Grace, Fire and Soul-Sucking Heat

Congratulations to Dan & Robin! Gracie Bella is adorable!

Woo, Arkansas is suck-the-life-out-of-you hot. We went to Eureka Springs this morning to walk the steep streets and window shop. Eureka is a great little historic Victorian town with all these cute little shops, B&Bs, spas and two haunted hotels.

But by the time were done, we could barely stay awake on the ride home. I'm three-shower-a-day woman here. The afternoon ones are the best, when I stand under the coldest possible tap setting and feel heat literally washing off me. Ahhh.

I'm heading off for Little Rock tomorrow, likely to stay over with Steve and Michelle, and plan to be in Nashville on Monday afternoon.

Made contact with the Atlanta paper, which is hiring, hiring, hiring. The managing editor seems very nice, and I'm sending off some clips Monday morning. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

But before I leave here, I'm going back to the Village Inn with Andy and Jen for one more look at Fire the busboy who has, to say the least, a unique way of clearing tables.

Andy told me about him, but I didn't really get it until we went last night and watched him. Andy calls him "The Matrix," but the guy's nametag says "Fire." I'd really like to interview him, but I suspect he would not be down for that because I think he might be slightly autistic.

Picture a semi-circular booth in any basic burger-chicken-strip-pie-and-coffee joint. Fire stands in front of the table, looking over the dirty dishes left by a family of four, sizing them up. Planning his moves. He raises his arms from the shoulders, like he's considering just scooping up everything at once. Or else he's marking his territory. Then he puts his arms down again and clears off the half-full glasses first. He comes back with a bustub, and without moving his torso at all, he moves his arms as fast as humanly possible, stacking and moving dishes into the tub.

His arms are moving so fast, you don't even see him leave a wet, white towel on the table before taking the bustub into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later and, again without moving his torso, swipes one side of the table, moves the pie menu, the sugar bowl and condiments to the clean side as fast as possible, as though he's playing a shell game with them, then wipes down the other side. He moves back with a quick little jig-step, then flings his whole body into the middle of the half-circle bench seat and wipes down one side of the back and seat. Then he backs out, goes around the other side, lauches himself in again and wipes down the other side.

It's spectacularly strange.

We ask him why he chooses to bus the tables this way, and he explains, without making eye contact, that he's been to the local benihana house a few times (but not often, because it's expensive) and seen how they entertain people with the food.

"I think people would like something different once in a while," he says.

Except he does every table to same way every time.

Legend has it he can be found at a local coffee house most every day, with a stack of journals, writing and writing, his arms and shoulders hunched over like he's protecting his prose. He once told Jen the story of his appearance at a national busboy competition. Everyone who saw him thought he would win, but then he met a woman who went back to his room with him and "stole his secrets." The next day, at the big showdown, she busted out all his moves and won the competition.

My guess? Her skull is now in his freezer.