1

Angel at Big Boss By Anna Curtis

My mom is checking my bank statements online one afternoon. She calls me and she asks, What is Big Boss? Why are you spending $20 at a place called Big Boss? I wonder what my mom might think it is by the tone in her voice: A male strip club or a pawn shop in the middle in nowhere? I quickly explain to her that its the gas station that is owned by the same company that owns the bowling alley. Its across the parking lot, actually. The bowling alley is where my fianc, Sims, works in Destin, Florida. Its a temporary job for him. He is trained in French cooking from Le Cordon Bleu and has exceptional skills in the culinary world, working at the fifth most popular restaurant in Atlanta at one point. (He proposed to me the second of November. He was kneeling in broken glass from a beer bottle he had dropped on the patio a few moments before. His words were unexpected, awesome, and he was bleeding because of the glass. We both cried and called our parents. His dad thought we were joking because of our crying, which, at that time, had evolved into maniacal laughter. Our laughter came from pure joy.) For our engagement meet-the-parents dinner, he prepares a Chilean Sea Bass with a lemon buerre blanc sauce. When I cut into the fish, I notice how perfect it is; tears form in my eyes. They well up hot and burn as I look at him with more than just admiration for the food.

An overwhelming feeling of comfort comes over me as my stinging eyes look into his, as I mouth the words, Its perfect. The fish is perfect. He is perfect.

He gets off work around 2 am. I stick around the bowling alley until this time, ordering dirty martinis. I pretend like Im at an expensive country club from the 80s, when, in fact, I am surrounded by drunks and special characters my fianc and I have had fun naming. Theres Goober, a guy from McAllisters Deli who told me once, It took me two years to grow this mustache, and, Only come to McAllisters on Tuesdaysthats when its freshest. Seriously, dont come any other day. Truly, wisdom comes from the strangest places. This same guy has just made quite an entrance, telling Ron, the bartender, that the girl he was with, whos wearing the black tank top was celebrating a birthday. Ron looks down as he cleans a glass and mumbles under his breath, I dont give a shit. I almost spit my drink on the counter thinking of how clueless Goober is. On another night I meet a person we call Nervous Guy. He is another character I accidently befriend as I shift down the bar from one stranger to the next. He tells me nervously with shifting eyes, I dont know why women dont like me. I cant tell him its because he reminds me of a serial killer. He sits there and tells me his whole life story, how he was in the army, lost all his savings, and lost his car because of a DUI he got a couple months back. Initially, I decide to try to help him by giving him some advice, but his overwhelming pessimism is tiresome. It seems as if he is planning his own downtrodden demise, with quotes like, My biological clock is ticking, Its too late for me, and, Everyone at this bar is married and I will never be. By the end of the night he manages to get a number from a very attractive

girl at the bar. He keeps peering over the group shes with, and asks me, Do you think that guy is her boyfriend? I could kill that guyI could take that guy down easy. The following day I receive several text messages from him involving the non-response from the girl at the bar. As the texts came one after the other, I decide its best to cut off this strange friendship and go on my way. Not so long after, I meet a guy who I could nickname but wont, due to the fact that his last name is literally Fail. Pun intended, he failed to impress me with his frat boy stories from his time at Troy University. He brags about his escapades with women, which I find repulsive. He tells me about a game he played up at Troy with his fraternity brothers, which involves having intercourse with multiple women whose names represent every letter in the English alphabet. Thats twenty-six failures for Fail. After digging into his personality, I come to realize, that he is literally the epitome of failure as a human being that has no morals or values whatsoever. While the people inside the bowling alley are a bit sketchy, there is a woman who works a hundred feet away at the gas station who gives me hope. Sims and I love going in after he finishes working. We walk in and shout, Hey, Mary! Mary shouts back, Hey, babies! We walk over to the beer, grab two tallboy four-packs of Natural Ice, and head to the front. Sims has told her all about me on days when I am not here, and am in Tallahassee at school. She doesnt know me very well, but she loves me. She congratulates us on our engagement and hugs me. I can feel her love in the hug like a hug from your mom when she hasnt seen you in a long time. Her nickname is Mama, nothing like Goober, not Nervous Guy, not Fail. She is comforting. Her appearance is peaceful: coffee-colored skin; freckles sprinkled like bits of pepper below her honest eyes; her strong, dignified hands that know hard work; gray hair peeking out of a beanie. There is a demeanor about her that makes me to want to tell her

