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Reeling in the Years	By : Flagg1991 Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 5080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House or its characters and I am not profiting from this story in any way.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Lyrics to Runaround Sue by Dion (1961)
When Lincoln came out the front door that Thursday morning, Ronnie Anne was sitting on the top step and watching a man trying to change his back tire. He was kneeling next to it and weaving a tapestry of obscenities so thick that Lincoln was a little surprised she wasn't choking on it. Her elbows were on her knees and her face rested in her palms. She wore a purple dress and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place with a purple ribbon. Lincoln didn't think she knew he was there until she spoke. "He's been trying to change that damn tire for fifteen minutes." She giggled and jumped up. As they always did when he saw her for the first time after a while, his eyes darted to her chest. Once upon a time it was flat. Now it wasn't. He felt himself stirring and glanced away, ostensibly at the man trying to change his tire.
"Looks like he's having trouble."
"I'll say," Ronnie Anne said. She took his hand in hers. "You ready?"
Lincoln looked into her warm, brown eyes and grinned. "Always."
As they walked, she threaded her fingers through his. "How'd your test go?"
"I passed it," he said.
She looked at him. "Really? That's great. How's Leni taking it? You were kind of worried."
"Yeah, it was for nothing." When Mom asked him about it last night at dinner, he winced but told her. Everyone was really supportive, even Leni, who didn't seem fazed in the least. She probably gave up on the idea of ever driving herself, and that made Lincoln feel bad.
Ronnie Anne squeezed his hand. "I'm proud of you."
"Thanks," he said with a blush.
"Now you can pick me up and we can cruise."
"Well," Lincoln said, "the next step is getting a car."
"You need money for that," she pointed out.
"I know. I asked Bobby to talk to Flip for me. Hopefully I can work there."
Ronnie Anne nodded. "That'd be pretty cool. Flip's a good guy. It's gonna take a while to save up enough money for a car working at Flip's, though."
Lincoln sighed and slumped his shoulders. "I know. I figure if I save every penny I can have a set of wheels by the year 1985."
Ronnie Anne's eyes widened. "Whoa. You know, the price of cars will probably go up, so it'll be kind of like a mirage, you know? You keep going toward it but it keeps going away."
Sigh. "Yeah."
She let go of his hand and rubbed his back, then rested her head on his arm. "I'm kidding. It won't take that long."
"Long enough," Lincoln said, "I wanna drive now."
"Good things –"
" – come to those who wait. I know. I told myself the same thing yesterday."
When they got to school, Ronnie Anne stepped into his arms and they kissed, her body pressing close to his. He started to get an erection, but called up an image of naked fat men dancing in the snow, their little things cold and shrunken and their nipples rock hard, and it went away. "See you in class," she said, looking up at him. He smiled and caressed her cheek.
"Not if I see you first."
All that day, Lincoln fidgeted with restless energy. Was Bobby talking to Flip? Did he forget? Would he do it later? He probably forgot: He was so goo-goo over Lori that his brain didn't have room for anything else. Lincoln sighed. There was a payphone in the cafeteria; maybe he should call Bobby later and remind him. No, he didn't want to be annoying. He also didn't want Bobby to forget.
At lunch, he sat across from Clyde. His glasses were taped in the middle. "Another incident?" Lincoln asked as he opened his milk.
"Yep," Clyde said, "I looked down too quickly and they fell off."
Lincoln winced. "Ouch."
"Tell me about it. Now I look like some kind of nerd or something."
Lincoln opened his mouth, but Clyde held up his hand. "Don't even."
They both laughed.
Last year, Clyde got a job cleaning horse stables and Lincoln didn't get to see him too much, which kind of upset him: Clyde was his best friend and once upon a time they were inseparable. Now, they saw each other at school and sometimes on the weekends. He didn't really come over to Lincoln's house that much anymore because he and Luan had bad blood: He didn't know the whole story, but it had to do with politics and them being arrested last year (okay, they weren't really arrested, just stuffed and given a warning). The first time Clyde came over after that, Luan saw him and her eyes slitted dangerously. "I have a few choice words for you, mister," she said and put her hands on her hips. "Well, I just happen to have some for you," Clyde replied. Sigh. People really take politics too seriously.
Clyde took a drink of milk. "How'd the test go?"
"Good," Lincoln said, "I passed."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks. I just need a car now. And a job to get a car."
Ronnie Anne dropped next to Lincoln, startling him. "Are you still stressing out?" she asked. "You're such a worry wart."
