The Girl in The Shop

I dread the sound. Not that it’s particularly unpleasant. It just does what it’s supposed to do. “He entered,” it always seems to announce rather matter-of-factly. Still it gets to me, for it marks the starting point, blows my cover. No opportunity to enter gracefully, unnoticed. No chance to think, get used to my surroundings. “Find my bearings,” as my old man would have said. All gone, with that one sound.

Today I’m prepared. Not like the other day, when I went in expecting to wing it with nonchalance. “Nonchalance is the secret,” I read somewhere. Well, it didn’t do much for me. She just laughed when I ignored her existence. Well, laughed, maybe it was more something between a laugh and an awkward kind of smirk. Cheekbones up, short high pitched sound coming from the throat. Like how my brother’s girlfriend would react. He, drunk, cracking jokes about black people during Christmas dinner. She, awkward, letting out that kind of laugh.

Focus. Shouldn’t think of that now. “What is past is past, and we’ll see about tomorrow tomorrow,” my boss used to say. “Now is what matters.” Wise man. He knows how these things work.

OK, going in. Push the door, you know what to… That sound. Fuck. Yes, yes, hello world, I’m here. She’s probably busy with another customer, didn’t notice you. Keep it together. I have the word ready. Know it by heart. Nothing to worry about. Just straight for the cooled section, grab it, then…

Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… You could let me in here blindfolded and I wouldn’t have any problem finding the fridge. Always humming along as if its life depended on it. I guess maybe in a way it does. And it’s always cooler in this part. Especially in summer. Then the cold sneaks in under your shirt as you approach, like little frozen ants marching upwards from your ass, taking direction from your spine and sliding back out again over your arms. But that’s in summer, and let’s not even think about summer.

Summers make me sweat. Especially when I have one of those days. Can’t leave the house, not even passing by here. Still end up with soaked shirts just by sitting at home. And if I have to face her here on a summer’s day? Not pretty, not pretty at all. No, winter is much better. Cooler, like this freezer. Cool, like me.

This is it. Grab the can. Turn around, casually, not too fast, not too slow. Keep your head up, slight smile, steady pace down the aisle. Look at her. Look at her. LOOK AT HER. Upwards from the floor. Follow the wooden panels of the counter. Past the chewing gum in a dozen silly flavors. Past the chocolate and protein bars and then, then… Her waist. Her breasts, oh, her breasts. Pulling the fabric of her shirt oh so tight. Pushing her name tag proudly into the world. KEEP GOING UP. Blond hair resting in the curves of her neck, passing her mouth, nose, her deep brown eyes. She’s looking directly at me.

“Nine-ty-nine-cents.” She spells it out slowly, as if she has already repeated herself a hundred times.
“You look nice today, Felicia.”
Pause for dramatic effect.
“Even nicer than usual.”
She lets out a sigh and looks away, down towards the chocolate bars.
“Ninety nine cents,” she repeats. This time her tone is flat, even a bit cold.
My head hesitates into a nonchalant nod, right hand placing the can firmly on the counter. The other goes for the dollar bill I carefully put in my left pocket at home.
Now comes the twist. The line she doesn’t yet know, the one she doesn’t expect.
“You keep the change, sugar.”
There! I said it! Sugar. Why did I never think of that before? Felicia, sweet as sugar. Perfect, just perfect.

Don’t mess up now. The hard part done, only the final act left. Walking away, not a care in the world. The sound of sugar singing around in her head, looking for the perfect landing spot in her mind. And then it will click. While she sees me striding away, she will know that I understand. Her hurts, her desires. The misery that boyfriend, Jack, put her through. Cheating bastard. I knew it, warned her. But she wouldn’t listen, just wouldn’t listen.

Not anymore. Now everything is different. Maybe she already knows? It will make sense to her, her and me, me and her. No more Jack. She’ll call for me, beg me to comfort her, to save her from here. The infinite hum of the fridge, the cold, the multi-colored chewing gum, the…
“HEY!”
She’s calling. Sugar is calling me. I turn around, my heart is racing, racing like it has never raced before.
“YOUR BEER. TAKE YOUR GODDAMN BEER, CREEP.”