Unforeseen Developments Part III

Since this is Part III, you might want to read Parts I and II below...

~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on the floor in front of the beer cooler, hidden from the old man’s sight, was a very unhappy boy with shoulder-length blonde hair and a raging case of “I Lost My Girlfriend” written all over his face. A dirty, tan Reef hat was perched askew on his head, straight-billed. His faded, appropriately tattered jeans stretched out in front of him, work boot-clad toes tapping together to an unheard song. His ears were stuffed with headphone buds, and Cam could hear loud music seeping out. Cam was tempted to kick the kid’s worn out boots and say something about the three empty cans next to him on the floor and the half empty one perched on his lips and slowly draining into his gullet. But he didn’t. The boy’s eyes were closed as he savored the suds, tears coursing down his face. He opened his eyes, lazily and disconnectedly taking in Cam, who just smiled his best “I Ain’t Telling Nobody” smile and stepped over his legs. The kid finished the beer and placed it neatly in line next to the other empties. He tried to smile and cracked the tab on another as Cam looked back over his shoulder at him. Pathetic, thought Cam. But in the same instant, Been there, done that. Have another one… for me. Cam turned his attention to the tiny shadow scuttling beneath the line of bags of pork rinds.

Sherm was moving slowly past the old man at the register now. His peppermint breath was wafting about him and occupying space in the store. It was a tangible thing. If it were any more tangible it would rumble like a tank through the store, crashing through the coolers and into the back storeroom, through the cement wall at the back of the building and into the rear parking lot. It would roll past the broken-down pickup with no tires, crash through the chain link fence, and take out a few cars screaming past on Rte. 32. But it wasn’t quite that tangible. Seemed like it; but wasn’t. Everywhere Sherm went he trailed that cloud of peppermint breath. His hands were gently swaying as he moved. Sherm’s big head was swiveling in slow motion, taking in the store and acknowledging Cam, who was looking down at something on the floor. Sherm looked up and took in the ceiling and the sprinkler system, the speakers, and the Exit sign. He scanned the racks the way Cam did, looking for something, discerning between what he thought was acceptable and what he thought was not. The two of them gave off a hint of the movie critic – watching the same thing you’re watching, yet somehow taking in more, using more filters and knowledge. Seeing the same thing, yet not the same thing, you are seeing.

Jed Cantrow, the old man behind the counter, thought that things were beginning to feel a little eerie. His eyes moved from Sherm to Cam and back to Sherm. He thought he recognized these two, but he wasn't sure. He wrinkled his bulbous nose. He hitched his shoulders a bit. He continued to keep his hands below the counter. Jed had owned this little convenience store for as long as anyone in town could remember. When his wife passed in ’83, it was all he had left in the world. No kids, no relatives to speak of, just this little store and his steady customers. He loved it with all his heart. He painstakingly stocked each and every item on its shelves, rearranged the magazines when the zit-faced kids were done messing with them, replenished the little pencils and lottery sheets when they needed replenishing, and lovingly kept the milk and beer cooler stock rotated and full.

Right now, he knew Tommy Bernhardt was back there crying into a six-pack of beer. He had known Tommy since he was a baby. Heck, Tommy had worked here for a year and a half, while he was finishing his GED. Geez, thought Jed, he was working here when he first met Carla. Tommy was 22 years old now, but looked 16. He and Carla had been what passed for “an item” in this town for the last three years. Jed had heard that Tommy was trying unsuccessfully to get over the girl. Had been for two solid weeks. She had dumped him... again. This time “for good.” When Tommy had entered the store a half-hour ago, his eyes told Jed that he and Carla had had another of their now famous fights. They were always breaking up and getting back together. It was tiring to almost everyone around them, but seemed to add some sort of energy that their relationship was otherwise lacking. Every once in a while Carla would getting really pissed and Tommy would show up here to drink beer and lick his wounds. Later in the evening he would crawl back to her, say whatever it was she wanted to hear, and they would make up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'til next time...