Archives: July 2-July 8, 2006

July 2, 2006

First I hear a click. Then everything goes dark. A second later, there are some dim auxiliary lights flickering to life, as I stand in front of a blank register at Stephon's.

“Looks like the power's out,” Julie says. It's been raining all day with the occasional roll of thunder, loud enough for us to hear it from inside the store.

“You guys all right up here?” Jermaine asks, coming to the front of the store.

“Yeah, just a little dark,” Julie says.

“So neither of you were in the middle of a transaction when the power went out—nothing like that?”

“Nope.”

“Good, that's one less complication,” Jermaine says. He fishes out his ring of keys to the store. He holds out one small key in particular. “Julie, this is the key to open the register. There should be a calculator under the counter, so you've got to put in all of the sales manually, then open the drawer to count out change. No credit cards, no checks until the power comes back.” He turns to me. “ Preston , I want you walking around the store some, making sure nobody falls and gets hurt, or loses their kids or anything before we have all the lights back up. Keep an eye out for shoplifters too. I'll be in front checking bags as people leave. Sound all right?” Out of experience, if nothing else, Jermaine's second in command to Lois at the store. I'm glad he's there and can give us some direction.

I'm also somewhat glad at the challenge of wandering the store, essentially looking for trouble. It's a break from the monotony of the job, doing something different, maybe even fun.

It doesn't help that the store is all but empty. There weren't many customers in before the power went down, and I can only assume that they left when the power did—the lure of clothes shopping fading when there wasn't enough light to really see any given article on sale.

I make my way to the front of the store to see Jermaine's not alone.

“Store policy, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” he says to a teenaged guy with a lot of acne, carrying a decent-sized backpack.

“You don't have to worry about me stealing, brother,” the kid sneers back.

Jermaine stays at perfect ease. “Like I said, it's just store policy—I just need to peak in the bag for a second and you can be on your way.”

Before he's done with the sentence, the main lights flicker bang on, as they do in the stores across the way from us. Jermaine shrugs. “All right, lights are back on, alarm is back on. You can be on your way,” he says, stepping aside from the entrance.

The kid doesn't move for a second, looking from Jermaine, to me, back into the store. “Well now that I got some light, maybe I'll shop around some more.”

Jermaine nods, not moving his eyes from the kid. As the kid retreats I see the faintest hint of a smile cross Jermaine's lips, before he heads back toward the registers, and I follow after.

July 3, 2006

It's just past 4 p.m. I've been at Stephon's since noon , and have seen a total of three customers come through the store, none of whom bought anything. I guess I can't blame people from staying away from the mall today as a day of thunderstorms has given way to perfectly sunny, 75 degree day in Shermantown. Nonetheless, it's making for a real slow day here, and I'm not out until six.

Earlier Julie and I removed all of the scrunchies from the barrel by the front counter, sorted them out, putting the least attractive ones at the bottom, and the best ones on top. We have since dumped them all out behind the counter and taken turns tossing them into the barrel from behind the counter. Once they were all in again, we dumped the barrel out a third time and moved it further back to start our shooting contest again.

“Well this is mature,” Anastasia says, coming up behind the counter from Julie's side of it. I'm not sure what she could have been doing around the store all this time. Every piece of clothing is in place, Julie gave the floor an extra run through the with the vacuum and I already wiped down the counter and the tops of each rack. I suppose she was bound to find something, though.

“It's fun,” Julie says. “You should try.”

Anastasia rolls her eyes, but does pick up one of the scrunchies from the ground and lobs it underhand toward the barrel. It lands well short, falling on the ground.

“Not as easy as it looks?” I ask.

Anastasia doesn't say anything, lifting another schrunchie and focusing as she weighs it up and down in her hand, before finally tossing it. This time, it falls right in the center of the barrel. “Just needed a practice throw.”

“Not bad,” Julie says.

“Yeah, why don't you join us—we're just starting this round,” I put in. “I've made eight in so far, Julie's made six. We'll say you made seven, and you can play from here.”

“Why not say I made eight?”

I smile. “I don't know if you're that good.”

Anastasia picks up another scrunchie, measures it again, and tosses, dropping another right in the middle of the barrel. She looks to me, a touch of a smirk on her face.

“All right. Eight it is.”

July 4, 2006

Fireworks explode in the distance.

Half of Shermantown is crowded at the town park for tonight's fireworks display. I know my father's there. The whole family used to go when I was a kid. Dad would lug along a long chair for Grandma, while Mom tucked a picnic blanket under her arm and spread it out for the rest of us. It's been years since we all went—the tradition died before Mom left, even before Ray left. Dad continues to go each year and asked me if I wanted to join him this morning.