things, to confide in her. When I tell her she is invited to the wedding, she starts to cry. She puts both hands over her mouth, backs up against the cigarette racks and squeals. Her soft velvet tears trickle down her cheeks and she waves her hands saying, Stop, babies!! Youre making me cry! I tell her its fine to cry, that I think tears that come from happiness are beautiful. The next week, I show her on my iPhone an idea for a wedding dress. She shoos Sims away and takes the phone in her hands. She starts to cry again saying, Youre gonna be so beautiful! holding the last word like a whole note. Sims calls me one night while hes at workearlier that week we had gotten stressed and had gotten into a little fightmaybe the pressure of the wedding made us more sensitive, but suddenly our problems feel as small as Goobers mustache. Im lying sideways on my bed and answer in a cute way, enthusiastic, saying, Hey, baby!! I immediately feel stupid. Hes calling to tell me that Mary has been robbed at the gas station. Shes okay. Shes just really shaken up. All at once I am shocked and saddened and cant find the right words to express myself. I text him later, angry as hell, Who would do that to her? Why her? Why her? It is a week later that I am able to hug her and tell her how sorry I am that she was the one working when it happened. She tells us that the robber put her in the broom closet and said while doing so, Im sorry, Mama, I have to do this for my kids. That upset her more than anything, that he used her nickname. Everyone in Destin who regularly stops in at her convenience store feels that shes special, and many care enough about her that they call her by her special nickname, Mama. The thief used her compassion and love as a tool to get her to do what he wanted. He took advantage of her kindness.

The very next day she was back in the store working. That shows what kind of a person she is. Mama is strong and unwavering. Everyone should look at the way she lives and do the same. One night, at a post engagement meet-the-parents-again dinner at Bonefish, both sets of parents, and the two of us are ordering our favorite drinks. The table is scattered all over with Sweetwater 420s, Michelob Ultras, and a basket of bread with olive oil. His excited mother, my future mother-in-law, tells the manager that we are recently engaged. The manager rushes off and brings us back two flutes of champagne with raspberries on toothpicks resting like bridges across the rims of the glasses. We make a toast to each other, a pre-wedding vow sneak peek. We look lovingly at one another and get a quick picture, or four, taken to brag to Facebook. We exchange small talk, wedding plans and wishes, (we now want to have a grit barand an open bar, of course) and talk about the future. Time goes by slowly. The poor waiter comes back three or four times, Yall know what youd like? Ive been ready to order from the moment we sat down, but not everyone is so prepared. Im already aggravated, nervous, and ready to get on with it. Instead of us telling our parents what we desired for our wedding, we find ourselves bombarded with opinions and more opinions. There is no room with all the bread, drinks, and opinions for our wedding-wants to get any attention. The dim light, the deadness of the restaurant make me tired. The only noise is our voices. The subtle tension is something I key into and I know that it wont be long until a tipsy statement from one of our parents will disturb any peace that I still feel. Luckily enough, we finally put our order in and it arrives, piping hot. As the forks retire to the edges of the plates, and the full quiet falls upon the table, a bomb is dropped. Within seconds of finishing our meals, and ordering another beer, Sims and I get an earful from our parents about our drinking habits. Apparently we drink too much, we have

problems, and we need help. Sims and I sit there with our beers we had just ordered, When do we take a sip when this is the topic of discussion? I can feel us asking each other telepathically. We know our parents are acting irrationally, exaggerating. With our parents angry at us, we turn to our other parent for comfort. We get dropped off by Simss dad and hold each other close and desperate in front of the bowling alley. We talk about going into the bowling alley and we talk about staying outside; I dont know what we do, but I know we walk to the gas station. We want to hear encouraging words from our Mama. Shes the one who always knows well be okay. Thats what we need to hear. Her words of wisdom soften us, break and crack our hard anger we feel from having to defend ourselves. I ask Sims one night if he thinks Mary is an angel. Her innocence, her careful words, her essence is unlike any we have ever met. I tell him about the bible verse that says something like, be kind and take care of those you meet because you never know when youre entertaining angels. We look at each other a moment. Maybe she is, we both agree. Its on a Thursday. Sims and I walk over to the gas station and step outside with Mary to have a cigarette. Mary and Sims are talking. Im lost in my head. As I look at her smiling face, her expressive hands waving in the cold air, I have a wonderful realization. I will write about her. I will tell my audience about her. I interrupt them, Im sorry but I am having a moment. I hesitate to tell her. Will she want me to write about her? Will she feel strange knowing others might read about her? I ask her permission. The soft streams run down her face. You want to write about me? Miss Mary? She puts her hands over her heart. Yes! I answer, I cant think of anyone else I would want to write about more. She hugs me hard and sort of dances with me side to side saying, Yes, baby!!!

As we drive away, Sims grabs my hand and says, I love you so much, baby.