Carl tugged at the sleeve of his polyester short-sleeved shirt. He lifted his arms up toward the ceiling in a big stretch and yawned loudly. He ran his tongue over his teeth and felt the bits of his fast food breakfast. I guess I should’ve brushed this morning, he thought, oh well, too late now. He had eaten in a hurry this morning, rushing off to start his early morning shift at the drive-thru window. He still wasn’t used to getting up this early in the morning, and he was groggy from sleep.

He scratched his thigh and stared blankly ahead. It was early Sunday morning and so far things had been slow. He adjusted his headset, pulling it to the side of his head to relieve the irritation where the headset had worn a tender spot on the side of his ear. He had worked a long shift yesterday, and today his ear was extra sensitive. He was glad the anticipated steady flow of morning customers had not yet begun. He yawned again and adjusted the belt around his snug-fitting polyester pants.

Thank god it was early. He had not yet begun to sweat in this sizzling Arizona summer heat. Every time he opened the small sliding glass drive-thru window, he was hit with a stifling blast of furnace-hot air. Carl could feel where the waistband of his pants cut into his middle. He had purchased a used pair of pants discarded from a previous employee at the store because he had been unable to afford a new pair that fit him properly. They were snug to begin with, but to make matters worse, he had gained ten pounds or so since he had started working at this McDonalds three weeks earlier. Boy, this was going to be a tough day, he thought. He was already thinking ahead to when he would clock out at 3 o’clock this afternoon, wondering if he was going to be able to make it until then.

Beep, beep, beep, his headset begin whining, beep, beep, beep.

Here it goes, Carl thought. He was afraid it was going to be one of those days. After only three weeks on the job, he felt burned out. Carl adjusted the headset over his tender ear.

“Welcome to McDonalds,” Carl said, “would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?” The potato and egg burrito was the promotional item of the season and Carl was required to ask each customer if they would like to try one.

“No, I wouldn’t,” a voice answered. “Just get me a sausage and egg breakfast with a cup of coffee.”

“Would you like some orange juice to go with that?” Carl muttered into the headset. Carl had to say that, too. His job required him to sell, sell, sell.

“No, I told you,” answered the voice.

“Your total will be $4.23,” Carl said irritably. Boy, I sure would like to throw this headset down and walk out of here now, he thought. He tried to remind himself that he needed this job. In fact, was lucky to get it. He had no previous job experience, having lived with his mother and grandmother in Fresno, California in the childhood home where he had been born and raised. He had lived a quiet life with little social life except for his family and his one friend Phil, a high school dropout from his junior year.

Carl thought back to his life before he had ended up here at this desolate McDonald’s in Arizona off the main highway that ran from his hometown to nowhere. He had been growing tired of it, living in the same house with his mother and grandmother, no car, no job, no girlfriend, no life. Sure, the two old ladies needed him, but Carl found himself wanting to have new experiences, to try new things. He wanted to be a part of the big world outside his. And he wanted to get away from the frustration of unrequited love.

He had spent every day assisting his mother with his grandmother’s care. It was a full time job. This was what Carl had done since he had graduated from high school. That was fifteen years ago now, and he was 33 and this was his first real job. Crazy how time flies, he thought.

That day, his last day in Fresno, he had been helping his mother hang the wash on the clothesline in the back yard of the home where he had been born and raised, a premature baby coddled throughout his early years by his overprotective mother. Throughout his childhood, he had always felt different from the others at school, considered odd and not readily accepted by his schoolmates. And now, as a not-so-young man, he still felt out of place.

Carl thought of himself as any regular guy. He wore his lanky medium brown hair neither too long nor too short. He dressed in an average manner, T-shirt and khaki shorts in the summer, a flannel shirt, jeans and jacket in the winter. His tennis shoes were neither new nor old, his socks medium height with stripes around the ankles. He was neither thin nor fat, and he stood neither too tall nor too short. When he went out on his morning walks with his mother, he stooped his shoulders forward and stuck his head out on a long neck in front of him. He walked with his light blue eyes cast downwards, peering over the rims of his wire framed eyeglasses at the world outside his. He had gotten used to being the kind of guy most people didn’t notice.

