Merriton

Sierra watched the steam rise from the crater in the snow. She glanced at the appalled ski jackets watching her. They looked at her and then looked at the haphazard sign for Mt. Zen Cafe and then back at her. She tried to comfort them, “I just ran too hard. I haven’t eaten at the cafe. I…” The ski jackets went back to their car and drove off.

She looked at the the hole in the snow. “I ran so hard that I barfed in front of Mt. Zen Cafe,” she thought to herself, “God, I’m out of control again.” She picked up a bit of the white, powdery snow and tried to wipe off her face. She took of bite of the snow to take the taste from her mouth. The wave of nausea hit her again and she created another crater in the snow with a steaming pile of vomit. She leaned on the wall and tried to steady herself. This felt just like when she trained for the San Francisco Marathon. “I’ve got to get this under control.”

She walked into Mt. Zen Cafe. She had timed her run for the brief lull between lunch and dinner. It was the only half hour window in the busy winter schedule that Angie had any time to talk to Sierra anymore. “Sweet Jesus! You look like hell! Sit down!” Angie pulled Sierra to a chair, ran to the sink and brought her a glass of water. Sierra swished the water in her mouth and then unwillingly swallowed it.

“Take this.” Sierra pushed her new beloved iPod and Nike+ toward Angie. Angie picked it up. “What’s going on, honey?” The ski jackets across the room were watching Sierra and Angie. Sierra whispered, “I want you to keep that.” She pointed at the iPod. Angie looked at the little machine in her hand. “But, Randy gave you this for Christmas. I can’t take it.” She handed back to Sierra, but Sierra pushed her hands away.

“Please, Angie. Just take it.” Angie glanced over at the ski jackets. She stood up and put the iPod into her apron. She walked over to the tourists, refilled their drinks, took away some of their plates and brought them one of her famous cinnamon rolls. Sierra could smell the cream cheese frosting from across the room and the scent of it made her stomach complain.

Angie returned to Sierra’s table and pulled her chair in close. She grabbed Sierra by the wrist. Her voice was a whisper in Sierra’s face. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on with you, but Roscoe has me watchin’ to see when you run. Then Kevin says I’m supposed ta try to see if you got your little iPod with you when you run. Now you’re trying to give me the little iPod. No one’s tellin’ me nothing and I want to know what’s goin’ on!”

Sierra’s eyes filled with tears. Failure! Here she was again. God, why can’t I get it right? “I…” She couldn’t even think of what to say and the smell of the cinnamon roll was making her stomach churn. “I ran so hard I barfed…” she kept her voice quiet, “…right outside.”

Angie stood up and walked back to the kitchen. Sierra watched the little guy who washes dishes scurry out the front door while Angie returned to Sierra’s table. She glanced at the ski jackets, but they were happily devouring their roll. “No harm. He’ll clean it up.” She reached her hand into her apron and held out the iPod, but Sierra couldn’t take it from her. Angie set it on the table. “What happens to you if I tell Roscoe ’bout this?”

Sierra sighed and whispered, “Then Roscoe tells Kevin and Kevin tells Randy and then they take away my iPod and I can’t run anymore… shouldn’t be running in the first place.” The tears of embarrassment ran down her face. Angie turned the little machine over in her hands. “Maybe not.”