Yes, I do. I can’t have a baby. God made me incapable. It’s not my lot in life.
KATHLEEN (getting surly): Well, boo hoo. You can have Charles if you want.
Billie Jean and Charles both turn to Kathleen. They seem confused.
BILLIE JEAN: What?
KATHLEEN: You heard me. You can have him if you want. It’ll cost ya, though.
BILLIE JEAN: Ma’am, what are you tryin’ to say? That Charles, here, is for sale?
KATHLEEN: A pitcher. A pitcher is all it’ll cost ya. Take ‘im. Fucker’s a runt anyways. Eats too many hot dogs, and wets the bed.
Charles squirms and hides under his menu. The regulars shake their heads in unison at the bar. And even though she knows she shouldn’t, Billie Jean smiles. She has always wanted a child, and although she never pictured buying one in exchange for a pitcher of beer, she feels like she can’t let this opportunity go by. Her head swirls with bright blue skies, but Charles begins to cry.
KATHLEEN: It’s true. He don’t know the difference between the pisser and a pillow.
BILLIE JEAN: Well, I don’t mind. I’m sure all little boys have trouble with that, Charles. It’s okay.
KATHLEEN: So, you really want him? ‘Cause if you do, fill up the pitcher. His birth certificate’s in the glove box.
Instead of replying, Billie Jean skips her way to the bar, fills a pitcher, and is back at the table in an instant.
KATHLEEN: Slap me twice and call me Martha! I didn’t think you’d take me up on it.
Kathleen downs her half-full pint, and slams it on the table like she did with the first. She is full of alcohol and satisfaction. Charles is still quietly crying in the booth when she slaps the menu out of his hands, and puts him on the table.
KATHLEEN: He’s all yours, lady.
Billie Jean puts her hand for Charles to hold.
BILLIE JEAN: Come on, Charles-y. Let’s go get you a grilled cheese sandwich.
Reluctantly, Charles grabs her hand, jumps down from the table, and follows her behind the counter and into the kitchen.