Carl remembered his last night in his hometown of Fresno. He had gone out to a bar, a rare occurrence since he had only one friend, his high school buddy Phil. Carl’s life of assisting his elderly mother in the care of his ancient grandmother was a full time job that rarely allowed him an evening off. Carl had run across Phil on the sidewalk on one of his morning walks with his mother.

“Hey, let’s hit Fred’s,” Phil had said. Fred’s was a local pub in the neighborhood. Carl had only been there one time before.

“Sure,” Carl said and they met up around 4:30 in the afternoon to take advantage of the happy hour specials. Carl had walked over since he didn’t own a car. That afternoon, drinking with Phil, Carl had too much to drink, especially since he rarely drank anyway, and so around 9:30 pm when Phil suggested they highjack a car, it had seemed the greatest idea. Boy, was he tired of his life with his mother and grandmother. And just that morning he had had a tiff with his mother. The scene still stung in his mind.

But boy, the night they stole that car and took off for Texas, only nineteen days ago, that had been one crazy night. Carl had never done such a thing in his life before. He watched while Phil sprang the lock on the door of the Honda Civic and then fiddled around under the dash. The car sprang to life. Carl hadn’t been much help. He really didn’t have much experience in things of that sort.

“How’d ya learn to do that?” Carl asked.

Phil just grinned. He got behind the wheel of the car and unlocked the passenger door for Carl.

“Full tank of gas,” he told Carl. Carl got in on the passenger side. He wanted to drive but wasn’t sure he remembered how. Driver’s Ed was a long time ago now. And that one time his Uncle George had let him drive the Ford pick-up, Carl had driven it into a ditch.

Between the two of them, they had eighty-six dollars and twenty-three cents, and so they headed for Texas. But first, Phil stopped at a Circle K to buy a twelve pack of Coors in cans. It was on special for $7.99.

Oh, had he been excited, Carl remembered. They had traveled from Fresno heading southeast across the Mojave Desert toward Texas. They made it as far as Surprise, Arizona when they ran out of beer and forgot to buy gas with the last of their money after a long night of drinking at a rest stop in Surprise. When they woke up in the morning, the big rigs were warming up and the rumble had disturbed even their bleary-eyed alcohol-sobered sleep. That was when they realized that they were out of beer and their gas tank was on empty. They had their first argument that morning, Phil screaming at Carl while his head throbbed, still intoxicated from the night of partying. Carl began to feel that maybe this idea had been a mistake. He felt it for sure only three short hours later when Phil dropped him off at the McDonalds where he was now serving customers at the drive-thru window. Luckily, they had been hiring. How he got the job Carl still wasn’t too sure, but here he was.

The last Carl saw of Phil was the back of his head as he drove off in the Honda, a cloud of dust following him off into the distance. “Good riddance,” were his last words to Carl.

Beep, beep, beep, the headset startled Carl out of his thoughts.

“Order up,” his fellow coworker spoke, the sound a little too loud for Carl’s morning ears. Ugh, groaned Carl. He rubbed his head slowly with the back of his hand.

“Order up,” Carl heard again, louder this time. The sausage and egg breakfast was ready for his customer. Carl handed it out the window after collecting payment and giving the customer back his change.

Carl thought back to the day he had left home. He remembered the argument he had with his mother on the day he left Fresno. That morning he had slept until 10:15 and then dawdled for a while in the twin bed he had slept in since childhood. Around 11:30 he was disturbed by the sound of his mother yelling up the stairwell to his bedroom.

“Carl,” his mother yelled, “Carl, come on down here and help me hang the wash.”

At first, Carl didn’t answer her. He had the bedroom upstairs, his cocoon where he had the freedom to explore his interests undisturbed. At ninety-one, it was impossible for his grandmother to climb the stairs, and his mother, although she was capable of making the trek up to his room, rarely did so as long as he made himself available to assist with the many household chores required of him.

“Carl,” his mother said again, “come on down here and help me hang the wash.”

“Damn it mother, I’m busy,” he yelled back. He had been peeking out his bedroom window through the blinds into his neighbor’s bathroom. It was a family of five that lived next door, and sometimes Carl could see into the bedroom or bathroom windows. This morning the neighbors had finished their morning toiletries well before Carl had arisen, but there was always the chance somebody might have to visit the restroom again and Carl wanted to be ready.