"I just really hope I can get this job."
Clyde tilted his head. "What job is that?"
"Flip's," Lincoln said.
"Ah. Okay. That'd be nice. Does he give employee discounts?"
Lincoln shrugged. "I dunno. I'm not really interested in food, I'm interested in money."
"Well, if it falls through I can talk to my boss. We can always use another pair of hands...not a lot of people wanna clean horse stables."
Lincoln smiled nervously. He was one of those people. "I don't think I'd like that."
Clyde shrugged. "Whatever. That just means I get overtime." He smiled smugly and took a drink of milk.
"Yay, you get to play in poop longer," Ronnie Anne said sarcastically.
Clyde reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and opened it: Lincoln's eyes widened at the fat stack of bills therein. "Thirty-eight dollars," Clyde said, "and that's just what I carry on me. The rest is at home."
Ronnie Anne whistled. "That is nice...but still, it's poop, McBride."
"So?"
She shook her head and looked at Lincoln. "Where'd you find this weirdo?"
"He wasn't paying attention to what he was doing and sat down across from me one day," Clyde said. "He was all bummed out because he asked you to that dance and you turned him down."
Lincoln's face flushed. "Well..."
Ronnie Anne put her arm around his shoulder and pecked his cheek. "Aw...you were bummed?"
"Yeah," Lincoln admitted. "I was really sad."
She giggled and pressed her lips to his face: They were warm and soft and a tingle went down Lincoln's spine. "For the record," she said, her breath hot against his skin, "I liked you anyway. I was just nervous."
"Really?" Lincoln asked, turning. He didn't know that.
She nodded. "Yep."
"Nervous over me?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't start that self-deprecating shit, square-for-brains. You're amazing."
Lincoln's blush deepened. "Thank you."
Clyde shook his head and polished off his milk. Sometimes he felt like he had to compete with Ronnie Anne for Lincoln's attention...and how can you compete with a girl? He loved Linc like a brother, but he was not going to kiss him and hold his hand, so...Ronnie Anne had that over him.
At the end of the day, Lincoln waited by the front door for Ronnie Anne. She had just come out when he spotted Bobby's car at the intersection: He came through the light and parked at the curb. Lincoln's heart leapt. Without a word, he hurried over, leaving Ronnie Anne in the dust. Bobby rolled down the driver side window. "So?" Lincoln asked.
"I talked to Flip, and he said he could use you."
Happiness surged through Lincoln like a tidal wave. He threw his head back and fisted his hands. New car, here I come!
Bobby chuckled. "He wants you to come in and see how you do."
"Today?" Lincoln asked.
"Yeah."
"Sure!"
Bobby nodded. "Alright. Hop in and I'll drive you over."
"Shotgun!" Ronnie Anne cried next to him, making him jump. One day she was going to give him a heart attack.
He climbed in behind the passenger seat and Ronnie Anne got in front. Bobby lit a cigarette and turned up the radio. "Lincoln?" Ronnie Anne asked.
"Way ahead of you," he said, handing her a cigarette.
She turned and smiled prettily. "Thank you."
He lit his own cigarette and nodded. "Anything for you."
She giggled.
"Yuck," Bobby said, "you guys are gonna make me gag with that stuff."
Ronnie Anne turned to him. "Oh, like you and Lori don't do it?"
They did. Lori and Bobby were always talking cute on the phone. At first Lincoln thought it was just Lori, but one day he was over at Ronnie Anne's house, and he heard Bobby doing it too.
Bobby leaned forward and turned the radio up. Saxophone and drums filled the car. "I can't hear you."
Yeah I should have known it from the very start
This girl will leave me with a broken heart.
"I said..."
Bobby turned the radio higher. "Huh?"
Now listen people what I'm telling you
A'keep away from a'runaround Sue.
There was a speaker by Lincoln's head: His eardrums vibrated painfully and he winced.
'I SAID YOU DO IT TOO!"
Bobby tapped his fingers on the wheel. "YEAH, THIS IS A GOOD SONG! I AGREE!"
Ronnie Anne turned the radio down. "Hey," Bobby said, "I like that song! Runaway Sue. Really hip."
"It's giving me a headache," she said and crossed her arms.
"I think you broke my ears," Lincoln added.
"Next time you assholes can ride on the roof, how about that?"
