Dirt Poor

FOUR - Grilled Cheese

        The week continued on the same and with each passing day, I came to dread Friday night more and more. I would have to meet up with Vance and Syre tomorrow evening after their football game, which, to me, was already late enough in the night. How much would we even really accomplish?

        That was the thought I was struggling with the most. The whole situation just felt off, like it was just a farce to lure me to an unfamiliar place and wreak even more havoc on my life.

        If only I had a better read on the type of person that Vance was. If I knew how he worked and operated like I do Syre then this wouldn't even be an issue.

        The ding of the entrance doorbell drew me from my thoughts and looked up to see someone about my age walk into the store. She returned the kind smile that I gave her and made her way over to our deli.

        Currently, I was at work as it was Thursday night at the small independent grocery store that was nestled between the poor outskirt town I lived in and the wealthy suburb where the school was. Though it wasn't in the rich part of town, we had done a good job at expanding our demographic to, well, everyone really. It was mainly because of our deli that we were able to get all this business.

        The head of our deli was Santiago, an immigrant from Portugal, who created gourmet sandwiches and other snacks in our deli. Once word got out about how to-die-for the food was from our deli, people came all over in droves to get a bite. Then we started offering catering through our deli, Santiago got a promotion and then began attending culinary school. He wants to be a chef.

        Santiago is the father I never had, I guess. As soon as he found out enough about my home life, he always made me a sandwich before I left for the evening on the days that he worked. Honestly, if it wasn't for him I am not sure that I would've survived. Malnutrition was already an issue for me, and for the others in the community, but because of Santiago, I was able to curb it as much as possible.

        I could go to him with anything, well almost anything. I never disclosed the fully transparent home life that I had nor the torment I went through at school, but he knew enough. He knew enough to care, and even though that wasn't my objective, it still felt nice to know that I at least had one person in this world to slightly care for me.

        "It's a good thing that I don't work here," a voice drew me from my thoughts. I snapped my eyes from the ground where I was staring at my worn-out sneakers and made eye contact with the young girl that had previously walked into the store.

        I wasn't quite sure what she exactly said so I just gave her a small smile and grabbed the box her sandwich was in.

        "I'd never stop eating these sandwiches. I'd probably not even have a paycheck to show for my work because I would spend it all on these," she continued, motioning to her sandwich.

         She chuckled at her own story, "actually, I would - wait, no, that's actually a rude thing to say," she kept on, but more to herself at the end. Her smile twitched as it fell from her face. I wasn't sure why.

        I grabbed her Caprese grilled cheese and scanned it, "this is my favorite one." I offered to her one-sided conversation. Normally I put minimal effort into small talk with any of my customers and typically went with a smile or head nod, but for some reason, I voluntarily opted to indulge in this one.

        It was something about the way her smile fell that told me she wasn't as happy as her smile was trying to portray. That maybe she just needed some kind of human interaction or conversation.

        My assumption was slightly confirmed with the way her eyes lit back up when I responded, except this time, her smile reached her eyes and was genuine. Her smile was pretty and she should do it more often; perfect and straight white teeth all shiny and damn near blinding.