But after his mother’s second call, Carl reluctantly dragged himself up off the small loveseat that was pushed up close to the window and headed into the backyard to help his mother hang the wash. He grabbed a pair of his grandmother’s drawers out of the laundry hamper, reached into the old cotton sack to pull out a clothespin and used it to fasten the old lady underwear onto the clothesline.

Thinking back, he remembered being short with his mother that morning. He remembered feeling embarrassed and resentful, but he had been raised helping his mother and grandmother, and these simple tasks were a usual part of his daily routine. He should be content with it by now.

“What’s wrong with you,” his mother asked, “got up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Nothing,” Carl had said. His head hurt and he was grouchy. He picked up a pair of wet underpants and watched helplessly as they slipped from his fingers and fell into the dirt of the yard.

“Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” his mother said.

Somehow, one thing led to something else and his mother ended up angry with him, but Carl couldn’t really blame her because he had yelled at her and called her a name he wasn’t proud of now, remembering back.

Today, as he thought of the day that loomed ahead of him serving customers at the drive thru window at this McDonalds in this heat stifled town, Carl missed his previous, undisturbed life.

Back in Fresno, once a day, each morning, he would walk with his mother to the neighborhood main street where there was a post office, a Starbucks and a Dollar Store. He never bought anything at the Starbucks, it was too expensive, but every day he and his mother walked down the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.

Each day he and his mother would pass in front of the Starbucks, and he would look discreetly through his eyelashes at the people sitting in clusters chatting and laughing in the coffee shop patio. Sometimes, he would see somebody he recognized from the neighborhood and he would extend his greeting,

“Hi there, how are you today?” Carl would ask with a wave of his hand. Sometimes he got a response, sometimes he didn’t.

Every day his mother stopped on the sidewalk in front of the newspaper vending machines to check for loose change. Carl would walk a few steps past his mother and stop at the corner to wait for her, hoping nobody noticed they were together. For a long time, The Fresno Bee vending machine was broken and his mother collected quarters pretty near every day. But someone had reported it broken and now most of the time she came away empty.

Every day they wandered on to the Dollar Store and to the Drug Fair to do their daily shopping, carrying home bags of groceries and essentials needed for daily living. These were the only excursions out of his home for Carl except when they went to the offices where his grandmother saw the doctor for the routine exams required of old age.

Beep, beep, beep, Carl’s headset sounded.

Honk, honk, honk, Carl was remembering his days back home, the beeping of the taxicab waiting to take the three of them uptown for his grandmother’s appointments. She was aging fast and suffering the infirm of old age.

Beep, beep, beep.

Beep, beep, beep, the taxicab was outside.

Carl would come out the door onto the front porch and wave easily at the driver, then linger on the front porch to wait out his grandmother’s slow descent down the few steps to the sidewalk, assisted by his mother. The taxicab waited. When she was nearly to the street, Carl moved to the taxi, opened the rear door, and assisted his grandmother into the back seat. Then he opened the passenger door and ushered his mother into the front seat. Carl took his seat behind the driver. They were off to the north end of town for his grandmother’s visits to her primary care physician. These journeys took most of the day. First, they would wait around at home for the taxicab to arrive, then they would wait in the lobby of the doctor’s office, reading magazines and listening in on the conversations of the other patients, and then they would wait some more afterwards for the taxi to come pick them up to take them home. But Carl enjoyed these visits. During these times when he left the house, he was able to see some new faces, and he always enjoyed checking out the nurses in their sexy uniforms, looking at them long and hard from under his hooded sideways glances.

Carl didn’t have much of a social life other than his mother and his grandmother and his occasional glimpses into his neighbor’s lives. Most nights after dinner they would watch television programs in the downstairs living room until they went to their bedrooms to sleep. Carl felt his world was too small. To compensate, he tried hard at being friendly with his neighbors, always wanting to be in their lives a little more than they allowed. When he saw his neighbors coming or going, he always rushed outside and extended a friendly greeting, “Hi there! How are you today?” he would say. If they answered, he would try to get a little more friendly. Sometimes school girls on their way home from school would walk down the street and Carl would discreetly whistle at them and then engage himself busily in whatever he was doing so they wouldn’t know it was him while still hoping that maybe he could catch the attention of one. They always ignored him, eventually going out of their way to avoid his house.