A few minutes later, they pulled into the Flip's parking lot and slid into a space in front of one of the windows. A man in a suit and a woman in a pink dress were eating hamburgers. Suddenly, Lincoln was very nervous. He hoped he did well...he really needed a job.
"Alright," Bobby said and climbed out, "let's go."
Ronnie Anne got out and pulled the seat forward. As Lincoln got out, she pecked his lips, and he responded by slipping his tongue into her mouth. She smiled against him and swirled her tongue around his. An electric thrill raced up and down his body, and he had to beat back an erection. Fat men...snow...naked...
"Aw, Jesus, c'mon," Bobby said and put his hands on his hips. "I don't wanna see that."
Still kissing Lincoln, Ronnie Anne held her middle finger up.
"Yeah, back at'cha."
Inside, Flip was leaning against the counter and looking over a sheaf of papers, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He wore his usual attire: Dirty white T-shirt, waist apron, and brown slacks. When they came in, he looked up, and rolled his eyes. "As if seeing you once today wasn't enough."
Bobby spread his hands. "I can't stay away."
"I've noticed."
Flip looked at Lincoln, and he gulped. "You want a job?"
Lincoln nodded. "Y-Yes, sir."
Bobby laid his hand on Lincoln's shoulder. "This is –"
"I know who the hell he is," Flip said with a wave of the hand, "kid's in here making goo goo eyes at your sister every day. Might as well put him to work."
That wasn't true! It was more like every other day.
"Yeah, he's got a bad habit of doin' that."
Flip blew a raspberry. "You're one to talk. You do the same thing to his sister."
Ronnie Anne snickered. "Told you."
Bobby pursed his lips. "You gonna put him to work or not? I don't have all day to play tiddly-winks with you, pops."
"Yeah, I'm putting him to work. You and her can get lost."
Ronnie Anne cocked an eyebrow. "You wanna fight, Flip?"
"You don't fight fair, so no," he said. Then, to Lincoln: "You ready, kid?"
Yes, he was.
And no, he wasn't.
He nodded. "Yeah. Ready."
Ronnie Anne kissed him on the cheek. "You'll do great."
Flip's face crinkled. "I don't wanna see that."
"You shoulda seen what they were doing outside," Bobby said, "in front of God and everyone. It was obscene."
Flip held up his hand. "I don't want to hear about it. Come on, Lincoln."
Bobby squeezed Lincoln's shoulder. "I'm picking Lori up, so I'll have her tell your folks where you are."
"I'll only keep him a few hours," Flip said. "See what he's made of."
Bobby and Ronnie Anne left, Ronnie Anne giving him an encouraging smile, and he was alone in the workforce with Flip.
Lincoln came around the counter when Flip gestured to him, then followed him through a door. Beyond, a small, cramped kitchen opened before him. There was a flat grill, a couple freezers and a fridge along one wall, and a sink flanked by shelves on the other. Pots and pans hung from racks over the center of the room: Two metal prep tables separated one half from the other. "You ever wash dishes, kid?"
Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, I wash dishes all the time at home."
"Good," Flip said. "This is the same principle." He went over to the sink and swept his hand over it in a wah-lah gesture. "You got your sink – there's a sponge floating around, steel wool should be in there. The waitresses will bring the plates and the silverware and the cups back and put 'em here." He patted a flat surface flanking the left side of the sink. "You wash 'em then sit 'em over there to dry a little." He nodded to another flat surface. "When they're done, you bring 'em out front. There's a standing shelf, I don't know if you saw it when you came in. You stack the plates, stack the cups, there's a tray for the silverware. It's simple. The cook will give you whatever he dirties, but that's not too much. You know the menu by heart, we have five fucking things. It gets busy, though. You seen that. Think you can handle it?"
Lincoln nodded. It sounded simple enough.
"Good," Flip said. "Santiago stuck his stupid greaser neck out for you, kid. No pressure." Flip winked and Lincoln gulped. "Now where the hell is my cook? I'm not paying this guy to fuck around."
As if on cue, a door opened and a tall, thin black man in white pants, a white shirt, and a white cap came in from outside. "I was just wondering where your black ass got to."
The man waved his hand. "Smoking, Flip. That okay with you?" At a guess, he was in his mid-to-late forties, maybe older: His brown eyes were faded and his face was beginning to crack like old leather.
"You know, if you chewed tobacco you wouldn't have to go outside."
"I also wouldn't have my jaw."
