My Summer of Firsts

Chapter 1 - First Sighting

Despite the sweltering summer heat of the Arizona desert outside, I shivered under the arctic blast of air flowing from the vent directly overhead. Mr. Meeks kept the temperature low in the pharmacy at all times. That way, when he showed up for work—usually in the late afternoon—he didn't have to wait for the building to cool down. For such a thin man, he sweated a lot, especially this time of year.

It had been hours since anyone had come in. To pass the time, I grabbed a bottle of nail polish off the shelf. I chose a metallic blue this time.

Painting my nails became a habit a couple years ago, born out of sheer boredom. I never used to paint them. In fact, I thought it was a frivolous waste of time when I saw my mother or girls at school doing it. Now, I felt weird when I didn't have polish on them.

Besides, what else did I have to do? It's not like I was kept busy by my fascinating career as a pharmacy cashier—and basically every other job in the place that didn't require brains or any type of formal training. We rarely got over four customers a day.

I trudged back to the counter, making note of the polish and its price so I could pay for it before I got off. Though Mr. Meeks insisted I shouldn't worry about paying for little things like that, I felt like I was taking advantage. He and his wife did so much for me already, treating me like one of their own grandchildren. Even buying me presents for Christmas and my birthday.

As I was finishing up my last nail, my mom strolled in. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail that swished with every step she took. She wore a halter top that showed off part of her midriff, along with cutoff denim shorts and her dingy cowboy boots, which she constantly insisted were going to make a comeback. "Just you wait and see," she would tell me every time I begged her to give them up.

"Hi, honey," she said, around smacking on a piece of gum. She plopped her huge leather purse down with a loud clunk from the large buckles.

"Hey."

"What are you up to?"

I held a hand out, waving it around me. "Working."

She frowned at me in that disapproving manner that only a mother could manage. "Don't be a smartass. You know what I mean."

I raised my hand to show off my blue nails. "I'm trying out a new color."

"Ooh! Cute." She took my hand, shifting it so the polish caught the light and gleamed. "Got anymore of that?"

I shook my head and pulled the bottle back toward me, shielding it from her. "We are not having matching nails again, Mother."

"Don't call me 'Mother,' son. It makes me feel old."

I suspected that my mother was suffering from arrested development—the condition, not the television show. She didn't act like a woman nearing forty, more like a twenty-five-year-old. But I guess that's what happens when someone has a baby at sixteen and has to put everything else on hold to be there for the kid. Or not, in my dad's case.

She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. "I could just go over there and buy it. You couldn't stop me then."

I laughed. "Actually, you can't, 'cause it's the last bottle, which is why I picked it."

"C'mon, Stevie." She pouted and started bouncing on the balls of her feet like an impatient child.

I rolled my eyes and pushed the bottle toward her. "Fine."

I'd just repaint mine later. I'd certainly have the time.

"Did you actually need something?" I asked, curious why she'd come in. She never came to the pharmacy. If she needed anything we carried, she gave me a list and some money to bring it home after work.