3It all begins at a fast food joint in Virginia. It has to be the most popular fast food place in the states as well as in other countries. The red roof building is lit up with golden arches. The large letter M illuminates in the humid night. In the window is a clown, the painting only appearing as a shadow once the sun went down.
"Can I help who's next?" a black woman asks from inside the cold airconditioned McDonalds.
All across America, people pronounce it differently. The residents of New Jersey go to Micky Dee's. The pedestrians of Pennsylvania pull in the drive thru of Mick Donalds. Throughout the south, rebels walk in for a hamburger at Mac Donalds.
"Yes. I'll have two large Orange Soda's, a one dollar burger, and one large French fry," answers a woman. Her long curly hair reached her waist. Her wardrobe consists of a red V neck top, a black leather mini skirt, fishnet stockings, and small straped high heels that would snap if she steps in the wrong crack of a sidewalk.
The registers were made up a certain way so that any moron can function them. All an employee has to do is push buttons with pictures of food on them. And that's what the black woman in her thirties, mother to three kids, does. She hands the blonde woman her receipt, fixes the maroon visor on her head, and takes the next customer's order. It's a group, all with identical t-shirts. Wonderful. They've come to spread their love of Jesus all throughout dixie land.
The public restroom reeks of diseases. Laya tosses her cleaning rag in the overfilled trash can. She washes her hands up to her elbows, making sure to turn the faucets off with a paper towel. Looking in the mirror, she sees the purple half moons under her green eyes. The repulsive visor she yanked off her head minutes ago is crammed in the pocket of her polyester pants. Laya constantly felt ugly and dirty, even when she was not working.
"Just a couple more months," she promises herself.
"Maybe before the end of this year I'll finally be a military therapist."
Despite being alone in the ladies washroom, Laya waits for a voice to answer her back.
"Who am I kidding. I'll be here forever."
Misery consumes the college teenager, a girl of eighteen to be specific. She takes another paper towel and uses it to open the door and exit.
"Put on your hat." A balding manager walks by without taking a second glance at Laya.
Laya groans and shoves her hand in her pocket to retrieve her visor. The place is packed. Apparently everyone wants McNuggets at one in the morning after going to a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert.
The green eyed teen meets up with her boyfriend, Chris, the burger flipper.
Chris is a tall, skinny blonde kid with low intellect, the reason being that he was dropped on his head as an infant. Yes, everyone agrees that the burger turner and the fry shuffler are an adorable pair. In fact, they have plans for marriage. Laya will eventually run away from her rotten mother and abusive step father one day and move in with the love of her life, and her lover's mom.
"Excuse me, can you throw in a few ketchup packets?" the blonde woman inquires once she checks her paper bag full of greasy food.
"Certainly ma'am," the black woman responds. Her ruby polished fingernails give six ketchup packets to the blonde woman who thanks her and smiles in return.
She trots over to her five year old son who had saved a table for them.
"Here you go baby." She slides the bag across to him and gives him the soda that's still in the drink holder.
"Thanks mommy," the boy says.
The blonde little boy in his jean overalls takes an eager bite of his hamburger.
"It's like your taking a bite straight from the cow itself," the blonde woman jokes.
Instead of spitting his chewed food in the wrapper, he laughs and takes a drink of his soda after his mother puts a straw through the lid.
His extra salty, crisp fries are spilled inside the bag.
"Will this be enough to keep you busy, baby?" she queries.
"Sure mommy," he answeres.
The blonde woman pulls several dollar bills out of her bra cup.
"Here's for a sundae, I'll be RIGHT back, ok? Don't go anywhere. Don't talk to anyone."
After placing a kiss on the boy's forehead, the blonde woman leaves the fast food resturant with her soda, strutting drunkenly in her heels.
In the cooking area, Laya rolls her hands into a pair of rubber gloves, opens a bag of frozen French fries and empties them into a cubed fryer. Once the machine is hot enough, she dunks the fries into a pit of grease and leaves her station.
"Hey cutie." She pulls a glove off to stroke her boyfriend's arm.
"What's up, Laya?" Chris replies as he turns over a frozen patty.
"Chris! Laya! Roy says you're on break," the black woman informs them.
Laya is pretty good friends with her. Turns out that when LaTina was a teenager, she had a dream of becomming a model while she worked at the exact same McDonalds.
Two younger teenage boys replace Chris and Laya.
The couple goes outside to make out passionately against the back of the building. The drive thru is closed. The speakers need repairing.
"I can't wait until we can live together, Chris," Laya says while her boyfriend leaves wet kisses down her neck.
"Mom's looking forward to having another woman in the house," Chris responds.
Laya's turned off in an instant. It happens whenever Chris mentions his mother while they do anything sexual. Why just last week she was blowing him and Chris asked for her adivce on what flowers he should get his mom for Mother's Day.
"Chris," Laya protests, her short brown pony tail clinging to the back of her neck.
She distances the space between them by putting her hands on his shoulders. Chris's name tag falls on the road. He picks it up and pins it back on his polo.
They hear a car door slam and turn to the direction of the noise.
"I'm not doing that!" yells the blonde woman. It's the same blonde woman who's fries and burger they both prepared.
"Our society is so fucked up," Chris mutters.
"Shh!" Laya holds a gloved finger to her lips and then pulls off the remaining glove, having forgotten to remove it when they were called on break.
Thankfully, the back of the building has no lights on.
"C'mon darlin', don't be like that." A middle aged man steps out of his pick-up truck.
"You're a sick bastard, you know that?" Her heels cluck on the pavement.
"You get back here. I already paid for you, whore!" the man exclaims.
