Lucia--
"You're on cashier duty today," Margaret tells me before letting the left side of my headphones gently fall on my ear, then walks away.
I humph. I wanted to stock products today.
"Margaret?" I call her while taking my headphones off my ear before she completely walks away.
"Who decided this?" I ask, frustrated at the fact that I've complained repeatedly about working as a cashier and no one seems to listen.
It's probably—
"Carly," Margaret responds in her heavy New York accent then walks away.
"Of course, she did," I roll my eyes.
Carly is the assistant manager of the Bodega. She appoints our work to us and practically runs the place when the manager isn't around, and this somehow gives her the right to override my constant complaints about working as a cashier.
I adjust my purse on my back as I head to Carly's office.
I knock on the door. No response. I knock again.
"Come in," her silvery voice pierces through the door.
As I walk in, letting the door close behind me, my eyes fall on her pulling her red hair into a bun.
Her rosy and small glossy lips stretch into a smile revealing her perfectly white teeth.
"What brings you here, Lucia?" she leans on her desk with crossed arms.
"I can't work as a cashier," I go straight to the point, replying as calmly as I didn't feel.
"Why not?"
I wrap my arms around myself and take a step forward. "Carly, I've told you before, I don't do well with people."
"You're gonna have to get over your people-phobia," she says, pulling out a stick of gum from her yellow purse on the edge of the table.
"Like I've said a million times, I will on my own time."
"I've heard that since high school." She pops the gum in her mouth, "You're not gonna change unless I help as your friend."
I lift an eyebrow, wondering when she became my mentor let alone my friend. Carly has been nothing but a pain to me since we were in high school.
I let her comment roll off my back. "Carly, just get me off of cashier duty. Let me restock or something, just not cashier."
I squeeze my arm, hoping she'd tell me sure, but she's refused me countless times, and Carly has never been gracious to me.
"No."
I sigh. "Carly, look. If you're still upset about the high school art competition thing—
Her small green eyes glare at me, shutting me up.
"I'm just trying to help you," she says in an awfully sweet tone.
"I mean it's no secret that the only reason why you don't "do people" is because you pushed all your friends away because of your judgmental Christian faith." She smiles.
I tense. My gaze shifts around the room, trying to ignore her comments.
"Carly-
"What was it they called you?" She interjects, tapping her chin, "Oh right. Judge Lucia."
I sharply inhale.
"That's why all your friends left you, and gracious little me, decided to befriend you and you betrayed me."
"Carly, just because I won the competition doesn't mean I betrayed you."
"Sure. Yea. Whatever." She clasps her hands and leans on them.
"All I know is you're a cashier today and that's final." She looks at me pointedly, daring me to counter her.
I hold her stare for a split second before I humph and leave her office, unintentionally slamming the door behind me.
I lean against the wall and bury my face in my hands, puffing out a heavy breath.
I'd been trying to run away from those memories; the shame and constant beating of myself every day. I'd been trying to run away from it all, and I'd been doing a good job until...now.
I spread my hands to each side of my cheek and puff out another heavy breath.
"Father, please," I pause, trying to figure out what to say; the perfect thing to say, "Help me."
My heart thuds at the imperfect prayer.
Praying to God has always been difficult; I never know what to say. My relationship with Him in general has always been difficult. I never know what to say or what to do, or if I'm doing stuff right, so I get anxious whenever I pray because I don't know if it's perfect enough to be answered.
"Yo Lucia!"
I look up at Margaret.
"Customers are waiting." She juts her head toward the checkout station.
I nod.
As she walks away, I put on one side of my headphones on my right ear, grab my phone from my purse, and press the green play button on Spotify to resume playing Lost by Tony Ann.
***
"Credit or debit?" I ask the lady buying three family-sized bags of Doritos.
"Debit," she grumbles, forcing her debit card out of her wallet.
I click the debit button on the screen and grab a black plastic bag to put her items in it.
"10.15, please," I say before placing the bag in front of her.
She swipes her card.
"You may have to try again, ma'am," I tell her when a huge red button with the words 'unreadable' pops up on the computer screen.
I watch as she swipes the card the same way again. And again.
"Ma'am you may have to use the other side of the card," I tap gently against the countertop.
She looks up at me with an upturned expression. "You think I don't know how to operate my card?"
I give her a tight-lipped smile. Turning my head away from her, I roll my eyes wondering why I haven't quit this job yet when my eyes land on a guy snickering while checking out the candy section at the checkout line.
I watch as he grabs a snicker bar, tsks, then puts it back.