But still, back at home Carl felt he had a purpose. For one, he kept an eye on his neighborhood. The three of them would sit on the front porch most mornings before his grandmother went down for her nap and Carl and his mother took their walk. They kept watch on the neighborhood, noting who was coming and going and who was visiting whom. This was how Carl spent most of his mornings back home, and he missed it now.

Most afternoons, after his morning walk and after his grandmother woke up from her nap, they would sit on the front porch together, and when a child rode a bicycle down the sidewalk in front of their home, his grandmother would yell out in her creaky voice, “Don’t use our sidewalk, ride in the street.” Or if the children kicked a ball into the yard, his grandmother would say, “These children need to learn to respect boundaries. Parents just don’t want to parent anymore.”

So Carl would lumber up from his comfortable chair on the front porch and scoop the ball up and take it inside the house. He watched to make sure that the neighbors and the neighborhood children learned to respect boundaries. Like his grandmother said, they needed to learn to keep on their own lawn. Carl had a box inside the house especially for the balls he’d collected. It was a large box and it was nearly full now after years of monitoring the neighborhood children.

He remembered one special day while he watched on the front porch with his mother and grandmother, a pretty lady moved into the house next door. Carl was excited. There weren’t many pretty women in his life and now a pretty woman was moving in next door. She was lively and happy, with lots of friends dropping by to visit and chat. Carl was very interested in getting to know her better and so every time he heard her outside, he would rush outside to listen and watch. The fence separating their yards wasn’t too tall, so he could lean over and extend his friendly greeting.

“Hi there! How are you today?” he would ask every time he heard her go into her back yard, his head popping up suddenly over the short fence. Sometimes when she had company, she would sit with her friends outside on the front porch or in the back yard to chat. If they sat on the front porch, Carl would grab his pruning shears and set to work on the roses that bordered their houses, listening to their conversations while he pretended to trim the roses. She had a lot of company and he had pruned the roses down much shorter than they should be, but he couldn’t help listening, he was so interested in the life of this new neighbor.

It was even better if she was in the back yard. Then he would run outside and hang his mother’s and grandmother’s laundry, leaving the undergarments in the basket but pinning the face towels up on the line or, if there were no chores to do, he could simply crouch down behind the fence and listen freely without having to pretend to be doing any work. Sometimes he peeked through the slats between the boards in the fence, and sometimes he also peeked in her windows. He wasn’t proud of himself for doing this, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“Why did I leave Fresno anyway?’ Carl wondered now, “What am I doing here?” He thought back to how he had arrived here at this McDonalds, after what seemed a long time ago now. It had been such a great idea then, when had had left his mediocre existence for the thrill of new adventure, the search for something new, the search for something he really wasn’t sure what. And he had ended up here at this McDonald’s in the middle of nowhere. Adventure wasn’t all it was cut out to be after all, not even nearly like what he had seen on the television he used to watch during the afternoons and evenings overseeing his family, his women that needed him. And surely he remembered their regular home cooked meals, not this greasy fast food Carl had been eating every day now for the past nineteen days. Thinking back, Carl’s belly gurgled from the memory of the satisfying lunches his mother used to make for him.

Beep, beep, beep, Carl was startled. Lost in thought, he had completely forgotten where he was.

“Welcome to McDonalds. Would you like to try our new potato and egg burrito?” Carl asked.

“No, I want a pancake and egg breakfast and a cup of coffee, that’s all,” a surly voice answered.

“Do you want orange juice to go with that?” Carl asked.

“No I told you, just get me a pancake breakfast with a cup of coffee,” the voice answered.

Carl heard the rumble of the engine as a pickup pulled up to the drive-thru window. He sure would like to toss these pancakes into the lap of that surly guy leaning out of his oversized Dodge pickup. Carl took the surly guy’s ten-dollar bill. His head was starting to pound.

The order was up, the pancake and coffee order for the surly guy in the truck.