Flip clapped Lincoln's back, and the boy nearly fell. "Lincoln, this is Ernie. He's the one been making all those fries you and your girlfriend been eating over the past two years. Ernie, this is Lincoln. He's my new dish jockey."
"Nice to meet you, Lincoln," Ernie said warmly. "Why you wanna work for this old sonofabitch?"
Lincoln opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.
"Because I told him if he did good I'd fire your ass and give him your job."
Ernie pursed his lips and raised his brows. "We got a saying in Detroit. 'Don't you threaten me with a good time.'"
Flip nodded. "We'll see how good a time you're having when you're begging pocket change on the corner."
Ernie shook his head. "One thing you gotta know, Lincoln." He hooked a thumb at Flip. "This man has no respect. I fought in World War II and look how he does me."
"I fought in the one before that," Flip said, "so I can do you however I want."
Ernie waved his hand. "Flip, you didn't even leave the states, shut up. I was at Iwo Jima."
"Hiding in a goddamn crater, I bet."
"I gotta show you my gunshot again? And my bay-o-net wound?"
Lincoln's eyes darted from one man to the other.
"You gotta get your ass on that grill, that's what you gotta do." Flip looked down at Lincoln. "You good, kid?"
"Y-Yeah, I should be."
Flip nodded. "You got an undershirt on?"
Lincoln's brow furrowed. "Yeah. Why?"
"Take off that plaid nightmare unless you want it ruined."
With that, Flip left, and Lincoln tilted his head in confusion. First of all, his shirt looked nice. Second...why would it get ruined? He unbuttoned it and pulled it off: Underneath he was wearing a white tank top. He looked around for somewhere to put his shirt, then spotted a chair by the door. He went over, hung it over the back, and came back to the sink. Ernie was standing at the grill and reading an order. "How old are you, Lincoln?" he asked without turning.
Lincoln dipped his hands into the water. There was a stack of plates waiting. "Fourteen," he said. "I'll be fifteen in July." He picked up the first plate, found his sponge, and hurriedly washed it. Let's see how quick I can be...
"Fifteen? Shew. I can't even remember what that's like." He turned. "Let me ask you something. How old do you think I am?"
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and took another look at Ernie's face. Yeah, he had to be forty-eight or even fifty. He didn't want to say anything and offend him in case he was just a really old looking thirty. Best to lowball it. "Thirty-five?"
"Nope," Ernie said and sat a hamburger patty on the grill. "Forty-two."
Forty-two? Gee, he was way off.
"Most people think I'm older," he said. "Can't blame 'em. You know why I look so old?"
Lincoln shook his head.
"I been putting up with Flip's bullshit for two years." He rasped laughter. "Surprised my hair ain't gray yet."
Lincoln washed another plate and sat it on the first. "He's a character," he said.
"Yeah, he's a good guy. I've known him fifteen years."
"Was he really in World War I?" Lincoln asked.
"Yep. I think he enlisted when he was fifteen or something. Lied about his age." Ernie shook his head and laughed. "He was in the middle of the ocean being shipped to the front when the war ended, so they turned him back around. The funny part is, he gets seasick, and he had to be out there longer."
Lincoln blew through the rest of the plates, working as quickly as he could, and then dug around at the bottom of the sink for the silverware. There wasn't much, but what there was he cleaned and sat on the top plate. "What was Iwo Jima like?" he asked, genuinely curious. He saw a John Wayne movie about Iwo Jima once. It looked pretty scary.
"Hell on earth," Ernie said without a trace of humor, which took Lincoln aback. "The Japs'd pop outta holes in the ground and kill you before you even knew something was wrong." He shook his head. "It was a long march up that mountain."
Tense, awkward silence followed, and Lincoln tried not to think too hard about what it must have been like. If it was bad in a John Wayne movie, the real thing must have been ten times worse.
Lincoln was at Flip's for three hours before Flip came back into the kitchen. "Alright, Loud, get outta here."
He was in the middle of washing a plate. Did this mean he was being fired? "H-How'd I do?"
"Good, you did good. You're fast and I like that."
Relief flooded through Lincoln. "So I can come back tomorrow?"
"I'm not washing these damn dishes, and I doubt Ernie is either."
Ernie, standing at the grill and reading another ticket, shook his head. "I don't do dishes, you know that, Flip."
Flip spread his hands. "I guess that means you're coming back."
As he walked home, Lincoln smoked a cigarette and shuffled his feet. He had a job, he had a permit, he was going to get a car at some point...life was great.
- 11
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- 13
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Reeling in the Years