My eyes travel to his beanie, specifically the Appa from Avatar the Last Airbender logo on the front of the beanie.
It's cute.
"He's cute."
I shake away the thought.
He glances at me from the side of his eyes so I immediately look away.
I swallow and ask the woman, "Are you done?"
She doesn't reply. She only puts her debit card back in her wallet. I press the print receipt button on the screen, grab the receipt from the printer, and hand it to her.
She snatches the bag of Doritos and walks away without glancing at my outstretched hand.
This is why I hate being a cashier.
"Have a nice day," I mumble after her, folding the paper and throwing it in the trash.
I hear someone chuckle. "Frustrating, wasn't she?"
I slowly look up as I nod, my breath hitches.
It's him.
I quickly look away, gathering his items to scan them, glancing at him from time to time.
"Credit or debit?"
"Debit," he answers.
"I saw you staring at me earlier," he comments.
There's a slight pause in my movement as I pack his items into a plastic bag.
I glance up at him as I continue packing his items.
He's smirking down at me while grabbing his wallet from behind his jeans pocket.
I chew on the inside of my cheek before looking up at him and saying, "Your beanie."
"Hmm?" he cocks his head to the side, a confused expression planted on his face while swiping his card.
"I was looking at the logo on your beanie."
He takes off his beanie and points at the logo. "You mean this little guy?"
I nod while chewing on the inside of my cheek.
I glance to my right to see people starting to get antsy. I drum my fingers on the counter to the beat of Rain by Tony Ann playing on the left side of my headphones.
He ruffles his black coily hair before placing his beanie back on.
"So I'm guessing you're a fan of Avatar?" he asks, putting his card back in his wallet.
I nod.
"Receipt or no?" My hand hovers over the screen.
"Sure." I don't think he registered what I just asked.
"So you wanna watch it together?" He asks.
I glance up at him to see if he's serious enough but I find his gray eyes staring at me expectantly.
I glance around the room as I chew on the inside of my cheek.
I glance at him. I mean I haven't seen Avatar in a while and...
I steal another glance at him.
...he seems harmless.
I sigh. I can't seriously be thinking of doing this. I can't do this. I won't do this.
He's really holding the line.
I grab the receipt from the printer and stuff it into his bag.
"You're holding up the line," I respond, stretching the bag to him.
He grabs the bag from me and our hands brush but I quickly retract my hand, ignoring the warm tone of his hand.
He turns to the old man to his left and mutters, "Sorry."
The old man smiles and waves his apology away.
At least the guy's respectful.
"Sir?" I gesture to the old man to move to the front of the desk.
He nods once while walking up to the front of the counter.
As I scan his items, I see the beanie guy from the corner of my eye putting his wallet back in his pocket and taking out the receipt from the bag. He grabs a pen from the pen-filled cup to my side and writes something down on the receipt then places the receipt under the cup.
I quickly avert my eyes from him as he looks up at me while putting the pen back in the cup.
My heart skips at the fact that I almost got caught staring at him so I try to focus on the computer.
I clear my throat.
"Credit or debit?" I ask the old man.
"Debit," His voice rumbles.
"9.04, please."
As the man pays for his items, I hear the beanie guy tap the counter twice before walking away. I glance at his retracting figure then at the paper receipt under the cup then back to the old man.
"Done?" I ask.
He nods.
"Receipt or no?" I ask.
"Receipt, please," he replies, grabbing the plastic bag filled with purchased goods from my hand.
I grab the receipt and hand it to him.
"Have a nice day," I call after him.
He turns and gives me a crooked grin.
I continue to attend to customers till around 5 PM-- the time I get off of work.
I drag out a heavy sigh as I bend over to grab my purse from under the desk and then strap it around my back.
As I adjust my purse straps, my eyes travel to the receipt on the tabletop, contemplating whether I should grab and check it or just trash it.
"We both know you're curious. What's the worst that can happen?"
What is the worst that can happen?
"Besides he was cute."
I close my eyes briefly, trying to silence that voice in my head.
"I mean I'm not wrong. Imagine all the-
"Shut up," I mutter to myself.
"Yo Lucia!" Margaret calls, forcing me to open my eyes. "Carly's calling."
I groan.
I just got off of work and the last thing I wanna do is deal with her.
I quickly grab the receipt and stuff it into my back pocket.
***
"See you didn't die from handling those people, did you now?" She taunts.
"What?" I ask her.
"You're working for the next two days," she says in a bossy tone.
My eyebrows pinch.