The blonde woman kicks off her heels and sprints across the parking lot. She makes it to a fence and pushes the gate. A chain has the fence locked shut. The man corners in on her, bumping into an abandoned shopping cart, a knife emerging from his sleeveless jacket. She makes it half way up the fence when the man grabs her ankle and yanks the prostitute down, bringing the blade into her gut repeatedly.
Chris has his hand over Laya's mouth by the time she lets out a shriek, as does the man who has a dirty palm over the woman's mouth as he stabs her.
The two teenagers hurry silently inside, crouched down. In the resturant are twin lines of people waiting at the register. Laya and Chris are both distraught as they go into the managers office without knocking, Laya in tears and Chris about to cry himself.
"Sir, call the police!" Chris pleads.
Roy has his arms crossed over his head as he leans back in his chair, his legs twist together on top of the desk. His tucked in manager's shirt bulges his gut out in a pregnancy like state.
"Why should I? You two just walked in during The Young and the Restless," he sneers.
"Sir, a woman's being stabbed in the parking lot!" Chris panicks.
"We saw it for ourselves," Laya adds.
"Ok." The man clicks off the TV and lifts his fat ass from the spinning chair.
"Sir, where are you going? Make the call!" Chris pleads.
They follow behind Roy as he leaves his office.
"Roy, don't," Laya says.
"If I don't see a dead lady or a killer out there, consider youselves clocked out for the rest of your fifteen minute lunch breaks," the manager threatens and exits through the back door.
"Shit, we got to do something!" Laya exclaims.
"No way. I'm not going back out there and neither are you," Chris says.
A minute later, the heavy manager comes back inside.
"Did you see him?" Chris asks.
"Depends who 'he' is, son. You must have mistaken the life sized ceramic clown outside for being the Lake Shore Stabber. All I saw was a few cars, a tour bus, and a freaken clown," Roy replies.
"Dammit, Roy. We witnessed a murder and we're contacting the police right now!" Laya insists. She jogs back into the managers office, picks up the phone, and dials 9, the cord inbetween her fingers.
Roy presses in the dial tone as Laya angirly puts the phone back down on the reciever.
"Why don't you beileve us? We would never make up something like this," she says.
"Laya, there's no evidence I can go by. No customers even came to me claiming they heard screams, no blood stains in the parking lot, now I don't want to hear another word about this," Roy replies.
"We're not lying," Laya says.
"I believe you." The manager pauses.
"I believe that you both believe that you both saw something frightening and unusual. That's the side effect of drugs, children. Now whatever you two took, go home and sleep it off. I'll clock you both out and tomorrow morning you come back with a bright, happy smile, and I won't report any of this."
"God!" Laya snaps. She leaves the office, Chris behind her.
They are in the McDonald's packed with people. It is safe in here, not out there. They both look out the window into the night and spot the ceramic Ronald McDonald clown, the symbol of this establishment.
"I remember me and my friends used to throw our gum at that thing," she whispers.
"I see neither of you are leaving," Roy says, a few feet away from the couple.
"Do what you want but if you stay here you better order something."
Chris hugs Laya from behind, his chin on her shoulder. He takes her hand, leading her to a table.
A little boy sits at the table behind Chris, twirling his last fry into a pile of salt, slurping the last bit of his soda before the cup was just a clutter of ice. He looks at the watch his mother gave him. He recently learned how to tell time. When his mother left, the time was one. Now the time is three and he's worried. She would never leave him by himself for this long. He goes against her wishes and exits the fast food resturant.
He can't find her anywhere in the parking lot.
He begins to cry as he walks to the back of the building. A fence blocks the alley way, a shopping cart parked next to the fence.
Inside the cart, he finds a ceramic clown the size of a doll. He is able to see the clown clearly due to the street light above. A red fro, a deadly pale face, eye makeup, and red lipstick reaching just below the clown's big ruby ball of a nose. The clown has jumbo, odd shaped red shoes and is dressed in a red and yellow striped jumpsuit.
"Hi Billy." The clown's painted lips move as the child holds him.
Billy is scared but the reason he does not answer is because his mother told him not to talk to anyone.
"Billy, how come you aren't talking to me?" the clown asks.
After a moment Billy replies.
"My mommy told me not to talk to anyone," he replies.
"But Billy, you already disobeyed your mom's wishes. You went outside after she told you not to go anywhere," the clown says.
"I don't know where she is," Billy replies.
"Don't worry, Billy. Your mom won't yell at you. Ever again," the clown says.
The little boy smiles, not understanding that she is dead.
"Play with me Billy. I'm all alone," the clown says.
"Ok," Billy responds.
"Alright. Let's go!" the clown says cheerfully.
"Where?" Billy asks.
"Through there." The clown does the best to lift up his arm, his hand still dangling down. He points his wrist towards the empty alley.
Carrying the clown by the back of his jumpsuit, Billy tries the fence and discovers it is locked.
"We can't. It won't open," the blonde boy explains.
"Just put my face next to the lock," the clown replies.
Billy does as he's told.
The clown's mouth grows shark teeth that come to life in a moving circle. His teeth tear the lock to shreds.
Billy pushes the gate open.
"Wait Billy, I can't walk! Can you push me instead?" the clown asks, raising a painted brow.
"In what?" Billy says.
"There's a shopping cart right behind you. I want to go in there," the clown says.
"Ok," Billy says and puts the clown in the top section of the shopping cart.
His head barely reaches the handle bars but he stretches his hands up and blindly steers the cart through the gate, into the dark alley. The clown bounces up in the cart and is the only thing Billy can see clearly.
"You know my name but I don't know yours," Billy says.
"It's Ronald."