Carl reached around and grabbed the pancake breakfast off the hot shelf where it waited to be delivered to his customer. The top of the Styrofoam container popped open when Carl grabbed it, upsetting itself and falling to the floor. Scrambled eggs and pancakes scattered themselves, leaving greasy trails on the tile floor.

“Damn,” Carl muttered. His fingertips were burned from the hot steam that spiraled off the freshly microwaved eggs. This day was turning out far worse than he had imagined. Carl watched as one of the pancakes rolled across the floor, bounced up against the baseboard and spiraled to a stop.

Beep, beep, beep.

“Damn!” Carl said again.

“What?” his new customer asked.

“Welcome to McDonalds,” Carl said quickly, trying not to slip on the eggs under his feet while he typed in a repeat order for the pancake guy. “Would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?”

“No thank you, I’ll have a cup of coffee and orange juice.”

“Would you like a pastry to go with that?” Carl asked.

“No, thank you,” answered the voice, “just orange juice and a cup of coffee.”

“Cream and sugar?” asked Carl.

“No”

“Your total will be $2.69,” Carl said.

“Where are my pancakes?” the surly guy wanted to know when Carl handed him back his change.

“Coming up,” Carl said, turning around too quickly to type in the new order and almost slipping on a pancake.

“Order up!” The replacement order was ready to go. Carl picked the container up, more carefully this time, put it in a large paper bag and handed it out the window to the surly guy.

Would you like some syrup with that, he imagined himself saying while pouring syrup on the pancakes in his customer’s lap. He imagined the surprised look it would create on the surly customer’s round red face, his mouth opening in surprise. Carl grinned with a satisfied feeling as the surly guy drove away, the morning sun glinting off the shiny bumper of his new truck.

Carl watched the next car drive up to the window. It was a red Toyota with a woman inside. The orange juice and coffee lady, oh yeah, Carl remembered, turning quickly to pour a coffee and grab an orange juice from the refrigerated compartment while he rang up the total on his computerized cash register.

Beep, beep, beep. Another customer. The morning rush had begun.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?”

“I want...”

Carl waited.

“I want...”

Carl took the money from the coffee and orange juice lady and handed her back her change. He was careful to step around the spilled eggs and pancakes. He hadn’t had time to clean the mess up yet.

Beep, beep, beep, Carl’s headset reminded him a customer was waiting.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?”

“I want... I’ll have...”

Carl waited.

“Oh, ok, I’m ready...

Carl waited.

“Ok, I’ll have scrambled eggs with hash browns.”

“Would you like something to drink with that?” Carl said.

“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “No, wait a minute, I don’t want that.” Another long pause.

Carl waited.

“I’ll have the potato and egg burrito.”

“Ok. Would you like some orange juice with your breakfast?” Carl said.

“Yeah, sure,” the voice answered, then paused again. “No, no, no, forget it.”

“Would you like a breakfast pastry to go with that?” Carl asked.

“No, thank you,” answered the voice, “just a cup of coffee.”

“Cream and sugar with your coffee?” asked Carl.

“No”

“Your total will be $3.89,” Carl said.

The car approached the drive-through window and the driver rolled down the window of the car. “Oh, sorry, I only have three dollars.” the driver said. “Forget the coffee then.”

Carl refigured the total and took the customer’s three dollars. As he turned to make change, Carl slipped on the spilled eggs, his feet slipping out from under him while his body crashed backward into the side of the service counter. Carl barely kept his feet from sliding out from under him and barely missed landing on the hard tile floor.

Beep, beep, beep the headset started up again, high-pitched and loud in Carl’s ears. Carl swallowed, trying to keep his temper in control. His back was starting to hurt.

“Welcome to McDonalds,” Carl said, “would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?” No answer. This was getting to be too much.

Beep, beep, beep.

“Welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try our new potato and egg breakfast burrito?”

“No, I wouldn’t, just get me a bacon, egg and cheese McGriddle with a cup of coffee and hash browns on the side.”

“Would you like to try some orange juice to go with that?

“No, I don’t want anything else,” the voice said.

Carl turned around and lost his balance for good. His feet flew out from under him and he went crashing to the floor. His head crashed into the wall and knocked his headset into the corner. It lay there like an umbilical cord, a lifeline attached to him through the thin wire that connected to his too tight belt fastened around his middle.