"No." I turn around, ready to twist the door handle and leave.
"We both know you need the money, and I'm just trying to help," she says in a whiny tone.
"Considering your father left you and your mom in such a," she pauses, "manner." She winces at the word.
Her statement causes me to turn around. "Carly, I'm not your toy, and the Lord knows you're trying to hurt me more than help me."
"And my mom and I are doing just fine without your money." I try my best to ignore her comment about my dad.
"Really?" She leans into her desk. "Huh."
"You may be right." She shrugs her lips. "After all, I did see her drinking what seemed to be her fifth bottle of beer, and it's—" she pauses.
"What time is it?" She looks at her phone.
"Right. It's only 5:05 PM," she completes, "Isn't that too early to be on your fifth bottle of beer?"
I was hoping Carly wouldn't say what she just said, and I'd been trying to have hope that Mom wouldn't go on a drinking spree again today since I came here at 9 AM, but...
Dang it!
I quickly leave her office and rush to the bar.
I don't know who I feel like strangling more, Carly or my mom.
***
"Mom?" I scream over the raucous and loud music inside the bar, trying to wake her.
"Greg," she moans, and a strong dose of alcohol wafts across my face causing me to back my head away from her and fan my face.
"Dad's gone, Mom," I say finally creeping toward her to raise her head from the table. "Come on. Let's go."
I hear a bottle break, and my heart and I jump. I look around the bar for the source of the noise, only to realize my mom and I are in a bar filled with muscled men with tattoos all over their bodies.
I start to chew on the inside of my cheek as I realize how dangerous the place is.
"How and why do you come here every day?" I mutter to my mom glowering at the five empty bottles of beer scattered in front of my mom.
I flag a bartender down and ask, "How much are the drinks she bought?"
He balances the tray of alcoholic drinks in his left hand and taps on the white computer in front of us then says, "25 dollars."
I exhale, trying to fish out some cash from my wallet.
Dang it! I have no cash on me.
"Do you accept cards?"
"We do." He places the tray on the counter before walking away to grab what I assume is the card machine.
I place my elbows on the counter and lean my face into both my palms, running them down my face as I exhale, wondering what life would be like if Dad hadn't left.
I sigh partly wistfully and dreadfully then shake the thought away and look around the bar. My eyes trail from tattooed man to tattooed man before falling on the beanie guy. He seems to be in a heated argument.
My eyes trail over his pinched expression as he runs a hand through his hair and then down his face.
"Here you go." The bartender places the machine in front of me, forcing me to peel my eyes off the beanie guy.
I quickly swipe my card and wait for him to do whatever he needs to do.
"Receipt?"
I nod and grab the receipt from his outstretched hand.
I put the card back in my wallet and turn to my mom, trying to figure out how I'm going to carry her out of here this time.
I decide to grab my mom's left arm and place it around my neck.
"Do you need help?" The bartender frowns as he points at my mom.
I shake my head 'no' and give him a tight-lipped smile.
He nods once, carries the tray, and walks away.
I groan as I try to pick her up.
A part of now wishes I'd taken that bartender up on his offer.
"Greg," she moans again.
He's gone, Mom.
I strain to get us through the front door, but she stumbles which almost makes us fall.
She causes us to sway as we make our way to the edge of the road. As we come to a stop, she dumps her weight on me, which causes me to jerk to the side.
"Mom." I groan and whine with a strained voice.
I try my best to support her weight against mine as I flag down a taxi.
As the taxi comes to a stop before us, I feel my mom's drool seep through my cactus green shirt.
I gag and look anywhere else but at that spot.
I bend to the height of the window as I mouth to the taxi driver, "Can you please help me?"
I glance up and find a lady across staring at us and whispering to the person beside her.
This is embarrassing.
"Phew," the taxi driver sounds while fanning the front of his face.
"Sorry." I sheepishly smile.
My face burns and so do my eyes.
He gives my mom and me a once-over with a scowl on his face before reluctantly opening the passenger-side door.
My throat clogs.
"Thanks," I breathe as I drag my mom forward to get her into the taxi.
I push her further into the vehicle so I can get in.
He closes the door, sounds like he slammed it, and heads to the driver's side of the vehicle.
I reach her body and hold my breath to buckle her seatbelt before buckling mine.
As I settle back, I glance at the taxi who's glaring at me from his rearview mirror.
I sink into the chair as I exhale and use the sleeve of my white and black flannel tied around my waist to subtly wipe the tears forming in my eyes as well as my mom's spit on my shirt.
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