I Don't Need to be Saved, Pt.1
A short story finally making it out of first draft stage. -JJB
“$3.50.”
Tom dug into his pocket, feeling for loose change.
Cindy, the cashier, stretched and then ran her hands back along the length of her blonde ponytail. Her T-shirt with the cover of Poison’s Look What the Cat Dragged In album poked out from under her red smock as she stretched.
Poison? C’mon, Cindy, Tom thought while holding out three crumpled bills. The hand in his pocket was finally latching onto what he hoped were two quarters.
Behind him he could hear another customer sighing. He pulled out the two quarters, turned, and smiled at the blue-haired woman behind him with her box of Triscuits, then handed them over to Cindy.
Her cash register closed with a thunk.
“Here you go,” he said.
She handed him the bag like it was radioactive.
“Great album, by the way,” he added, pointing to Brett Michaels’s pouting face still peering out from the top button of her smock.
“Umhmm.” She blew a quick bubble with her gum, smiled, then turned to the old woman behind him.
Tom took his bag and walked away from the register.
It was seven p.m. on a Friday night, and the post-work rush was just starting to fade. The opening whoosh of the front door of the grocery store was finally starting to slow down. He walked by the large open windows at the front of the store, twilight beginning to settle over the still-full parking lot. Soon the shoppers would change from post-work to people heading out for the night.
The overhead speaker was playing a muzak version of Baker Street.
He decided the evening was warm enough to eat outside, so he headed for the front door, pulling the tall bottle of Sprite out of the bag to open. As he walked through the doors and fought with the cap, he looked up just in time to avoid walking into a woman coming into the store.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, stopping so suddenly he almost dropped his soda.
Her hair was blonde, though dark at the roots, bunched high on her head in a kind of lazy bun. Her expression was partially hidden by dark sunglasses, but she barely looked at him. She took a step to the left and walked by. As she did, her hands pulled up her white turtleneck until it was under her chin.
His eyes followed her as she walked into the store.
She had black stirrup pants and black pumps. She picked up speed as she walked inside, making a beeline for the pharmacy. He watched her disappear, resisting the urge to follow her back.
Something about her tugged at him.
Twenty-minute break, man. The only one of the night.
He shook his head and headed outside.
Besides, probably just here for candy anyway. “Candy” was the nickname Josh the pharmacist had given Prozac, fast rising as the dominant prescription in this old-money neighborhood.
You could always tell, Josh had said, when the address is getting closer to the city line. Less candy, and more lithium.
He perched himself on top of a container and munched on his turkey sandwich while the sun continued to fade. He had another three hours on his shift, but at least he didn’t have to help unload the trailer tonight.
Around him, the kids hired to work at the front were helping people with their bags and stacking carts. Cars continued to pull into the parking lot—a steady stream of Volvos and BMWs from the surrounding red-brick neighborhood.
His old Pontiac Sunbird, a graduation gift, stuck out like a sore thumb in the front row.
One more year in this place, thank God.
His plan was to work like hell through the summer and then push through his senior year at Towson. Fifteen credits in the fall and the spring ought to do it. Then it was on to who-knows-where.
He had spent his entire life here to this point, and it felt like he had used up all it had to offer.
A quick glance at his watch, and he hopped off the container, chucking his bag into the trash on his way through the doors.
The overhead music had switched to More Than a Woman, and he hummed the tune as he walked back to the pharmacy.
As he turned down the main aisle, he saw the woman in the turtleneck disappear into another aisle.
Creams and lotions, he thought with a smirk.
He found himself walking slower as he neared the aisle. For some reason, he wanted to get a good look at her.
He stood at the front end of the aisle, pretending to rearrange the lotions that were on sale. He leaned in to pull some bottles forward, then eased over to look.
She was halfway down the aisle, staring intently at a bottle. Still wearing her glasses, the large purse was on the floor.
He finally took her in.
She was tall and lithe, like those volleyball players who ignored him in high school. The bun in her hair was already coming loose.
Lithe.
It was a word he rarely had use for, but yeah… lithe.
He felt an odd shiver up the back of his neck.
Like someone was watching him as well.
She picked up a small bottle from the shelf and brought it up to her face. She lifted her glasses and looked hard at the label.
She looked left in time to see a short man walking down the aisle, but his eyes were straight ahead. He barely noticed and quickly moved out of the aisle. The man walked by him smelling of too much Aqua Velva.
Tom turned back in time to see her drop the bottle into her open purse on the floor.
Shoplifting?
Interesting.
He looked around for a store detective. Saw no one.
She dropped another bottle, then quickly picked her bag up and walked to the other end of the aisle.
He took a step in— but his name came over the loudspeaker, calling him back to the counter.
Back at the pharmacy counter, the other cashier was waiting, arms crossed and frowning.
Tom raised his hands.
“Sorry, man. I got sidetracked.”
The cashier closed his register.
“You need a watch, man,” he grumbled, then turned to tell the pharmacist he was going on break.
Tom looked behind him, but he saw no sign of her.
I don’t see anyone running, so maybe she made it out. Good luck and Godspeed.
Later, he went into the aisle to see what she took.
Bruise cream.
Curious.
Pt. 2 to follow