Beep, beep, beep, his headset called to him faintly from the corner where it had fallen. Carl groaned, his head throbbing.

Beep, beep, beep, his headset called again.

Carl’s head was killing him. He lay on the floor, head throbbing, and he thought of his life before, back in Fresno. He had lived a quiet life, and he had a friend, his one friend Phil. Back in Fresno, he had a purpose.

Lying on the floor of the McDonalds, next to the drivethrough window, Carl, head spinning, flashed back to one bright morning sitting on the front porch with his grandmother. Some of the neighborhood children had been playing Frisbee in the yard of the house next door. One of the children tossed too hard and the Frisbee came spinning over the hedge of roses where it landed on the grass in Carl’s front yard.

“There goes another one,” his grandmother muttered in a voice cracking with the wear of old age. “When will those children learn to stay in their own yards? They need to be taught respect.”

In response to her complaints, Carl lifted himself off his comfortable chair on the front porch, moved slowly out onto the lawn and retrieved the Frisbee. While the children watched from over the too short rose hedge in disappointment, Carl took the Frisbee into the house and tossed it into the large cardboard box now brimming with children’s balls and various flying objects that had intruded into his yard over the many summers of his life. Returning to settle into his chair on the front porch, Carl felt satisfied.

“That’ll teach ‘em,” his grandmother said. Carl was needed. At home back in Fresno, he was needed to protect his helpless and aged family from the intrusions of the neighborhood children. At home, he had a purpose. Not like here at this fast food restaurant in the middle of nowhere where everybody was in a hurry to get nowhere and where the customers were short-tempered and unappreciative.

Carl remembered the fine spring day when he had decided to return the full box of toys to the children of the neighborhood. He knew for sure that he was in love with his new neighbor and he wanted her to be impressed with his virtuous nature. He didn’t want her to think he would keep toys from children, even if they didn’t know respectable boundaries. It was shortly after she had moved in next door.

And so one night he waited until darkness and carried the box of softballs, baseballs, basketballs, soccer balls, footballs, Frisbees and airplanes to the front porch of the neighbor three houses down. There lived four boys who always played with the three boys next door. Carl deposited the box awkwardly on the front porch and quickly turned towards his own home, pretty sure he had gone unnoticed and feeling very virtuous.

Oh, his memories.

He missed his home. He missed his mother and grandmother. He missed his neighbor next door. Lying on the floor of the McDonalds, head pounding, Carl knew he was finished. That was it. Carl had had enough.

Carl groaned as he got up from the floor. Slowly, he reached for his headset, yanked the cord free of his belt and tossed it across the service counter.

The order was ready for his next customer. Carl carefully picked the Styrofoam container up from under the hot lights. He opened the top, grabbed a handful of salt packets, as many as he could hold onto, tore off the paper tops and sprinkled the salt over his customer’s breakfast order. Turning, Carl handed the box out the drive-thru window to his customer.

Next he reached for several packages of imitation maple syrup. Carl pulled the tops off three of the containers, held them in one hand and reached out the drive-thru window toward the driver. He tossed the opened containers into his customer’s lap.

“Hey,” the driver yelled out.

Carl grabbed some change from the open register and tossed it out the window after the maple syrup. A quarter and two dimes bounced off the customer’s lap and rolled into the passenger seat.

“Have a great day,” Carl said as he turned away. The drivethru window snapped shut behind him. Carl was satisfied when he took his last paycheck from his now ex-manager. He used it to buy a bus ticket and a cheap collapsible telescope that he folded up and put into his backpack, his one piece of luggage. Carl boarded the bus back to Fresno with a smile on his face.

Carl’s mother was surprised when he showed up back on the doorstep of his childhood home in Fresno. “Where have you been?” she demanded, a look of worry mixed with anger on her face.

His grandmother seemed not to have noticed he’d been gone. “The neighbors next door painted their house and you should’ve seen the dust around here. There was dust all over the curtains and on my chair. I’ve a mind to call the police and report on ‘em. They need to learn respect,” she said.

Carl climbed up the stairwell to his bedroom. I sure am glad to be home, he thought as he pulled his new collapsible telescope out of his jacket pocket. It was the folding kind that scrunched into a flat disc. He couldn’t wait to use it.