Sunday, noon-thirty.
Drake cringed in fear when he saw the man walk in. He always carried a huge bag of recyclable cans, was always dressed in a ratty sweater and torn-up blue jeans, and always wore a pair of abused hiking boots wrapped with duct tape around the soles and the top of the boot. He smelled of garbage, and talked in a loud voice that scared Drake.
“Boy, hey, you, boy!” he yelled at Drake.
“Don’t you be calling him a boy,” said the woman who was always with him. She was wore a dirty shirt that you could see through, and a dirty denim skirt that, Drake knew, had nothing beneath. She smelled of more than just garbage. “He’s a may-an. I’ll bet he can show me.”
Both of these two put fear into him, because the man was loud and abrasive, and the woman was loud and lewd. Don’t go around the counter, his mentor had told him, and when these two were in the house, he didn’t.
Unfortunately, he was alone in the room. He walked over to the counter and said in a voice, higher than his normal voice, “Can I help you?”
“Somethin’ got yer balls, boy?”
“No,” he said, not understanding the reference.
The man roared with laughter, and the woman did too, hanging over each other. “Ya twink, ya got any?”
“Twinkies?” Drake said, and they laughed at him again.
Someone finally came out of the back – Shelly, his mentor, carrying a case of bread. “Harris, what’re you doing to my poor boy?”
They laughed, not able to get any words out, and Drake blushed, looking down and ashamed. Shelly handed the case of bread to Drake, “Go put this over there, hun, I’ll take care of these.”
Drake took the case, and brought it over to the other case of rolls that were already there. He could hear the old man talking loud, and Shelly answering him in a normal tone of voice. She got their food ready, and handed it to them. Seeing Drake move behind the counter, they got the snickers, and Drake kept his head down.
“Drake,” said Shelly.
He looked up at her. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” he said. “Maybe I should just work in the back for now.”
“Why do you say that?”
Drake came in close, glancing at Harris and his woman. He whispered, “They scare me. Some of the people here scare me.”
“Yes, they can be scary, hun,” she said quietly, keeping her voice low. “But sometimes, Drake, you have to face your fear.” His father had told him that a few times, and Drake had done so, and felt better because of it. However here, he was a stranger in a strange land. How much can he face here and not be considered too proud, too strong, too fearless? The culture here, though similar to the dragons, were not the same. Dragons did not admit fear, though Henrik suggested that admitting fear was more fearless than not admitting it. Now, that sounded like something his mother would say.
Shelly patted Drake’s arm. “I’ll be right here, Drake. Someone bothers you, you come tell me. Watch how I handle it and do the same thing. Don’t let nobody walk all over you.”
Drake smiled up at the woman. “Now go in back an’ get another casserole. We’re going to need it.”