INFP Special Skills: Leeto's Law

“He’s going to be the next Elon Musk!” Leeto’s Mom barked at the waitress collecting their plates. “He’s got so many ideas,’ she insisted, grabbing hold of the waitress’s arm and gripping it in a clutch. The waitress mouthed some words before she walked away as Leeto cringed, dropping his head into his shoulders in a hunch.  

“Don’t believe the hype!” his father hollered at the distant waitress, glaring at her posterior as she sauntered to the kitchen. 

“Dad!” 

“What? It’s called promotion, son. You want to be a businessman, don’t you? Well, you’d better know about promotion!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to be a businessman, I said I had IDEAS!” Leeto insisted, slamming his head into the arm-triangle he’d arranged on the table. 

“You hear that, Maura? The boy says he has ideas!” chortled his Dad, his belly bouncing as he laughed. Leeto pulled his head up and looked at his Dad, noticing he still had glistening droplets of cola and chicken grease on his moustache, unwiped. Then Leeto stared out of the window at a huge shopping mall, kids with skateboards on the curbs. Two of them were sitting down, wearing caps and high-tops, waiting their turns to pull ollies over boxes and bins. Then he blew a huge breath across the window, covering most of it in steam before holding up a pointy finger to draw lines in it.   

“Patent!” his Dad belched, “you need a patent, son. That’s the one thing every great idea ever had.”

“Oh, Bryan!” said Leeto’s Mom, “Let him have his ideas. He just needs that one great spark to start with, to make his Mom and Dad proud.”

“Are you kidding me?” croaked his Dad, “he doesn’t need a spark to make us proud, he needs a spark to make us rich!” 

“Bryan!” she cawed, pushing her elbow into her bosom to adjust her bra, avoiding getting any grease on her fresh-looking T-shirt. A bustle of coach people arrived at the diner in a cacophanous throb, chairs and tables scraping the floors. His mother turned to look while his father tutted and grumbled, angry at the laughter and guttural guffaws as they filled the restaurant. 

“Could they BE any louder?!”  

“Didn’t you pay already?” his mother asked. 

“I wanted a slice of apple pie!” his father bellowed, ramming his left elbow into his son’s abdomen, making him bleat like a lamb. “You wanted apple pie, too, didn’t you, son?”

“I guess.”  

“Miss! Hey! Excuse me!” his Dad beckoned across the diner, lifting his hand into the air like a battle sword and clicking his fingers. “Goddamnit! What do we have to do to get some service around here? Hello! Excuse me!” his father shouted, raising his voice to an uncomfortable level as Leeto hunched his shoulders again and pulled his T-shirt up over his mouth, holding it with his nose. “Miss!” his father shouted, checking for the waitress as she turned to another table. “That’s it, I’m going to-”

“Sir, couldn’t you wait your turn, like the rest of us?” a dark-skinned man said, of around thirty. He was right by their table, towering above them. He held a little girl’s hand as she played with a doll.  

“We’ve been waiting about an half an hour just for apple pie!”

“Dad!”  

“But I think these people need to eat,” said the man. 

“Is that right?” his father sneered, looking ahead as Leeto smiled at the little girl playing with her doll. “So, who are these big shots anyway? Who are these people thinking they’re so important they can’t let us finish our meal with a slice of pie?”

“They’re US military, sir.”

“Okay,” piped up Leeto’s mother, nodding with pursed lips. 

Leeto kept looking at the little girl and smiling. Then he looked at his mother. 

“Mom! I need to pee!”  

“Pretty bad timing, son,” his father said, shooting a hand back into the air as the waitress came closer. Then he threw his arm around like a windmill as a woman approached the table in a flowing blue gown, holding her belly like a beach ball about to explode. Her eyes were round, and her hair was black obsidian, and the little girl ran at her and took her hand. Leeto’s mother glared at his father and then kicked him under the table.

“Bryan!” she mouthed. 

“What?”  

“She’s pregnant!” 

“So what?”

“Oh my goodness, Bryan!”

“I need to pee!” Leeto yelped as his father shot him a frown like Hulk Hogan before sighing and shuffling out from the diner bench. When he stood up, Leeto slid himself free and then walked right up to the pregnant woman and little girl. 

“Excuse me?”  

“Hey,” the man replied. 

“Would you like our seats? They’re free,” he offered, as the man’s eyes swelled like spheres and the woman nodded, washing both hands over her belly like a crystal ball. 

“Are you sure?” the man asked.

“Of course,” Leeto said. “We can stop for apple pie on the road, Dad.”

“Leeto!” his mother crooned, “That is such a good idea!” she said, sliding free from the bench before pulling her handbag onto her shoulder. 

“So you don’t need to pee?” his Dad frowned. 

“I can do that after we get the pie,” he smiled, looking at the pregnant lady as she lowered herself onto the bench like a statue held by a construction crane.    

“Thank you so much,” she said, sitting down. 

“Of course,” Leeto replied, “you guys needed it more than us,” he said, taking each of his parents’ hands and walking them to the exits.