Star
Short Story
You can learn a lot about a person from the things they buy. You can discover their mood, maybe their health, if they're married. It's actually quite entertaining to ring through the groceries of a 36-year-old single dad or a lonely old lady who has a couple dozen cats. It's even more interesting trying to make conversation.
"You must have a hungry cat Mam." I joked. And the petite, elderly woman bobbed her head slightly and hunched over, examining and silently questioning my skills as a cashier.
"No, no I have a few kitties, I spoil them rotten." She showed me a slight toothless grin. Good for you and your fat cats old lady, and yes I mind carrying your four-hundred pound bag of gourmet cat food to your car for you. I smile.
"Have a nice day Mam."
Parking lots are dangerous. Surprises hide behind trucks and cars. Vehicles circle like sharks moving in on their prey. Add to that my lack of peripheral vision and knack for getting injured and you have a scenario for disaster.
As I slammed the cat lady's trunk closed, I notice the heat waves reflecting off the black pavement and dark cars, my face quickly became clammy with sweat. Stupid old lady and her stupid cats got me stuck out here in the first place. CAR!
"AHHH!" I dove out of the way, barely avoiding the bumper of a red Jeep. Matt the cart boy was soon hovering over me, questioning my condition with his annoying squeaky voice.
"That was close are you ok? You should be more careful. Are you alright? Can you talk?" My face was too busy becoming acquainted with the dark pavement to answer him. I groaned, slowly stumbling to my feet and realizing that I had been lucky, escaping with only a few cuts and bruises. My silent victory was short lived as my dark eyes caught sight of the not so lucky jeep. Headlight bashed on the broad metal post of the cart tent, engine smoking, airbags deployed. My skin crawled realizing what I had gotten myself into.
Before long I found myself in Christine's office facing my boss, her face flushed red. The driver of the Jeep was a man in his late 20's with dark hair and glasses. Maybe mildly attractive, I guess. Old men aren't really my thing. I wouldn't know. Squirming in my seat as Christine, her emotions adding to the humor of her reddening skin tone, dealt punishments. I gave the man the best apology my deflated ego would allow me to give. The man smiled faintly, but his eyes were saddened by the damage. Why men were so attached to their vehicles I'd never understand.
The next morning on my way to school, I stopped at work, eyeing the dented metal pole of the cart tent as I stumbled through the automatic doors. It's important to remember as many details as possible. Details feed my friends' curiosity and love of drama, but embellishment is crucial. I was already reinventing the parking lot fiasco in my head while sipping my third cup of coffee and trying my best to walk briskly towards the magazine rack.
"You look tired." Mark commented while ringing through my weekly copy of 'Star Magazine'. He smirked while placing it in the logo-branded plastic bag.
"Aw, don't worry. Sarah is worse." I glanced over my shoulder at the short, bean pole like girl stocking shelves. When she moved from one shelf to the next she dragged her feet and groaned, reminding me of some kind of grocery zombie.
"Why do you even read these?" Mark handed me my mag in bag, while raising an eyebrow curiously at my weekly routine. I grinned, childishly clinging to my magazine like it was a candy bar.
"I don't know I just like the drama." Laughing and smiling I left, burying my nose into the pages of my Star as I headed down the street to school.
"GEOGRAPHY! Geography! Geography! Geography!" The shrill voice continued to sing and chant as I turned away from my locker.
"Calm down Melissa." I whispered and my friend's wide brown eyes widened further with childish awe.
"Ok…" she whispered back grinning. That's why I liked her; she was always so quirky and high-spirited it was hard to be depressed around her. I smiled, Melissa regaining a slightly more mature composure, and headed up the stairs with me to Room 209, the Geography room, a place full of various posters and exotic potted plants. Collections that were founded by our middle aged Indiana Jones of a teacher. He was not in his usual seat today. How odd.
My stomach back flipped and I thought I was going to be sick. A man in his late 20's with dark hair and glasses stood with his back to the class, facing the chalkboard admiring his well-written note and beautiful chalkmanship. Red ants filled my belly as I took my seat near the back of the class next to Melissa. The ants chewed away at my insides slowly, burning, and making me queasy. A high wailing screech emanated from the bell on the wall beside me. I was still, focused deeply on my own thoughts. Melissa however, managed to jump a good 4 feet in the air and howl in surprise before landing again. I ignored the roars of laughter, my eyes narrowed, focusing on the back of his head, glaring as if to silently torture him for making these ants crawl. Of course, Melissa had made a scene and he turned around to scold, only to meet my icy glare, eyes piercing through him without meaning to. He turned pale quite quickly and looked away, breaking eye contact. Point one for me, point two if you counted the car.
The maddening ring echoed in my head driving me nearly insane. 'Bleep, bleep, bleep' I swept another loaf of bread over the scanner, 'bleep' bar codes. 'Bleep'.
