Waiting To Die
I can't really explain this one...I was just thinking 'shopkeeper' and how they would scrutinize their customers...
Mallory stood at the counter, gazing out into the dark expanse of nothingness that was her sleepy little town after the sun went down. At least, that was her take on the place. All the party-ers, alcohol-consumers and druggies would be stretching their limbs and readying themselves for a night of hard partying, or whatever it was they did. For once, the girl thought about her lot, as a dutiful, obedient student, and wondered if she was missing out on something.
Her father's shop was busy on a Sunday evening, but the flow of people died down with the sun, and she could stand idle, pondering the mysteries of life. Which was exactly how she liked to spend her time.
"Evening," a gruff voice barked at her, startling her and jerking her out of her reverie. She automatically reached for the items he presented her. Milk, bread, toilet paper. She scanned the items.
"$8.45 please, sir," she said. She studyed his face as he rummaged around in his many pockets for the correct change. It was marked, scarred by acne, shame of days long past, still remaining to haunt him. His hands were rough, she could tell he was some kind of tradesman. A redneck, from his talk and mannerisms, well used to this rural, country town. He handed her the money and she bade him goodnight, to which he merely waved a hand. She wondered what he was going home too. A wife, maybe a couple of kids. Maybe his dog. There was no way of knowing. But she wanted to. Had a burning desire to know, why where, how. Oh well.
Her next customer was a young woman and her child of about 2 or 3 years. They had many items, so Mallory had plenty of time to study the woman. Her eyes were incredibly sad, and she exuded moroseness. She regarded her child with love, but the terrible misery still remained.
She was refined, and moved with grace and dignity. Her hands were long and white, putting Mallory in mind of a princess. She was sorely tempted to ask how, how she had ended up in this flop of a town, shopping and carting around a child, when she should have been surrounded by beauty and love, doing something worthwhile with her life. She smiled sadly at Mallory, using her eyes, and swept out of the store, before she had a chance to ask. "She could have been anything," she said, simply. "Anything she wanted."
Her next customer had to snap her fingers in front of Mallory's eyes before she was served. For the second time that night, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Evening, ma'am," she said. "Sorry about that."
"Evening dear," the elderly lady replied. "How's life treating you?"
A rush of words came into her head and she wanted to shout out that life was cruel and pointless, that it ran you down with over-activity when you were weak, and ignored you when you were strong, leaving you to flounder and struggle for answers, wanting more, ever more. Instead, she merely replied, "Fine," and commented on the weather.
The old lady scared Mallory. She was buying cat food, bird seed and enough food to last one person a few days. The poor woman lived alone, with only animals for company, motor skills decreasing by the day, forced to live a half-life, feeding of books and TV to supplement not living.
But then again, isn't that what she herself did?
"But that's different," she argued with herself. "I have life to look forward to. This woman has hers behind her."
"Oh no, no you don't," a nasty voice replied. "You have misery, hardship and death to look forward to. You're going to be sorely disappointed. You console yourself with hopes of glamour and well-being. This ain't a fairytale, kid. You think you're waiting to grow up? Ha. You're waiting to die."
As the truth if this hit her, a great weight was pushed down onto her shoulders, forcing her mind to buckle.
"You're right," she conceded. "I'm waiting to die. We all are. Some just have longer to wait."
"Thats the spirit," the voice said, cheerily.
And this old woman had not long left to wait. 10 years, maybe more, maybe less. She wondered if the woman was content, and searched her eyes as the money was exchanged for the goods. She did not find contentedness, but she found something else that was not easily definable, but that she had to concede was peace.
"She's ignorant," the voice hissed. "You'll never have peace. Not now that you know."
"Know?" Mallory argued. "I know nothing. Not difinitively."
The voice chuckled.
A child came up to her counter. Barefoot and dirty, the tousle-haired boy placed a chocolate bar up on the counter, and silently handed over a dollar coin, which was not enough for him to buy the bar. Mallory started to say something, but she watched the child's eyes constantly flicker over to the door.
He couldn't have been more than four or five, she surmised. He was dirty, the sort of dirty that came from days without bathing. He smelled strongly of cigarette smoke, which caused an image to enter her mind with stunning force and clarity.
An overweight mother, laughing raucously as she sucked mercilessly on a cigarette, not knowing, or not caring, that the exhaled smoke went straight into her son's face. Not caring that most nights he went hungry, ot caring that some nights, if he was unlucky, he was beaten, or worse, by the man she had brought home that night. Indifferent, she sucked and puffed away.
Dragging herself back to reality, she saw the child, staring expectantly up at her, and decided she had to do something, never mind how small. Taking the money from the boy, she rummaged around in her pockets, until her* fingers met cold metal. She pulled out a fifty cent piece, put it with the dollar and dropped it into the till with the boy's dollar, and then handed him his chocolate. He grinned, and the smile lit up his whole face. He started to walk out of the shop.
A woman threw open the door, setting off the annoying bell that signalled to the shop-keeper that someone had entered. She looked around wildly, until she spotted the boy, and grabbed him.
"What do you think you're doing?" she growled in a husky voice, characteristic of a smoker. The boy, her son, didn't answer, and his hold on the chocolate tightened. She tore it out of his hands and threw it on the floor, shooting Mallory a contemptuous look, before dragging the boy out behind her. Mallory's gaze hardened and she darted forward, retrieving the bar, running after the pair. She looked around, and spotted the boy sitting in the back seat of a car, a hard look on his face as he watched his mother waddle over toa man and resume her conversation. Mallory was chilled by the look and prayed no one ever looked at her in that way. She studyed the mother, automatically, as was her way. She was overweight, looked older than she probably was, and had cracked hands and feet, which were not shod.
Mallory tore her eyes from the unseemly sight, and went over to the boy, handing him the bar through the window.
"You dropped this," she said quietly, winking. The boy took the bar and tucked it up his sleeve, staring at Mallory in wonder. His smile was thanks enough, and she backed away as the mother returned, gave her a dark look, and screeched away. Mallory watched them go.
"There," she said, triumphantly to the voice. "That's what we're here for. If you can improve one person's life, even minutely, you've done your job. We're not waiting to die," she concluded, numbly. "We're waiting for others to."
This, Mallory carried with her her entire life. The plain discovery that warmed the hearts of two people for a long time after the event, the discovery that set a worrying young heart to rest, the discovery that would fuel her choices for years to come. Life is made of choices and memories, she thought to herself as she shut up shop for the night. And if we have made the right choices, we'll have the right memories to take with us to the grave, and perhaps beyond. Her death had suddenly gone from being an extremely short length away, to being hidden in the shadows, for her to examine at her leisure. And the voice had abandoned her. She found peace.
