smile ; ch

two

evie

"oh wow, these are beautiful evie!" the elderly lady, june, says to me, holding my prints of new york in winter, it was a sentimental piece to me.
"thank you, june." i respond, giving her a warm smile.
"these are for sale, yes?" she says.
"yes they are, for the package it's $260 but $52 each if you only want one."
"only $262 for the package? dear, if you want to make it in this hustlin' city you're gonna need to put your prices up. i'll buy them all for $350 and that's final."
"june-"
"no, i don't want to hear it. come and put me through." she waves me off, and june has been my most loyal customer since day 1.

we'd met in an art gallery when i first moved to new york, i was gaining inspiration, she was also my first model for my photography shoot that gained recognition from fellow business directors here.
june was an elegant but brass old lady, a widow, living off her husbands riches and never leaving the house without a sensible heel on.

"it's been nearly a year and you still won't listen to my advice, how do you think i afford all these pearls?" she teases.
"i'll learn one day, don't we all?"
"you're a smart girl, evie."

i smile, placing the number $350 into the till. it sends a wave of excitement as well as shame as she hands me cash, the idea taking more money than i should be hitting a nerve in my morality.
"now, i'll be back next week for the next drop, okay dear?"
"alright, i can't wait."
"bye now, darling. i'll be hanging these up in my living room." she gives me a charming wink.
"thank you, june!" i yell as she walks out my store.

it's nearing five pm, close time. three more minutes. i lean against my counter and pick up my phone, scrolling aimlessly. i think for my next piece i'll find inspiration in the heartache i've been feeling.

i think of him nearly every day, and i seem to hate him less and never more as i think of all the good times we shared growing up. his family was new to my small town in australia, they'd moved from sydney and wanted to escape the busy roads and violence.
they'd moved in next door when i was eight and he was eleven. i never got along with kids my age as much, it was always the adults or at least the older kids at my school.

i'd seen him kicking a football outside his house all alone one day, and bravely, i stormed out of my house and demanded we kicked the ball together.
we'd been inseparable for the many years to come.

he was there for my first school performance, cheering me on, which went horribly anyway because i can't sing very well. he was there when i discovered my first film camera; all 24 photos on that single roll of film were of him and his awkward stage of 17. although it was deemed strange and inappropriate to any outsider seeing our relationship when i was 15 and he was 18, the ones that mattered didn't care, because they knew how close we were.

when i turned 16, he surprised me an abandoned farm house just outside of town, roses and candles and a new digital camera that i still have locked away in my closet to this day. he pampered and spoiled me until i couldn't bare all the gifts and gestures he did for me.

when his band, five seconds of summer, started to gain more attention on the internet and they eventually got signed, i dropped university and left my family in australia to move to colorado with him. i was sure our whole life was destined to be together and travel and live as gods.

"hey, are you closed?" i hear a muffled voice from the door, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"in 1 minute i will be, yeah, what can i do for you?" i turn to see a man with a ski mask on, all black clothes and his eyes only visible through the fabric.

my breath hitches in my throat as he enters my store, shutting the door behind him. he holds something in his pocket, a gun, pointing it at me through his jacket.
"do you really have nothing better to do but to steal from a small business?" i challenge, clutching my phone in my hand.
"empty the till, now."
"not many people pay with cash too much these days, you know?"
"i'll fucking shoot you, lady, open the till!" he yells, which causes me to shake, i stop sassing him and reality sets in.
i open the till and i was hoping my lie would work, because i only accept cash here. it was easier for me and i grew up using cash over cards and i'm regretting my whole life decisions-
"hand it over." he demands, and all of my earnings of the day were gone in a split second, my money that i'd worked hard for, all gone to some asshole in a ski mask.

"that's all i have, now fuck off." i tremor.

/

i slam my apartment door, falling against it as soon as i enter my home. i sit on my floor and cry, realising i had some of my savings in that drawer too.

i get my phone out and go to instagram, snapping a photo of myself with my finger up, may as well laugh at this situation i guess. it's stupid, but of course the police didn't do anything other than tell me that they'll do their best to find the guy.

i caption the photo with, new york, you've not treated me kindly today #whothefuckstealsfromasmallbusiness

i chuckle as i post the photo, but i also can't stop crying. what has my life come to.
i crawl to my living room and lay on my carpet,
looking up at the ceiling.
i start to think of him again, how he would comfort me if he was here. then my thoughts wander onto how before i left he found it more entertaining comforting other girls and a bottle of vodka more than he did me.

i pick up my phone, scrolling through the comments and the likes, and my heart completely skips a beat when i see his name show up on my screen.

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