I told him maybe.

Now I find myself sitting in the back of Jermaine's rusty old pick up truck, in the parking lot of the mall. There's actually not a bad view from here. Probably because it's Carl's last night in town, Lois made the executive decision to close the store an hour early so we could all come out here.

I look over to where Carl sits in a corner, his back against the cab of the truck, Lois sitting in front of him, half on top of him, tangled up in each other. It reminds me of my night in Duncanville with Veronica. I remember holding her while we watched sparks explode across the sky. I remember feeling the sparks.

“You're quiet tonight,” Anastasia says. While Julie and Jermaine and chatter on one side of the truck, Anastasia and I have hardly spoken on our side.

“Just have some stuff on my mind.” I glance at her then, then turn my eyes back up to the sky.

“Like what?”

A sarcastic remark or two float through my mind. I wonder why she cares—it's not like we're friends. Watching red and orange fireworks dance together in the sky, I decide not to bother. “The last time I watched fireworks it was about a month ago, and I was with my girlfriend—which was a couple weeks before she dumped me.” I scratch my face, wearing a little stubble. I didn't shave today. “We met up in Duncanville —this little town—”

“I know Duncanville . So you were at the festival then?”

I turn to her. “Yeah, actually. How do you know Duncanville ?”

“I have an aunt who lives there. We used to visit her sometimes, and I remember going to one of those,” she says, looking upwards. “It was a lot of fun.”

I've been noticing Anastasia more lately, in spite of myself. I can't help noticing her tonight—the way the ends of her hair move with the wind. Her bare arms, crossed tight into her chest. She's just wearing a tank top—probably didn't expect that she would be leaving work to come out here.

Jermaine lets out a loud laugh while Julie giggles at some joke between them.

“You cold?” I ask Anastasia.

“Freezing, actually.”

I pull off my hoodie. For a split second, it occurs to me this is the same sweatshirt I gave Veronica when we walked around Butterton on one of the last nights before I left Taylor . It's hard to breath for a second.

I hand it over to Anastasia. “Aren't you gonna be cold?”

There's something strange in her voice. Something self-conscious about it, all of her edge, for the first time, gone.

“Don't worry about it.” Our hands touch when she takes the sweatshirt. Her fingers really are freezing.

I watch Anastasia pull on the hoodie, then straighten, before she looks back up at the sky. In that moment, another set of fireworks pop in the air, and I see the sparks reflecting off her eyes.

July 5, 2006

“How long has Anastasia worked here?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant about it.

Jermaine smirks as he cracks open a roll of quarters against the counter, then empties them into his register. “I think she started last fall. I knew we had her all trained before the holiday rush. Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “No reason. Was just curious.”

“I noticed you guys seemed pretty chill last night. Saw you give her your sweatshirt and everything.”

“She was cold. I was just being nice.”

“Being nice to the same girl you were so hell-bent on beating in our little contest a few weeks ago.”

“Are you trying to imply something?”

“I'm just saying you two were real friendly last night.”

I pick up a stray penny from beside my register and spin it on the counter. “Well you and Julie were pretty friendly too.”

“That's different.”

“Why's that?”

“Because we're friends.”

As the penny falls, I lift it again, and try to stop it in a standing position with my index finger. “So maybe Anastasia and I are getting to be friends. Is there something wrong with that?”

“I just didn't expect it, is all. Guess she warmed up to you a lot sooner than she warmed up to me.” Jermaine chuckles. “Just didn't expect it.” He looks up toward a man approaching the counter a little slowly. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I was actually hoping there would be a woman working,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “I'm looking to pick up some clothes for my daughter.”

“You would have been best off bringing your daughter then,” Jermaine says. “But don't sweat it. I see what people are buying. I can help you out.” He walks around to the other side of the counter. “How old is your daughter?”

July 6, 2006

“So how about this one?” I ask, holding up a white and blue striped button up shirt.

“I like it,” Anastasia nods, fastening the buttons to close up another shirt, to re-hang it. “And the stripes would make you look taller.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Vertical stripes make you look taller. Horizontal stripes make you look fatter.”

“You calling me fat?”

“If anything, I was calling you short.”

I hang the shirt back up while Anastasia picks out another shirt from the rack, left unbuttoned. “You know,” I say, “everyone unbuttons a shirt to try it on. Why do we even bother having them all buttoned on the rack. Just seems like more work for everybody.”

“Yeah,” Anastasia says, leaning the shirt against the rack and going to work on the buttons. “But if you leave a shirt hanging open it looks like crap. Especially if someone brushes against it and they knock it half off the hanger. You leave it closed and people can see themselves wearing it. Maybe if you dressed better you would see the difference.”