"That'll be one hundred twenty five sir." I smiled opening my cash register, what kind of loser buys one hundred and twenty five dollars worth of bread! He left and I mumbled under my breath not really meaning any of the words I quietly expressed. More groceries. I started scanning, not really looking up at the customer. What kind of person were they? I gazed up hoping to get a better idea, and low and behold the red ants returned. Biting and gnawing at my insides and setting them aflame while I struggled to keep my face cool and composed. Dark hair and glasses, he blinked at me while forcing a smile. He was intimidated, why? Maybe he was worried I'd sue him for my near death experience.
I was first to break eye contact, still feeling his gaze on me I shuddered.
"You cold?" He asked, a calm, gentle voice with a little bit of an edge. The ants bit harder.
"That's fifty six twenty seven." I ignored him, avoiding eye contact as he handed me exact change. I always appreciated exact change it saved the hassle of counting money. "Have a nice day." I mumbled, a reflex, and then looked up hastily as he left, striving hard to inflate my once again deflated ego by glaring at the back of his head. It worked, to some extent. Turning away, silently giving him a point on my mental score board. Still holding the change, I placed it in the register, remembering his hands. Short finger nails, and calluses on the tips of his fingers. I scrunched my nose, my mind putting together the obvious. He is a guitarist. I smiled, giving myself a point for my brilliant deduction, and then decided to give him one as well for playing the instrument. Three to two, I was still winning.
On break I sat in the cramped lunchroom, pen in hand and doodling in my copy of Star. Just harmless doodles, one or two hearts in the columns on the articles and little stick men standing on various super stars' heads. My free hand reached for my peanut butter sandwich and I took a bite, glancing aimlessly around the room. Breaks were so long, or seemed that way at least; fifteen minutes of doodling and peanut butter reminded me a whole lot of Home Economics class. I sighed, gathering up my belongings and tossing them into my locker, trying to prepare myself for another long three hours of bleeping and cash register bells.
Days past, it must have been at least two weeks. Where my Geography teacher had gone I hadn't the foggiest. All I knew for sure was that his substitute hadn't changed. Normally they would switch it up, and maybe provide variety to the students. Everyday I'd walk in and take my seat at the back of the room, and each day he'd admire his notes before turning to Melissa to scold her for her latest attention grabbing accident. And day after day during my break at work, I'd find myself doodling in my Star magazine, not just hearts or stick people anymore, no. Now my subconscious had moved on to doodling him. His name, the things he'd buy when he came in, his face, and various comments, mostly rude scribbles, in places to make me feel better about my slight obsession. I had two magazines full of these doodles, and it was driving me slowly insane. I knew he played guitar, went camping on long weekends, drank soymilk, traveled. He was interesting. I sighed, shoving my magazines into my book bag and headed up to class. Geography.
Taking my normal seat at the back of the class I resumed my doodling. Melissa slept beside me; the bell rang, exploding in my ears. Obviously Melissa fell out of her chair again but something caught me off guard. She took my magazine with her, flying off the table from the shock of her sudden launch. It landed in the middle of the floor, pages opened, doodles exposed. I tried to get up, to grab it but somehow he beat me there. Picking it up and smiling before glancing at the page that was open. His smile twisted into a confused frown and he looked at me, his eyes piercing me more than he could have imagined. Panicking, standing, running, my clumsiness caused my shoulder to ram into the door frame but I didn't care. I ran down the hall and out the door, straight home.
My bed was soft and welcoming, holding my tears as I realized I had left the other magazine in my seat, as well as my bag. The look he had given me seemed appalled, horror-struck. It made the ants in my stomach bite harder than I thought possible as I cried.
I think I must have drifted into a depressed sleep because it was 4:30pm when I opened my eyes again. I stumbled out of bed, wiping dried tears off my face with my sleeve. The ants were gone, replaced by numbness as if my subconscious had just blocked out the recent drama and replaced it with nothing. I didn't think of anything as I got ready for work, or even while I drifted down the sidewalk. It was fine by me. The numbness soothed the hot burning of the red ants and held back the pain. It stopped me from breaking down again, I could afford that, plus, I had to work.
My till was boring and unhurried. I could tell the customers were frustrated with my sluggish pace and quiet behavior. My mind didn't even bother to think up sarcastic remarks to cheer me up; all the energy was focused on keeping the numbness.
Just before closing a female voice, soft, sweet, and soothing was in front of me, placing various items on the conveyer belt. I forced a smile at her and started ringing through the groceries. "Did you get the paper towels Hun?"
"Yeah I've got them, don't worry". The second voice was all too familiar. My gaze shifted. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, smiling. She smiled back. I knew what was happening. My hands shook slightly as I placed more soymilk in a bag and handed it to the woman. The soymilk had been for her. She smiled, but I couldn't find it in me to smile back, instead, I let a shuddered breath escape me as they walked away together, still holding hands.
He was gone.
Walking into Geography the next week, I couldn't help but slightly miss his presence. I knew he had felt as if he won, but I was the victorious one. Parking lots are dangerous places. Surprises lurk, and at night, they're dark and empty.