Bluhm Like Bloom

 

You’re talking in hoots and clicks while I’m watching the smears of blue above your eyes flash. Batwing eyelashes flutter nervously. I can’t help but notice the flesh under your slack chin tremble and bunch and your hairnet.  

 

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask.

 

“Would you like me to supersize your order for two more dollars?”

                                

The magnetic name tag you’re wearing on your left b**b says, “CINDY BLUHM.” And indeed they do, bloom that is – your breasts. I can’t stop staring at them; they’re enormous like chrysanthemums. 

 

“Umm. No thank you.”

 

“That’ll be nine dollars and thirty-six cents.”

 

Handing you my blue debit card you finger-punch the cash register – or computer, whichever it is. Your gobby, chicken-wing underarms swing when you hand me back my card, greasy. 

 

“It’ll be just a moment” you say.

 

Was that a wink? Are Cindy Bluhm and her enormous b***s flirting with me? 

 

A smile blooms on my face and I begin to understand why your last name is Bluhm, unless it’s pronounced blum like plumb and not Bluhm like bloom. And at that moment I decide I’ll call you Cindy Bluhm like bloom no matter how it’s supposed to be pronounced – this will be one of the endearing eccentricities of our relationship. 

 

I’m standing this side of the counter watching your pants ride up your a*s while you get my biggie, biggie ready and bagged. My face is warm and my earlobes are tingling for some reason. Is it hot in here?

 

You return with my lunch in a towering white bag smiling. I smile back noticing your hairnet is gone. 

 

Sitting at a fast-food sized table in what you called “the dining room,” I spread my lunch on wax hamburger wrapping paper like I’m having a sunny Sunday picnic. I’m secretly watching you and you’re slyly stealing sidelong glances at me. And that answers the question, is Cindy Bluhm flirting with me. 

 

A few minutes later you enter the “dining room” carrying plastic containers of garbanzo beans and baby pickled corns for the salad bar. You’re busy leaning over the accoutrements and condiments, b***s brushing the croutons.   

 

“Excuse me. Cindy?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Where’s the ketchup?”

 

Cindy Bluhm reaches into her deep apron pockets pulling out six packets of Ketchup. I take them from her plump palms but I’ve already eaten my hamburger and fries. In fact, I’ve thrown away my trash and put my tray in the receptacle so now, I’m all hot and red and unsure of what to do next with my hands. 

 

“Um” I say tongue tied.

 

Cindy steps closer, cheeseburger on her breath and the smell of grease in her curls.

 

I ask, “Would you go out with me this Friday?”

 

She reaches into her deep apron pockets pulling out a piece of paper with her phone number on it. And I realize everything necessary for life and love is in those deep apron pockets.   

 

“My name is Graham Pettis.”

 

“Nice,” Cindy says. “I get off of work Friday at eight. Can you pick me up here?

 

“Sure” I say. My smile is eating the whole of my head.

 

“See you then” says Cindy rotating on her axis and disappearing into the kitchen like a moon in the morning.   

 

I sit in my 1983 green Dodge Polara in the parking lot writing on a napkin, “If you were the new burger at McDonalds you’d be the McGorgeous. See you Friday night.” I drive up to the takeout window and some blond with a name tag that reads BARBIE RISBY opens the window, “yeah?”

 

“Would you please give this to Cindy Bluhm,” I say handing her the folded napkin. I hope I’m a joke Cindy enjoys. 

 

Barbie Risby opens the note, rolls her eyes and says, “It’s Bluhm.” She pronounces Bluhm like plumb. 

 

“Please, give the note to Cindy Bluhm” I say, pronouncing Bluhm like bloom. 

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Cindy Bluhm like Molly Bloom? It's a wonderful juxtaposition of the finer, almost platonic, aspects of love at first sight and the very real, nearly base represented in McDonald's and a vintage Dodge. It's Tristan and Isolde, with a Big Mac as the love potion. Winsome and winning to be sure, and the piece works on several levels. It is fine, fine stuff indeed.

[DavidRyan]

This was an addicting read from start to finish. The subtle actions and descriptions are perfect. And nothing is overblown or exaggerated. It's definitely the first time I have seen McDonalds as being the most eccentric character in a story. I like the twist -- if you can call it that -- that the lead female character sounds like a round-shaped girl who has a greasy job to make ends meet -- definitely not glamorous, but beautiful in her own way. Well done. I would tell you to change something if anything needed changing, but I don't see it.

[Emily B]

this is awesome stuff, reminds me of Cheryl B. and her adventures in the plant cafeteria. . . nice looking young man gazed at her wistfully in the breakfast line and said, 'I don't know what smells better, you or the bacon.' She was sure she heard him wrong and asked him to repeat it and came back to the office a little put off. I'm a little more practical about such things and convinced her that he might make a pretty likely candidate for companionship once properly trained. We never did find him again. I wondered once or twice if he ever really existed at all . . .