“This from the girl who proclaims that she doesn't like sleeves, period.”

“I don't like them when they aren't necessary,” she says. “That's what a coat's for.”

“I see.”

Hanging up the shirt, Anastasia moves on to another rack. After a moment of looking, she removes a yellow polo shirt with blue stripes across the chest. “Now this is a shirt I would pick for you.”

“I'm not big on yellow.”

She presses shirt to me. “It would look good with your skin tones. And you should really wear more polos. T-shirts are for kids.”

“But won't these stripes make me look fat?”

She sighs. “So diet, then buy the shirt.” She leaves the shirt in my arms and walks toward the registers. I smile as I watch her go.

July 7, 2006

“Well hey there, little brother.”

I look up from the newspaper I brought along to the airport, to see Ray walking toward me, rolling a suitcase behind him, a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Well I'll be,” I say, casting the newspaper to my side and getting up. “How you doing?”

We shake hands, and Ray pulls me in for a hug. “Pretty good,” he laughs, patting me on the back and letting me go. “How about you?”

“Eh, I can't complain.”

“Glad to hear it. And now it is my honor to introduce you to my fiancée, April,” he says, turning as April catches up with him, rolling a big suitcase of her own.

She's a fair skinned girl with light blond hair. She gives me the biggest smile when she sees me, in this way where I don't have a doubt in my mind she's really happy to see me. I reach out my hand to her as well, but she goes straight in for the hug, holding me tightly. “I've heard so much about you. It's great to finally meet you.”

I laugh. “Well, it's great to meet you too.” I turn to Ray as she lets go. “You've done all right for yourself here.”

“Well you'd best keep your hands to yourself there, little bro.” We all laugh. “So did you come here on your own, or is dad puttering around here someplace?”

“Na just me and the blue bomber,” I say, echoing the nickname Ray gave the car back when Dad first got it, when Ray was still in high school.

“Hard to believe that thing's still running.”

“What's the blue bomber?” April asks.

“You'll see,” Ray smiles and pats my back. “Come on, let's roll.”

I take April's luggage from her and lead the way to the parking lot.

July 8, 2006

“Man, you handle yourself all right for a guy fresh out of his freshman year of college.”

I finish my fourth can of Labatt Blue and set it down, balancing between two of the other cans, the beginnings of a little pyramid. “ Taylor College offers its students accelerated development in a number of areas.”

“I've heard that,” Ray chuckles, taking a sip from his own beer.

“That and The Palace has been kind to me since I got back home.”

“Ah, that old shit hole. Good to hear its still letting in anyone with a pulse.”

It's strange drinking with my brother. I've never done it before. On occasion, I would hear him come home drunk in the summer, but since he left for college he never spent more than a few weeks in Shermantown.

April sips off her vodka and cranberry juice, laughing more with each passing drink “So Preston, what's the deal with this girlfriend of yours—Emma? Am I going to get to meet her, or what?”

“Ray, you'd better get me another beer.”

“Oh no,” Ray leans back, his head in his hands. He gets up and heads toward the fridge. “Last time we talked about her, I thought you two lovebirds were gonna go the distance.”

“I probably thought that too. I messed that up, though. Left her for another girl, which turned out to be a stupid idea. It's this whole thing. Probably shouldn't get into it.”

“Oh, I get it,” April says, leaning her head on her hand. “This is guy talk, isn't it? A brother to brother thing.

“Na, it's not that—”

“Little brother's just doesn't want air out his dirty laundry here,” Ray cuts me off. “And that's all right. It's smart. I always talked too much when I drank at your age. It's good that you're smarter than that.”

“I'd say I've already talked about it too much,” I say, scratching the back of my head. “Drunk and sober.”

“Well, everybody's got a history,” Ray says. “What's more important is the present. Got a girl now? Or any prospects?”

“It's sort of slim pickings here in Shermantown.”

“What about that clothing store. Probably a lot of girls working there?”

I shake my head, cracking open the new can. “I don't think so. It's just a job—not much to choose from there.”

“Well, you'll be going back to school soon enough,” April says. “I'd say you should just enjoy being single while you can here.”

“She's right,” Ray puts in. “Because before you know it, you can find yourself tied down to some ball and chain, and you'll never have your life to yourself again.”

“Very nice,” April says with a scowl.

“Of course it's not as bad if you love your ball and chain.”

“Sure.”

“Come here,” Ray says, and though April backs away, he catches her in his arms and kisses her wetly. They're both laughing in a few seconds. I take another sip from my beer, and can't help smiling myself.