Just a little story I wrote

Alfred G. Huntington

Alfred G. Huntington was a simple man. He lived simply. He died simply. And then his family invested $1800 in a memorial bench that bared his name and the words “Alfred didn’t talk much, but he always liked to listen. So please talk.” Lisa Mary Julia Green always sat on Alfred’s bench for the ten minutes that preceded her shift at the Concession. She didn’t like being late, so she invariably arrived ahead of time, but she equally disliked working in the greasy-aired kitchen when she was not paid to do so, so she expended those ten minutes sitting quietly on the bench and observing. Julia (she didn’t go by Lisa) always felt a little guilty when her eyes fell on the last three words on that shiny bronze plaque: “So please talk.” After all she was knowingly disregarding the simple request that Alfred G. Huntington’s mourning relatives had asked in return for the use of Alfred’s bench. But Julia was also self-conscious, and though she had the secret desire to at times, she never talked to herself. But she felt that the simple act of feeling guilt was somehow compensation for her lack of dialogue, in fact she told herself (though not out loud) that she was superior to those who sat upon this bench without even considering the man whose name it bore—even if they spoke, it was not out of respect for Alfred, but for themselves.
Julia was sitting on Alfred’s Bench when Penter approached her. He sat down and started talking to her. He didn’t even glance at the plaque.
“My shift starts in two minutes,” she interrupted him.
“Great. Then I can benefit from your cooking skills.”
“You only ever get coffee.”
“Excuse me, but lattés are not just coffee!”
“Latté-making isn’t a cooking skill.”
“Yes, but it’s a good indication of your cooking skills. The complexity. The perfect ratio of steamed milk to espresso. And don’t forget the dab of foam.”
Penter always talked like that. Julia found him strange. She also knew that he was cheap. That annoyed her. She suspected that the only reason he didn’t buy a small latté was that he was self conscious about his large clumsy hands, which, grasping the small cup, would appear mammoth. He was cracking his knuckles with those giant hands as he spoke. Julia shuddered.
“Do you want to get arthritis?”
“No, but I have a thing with instant gratification.”
Then why haven’t you given up talking to me yet?
“Oh.”
There was a pause. Julia found it disturbing and awkward, but Penter was smiling goofily. She got up. He looked at her quizzically.
“My shift,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
Oh yeah, Right. She mocked him in her mind.
Penter was Julia’s second customer. He waited for her to finish with the sad-eyed Asian woman instead of being served by Angie, Julia’s co-worker.
“One medium latté.”
“It’s a hot day,” said Julia, nodding towards the beach that fronted the Concession.
“All right. One medium iced latté.”
“The frappes are good, but they’re more expensive.” She was testing him.
“All right, one medium frappe.”
“They only come in the large size.” She was pushing. She somehow didn’t want him to pass the test.
“Your menu says they come in three sizes.”
“We’re out of cups for the small and medium.”
Angie cut in. “We could fill a large cup half-way and charge you for a small or medium.” She smiled brightly at Penter. Julia gave her a terse glare.
“It’s okay. I’ll get the large,” said Penter, making eye contact with Julia.
“You will?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “You convinced me.”
“Oh. Well, that’ll be $5.13.”
She watched, as he fumbled with his coins, until he came up with exact change.
“Thanks, that makes it easier for me,” she muttered.
He watched her, as she made the frappe. His eyes were dark and knowing.
“So I’ll pick you up at 7:30 then?”
She looked at him incredulously.
“Would you rather meet?” he smiled.
Julia glanced behind her. Angie was in the back.
“7:30?” he repeated.
“Why do you like me?”
“Oh I don’t. I just love going to dinner with people I hate. It’s actually very fascinating.”
She looked at him.
“I’m joking.”
“So? Give me one reason.”
“Well… You respect Alfred’s bench and I like that about you.”
“Oh. Did you know him or something?”
“No. But I’ve often wondered what that G in his name stood for.”
Julia felt a funny little tug in her insides. She gave him her answer.
Penter left with a smile on his face, that same stupid smile he always had on.

THE END

Anyways, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Lol, and it's okay if you hated it, but in that is the case, I wouldn't mind euphimisms :lol:

I liked this quite a lot. I liked seeing her thoughts on Penter and then discovering they were not quite right as she tested him. I thought really gave us an intimate glimpse into these characters something that's not always easy in a short story. I especially liked the beginning though I wondered how it fit in with the story as I read on. It tied in perfectly.

I think the only things I would change would be breaking up the first huge paragraph into a few smaller ones or at least two and when Penter appears. I wondered who or what was Penter. I might have mentioned right away that he was a regular at the concession where she worked at. As I read a bit I thought he was a co-worker and was on a break but it all worked itself out in the end. A very nice sweet story that made me think Alfred G. Huntington and his family would approve!

I really like it too. I have only two complaints: you said that the bench "bared" his name, and I would suggest "bore".

The other complaint is that I feel kind of silly, but am I supposed to know what the G stands for? I feel like you said it, I just missed it.

I really like how the characters are developed, as Darlin said, and I also like how the dialogue seems natural and is not over-burdened with qualifiers like "she said." I like how you hint at how the story might eventually turn out, but you leave it to the reader to think about it. Good job, very nice story!

Beautiful story! A completely boring chain of events for an outside observer, but so full of content!