Three Is Company

The Consistency of Local Company

The next morning John was met with his new employment, coming in the shapes of boxes piled against the old walls of a decrepit little convenience store. The man stood exasperatedly in the middle of the aisles, separated from his new inventory by white metal shelves with wicked hooks stuck into the frames. The place looked perfectly despicable in its empty, unloved form. Though John knew that once he got the boxes unpacked and the counter full he would start to feel a little bit more at home. The walls were already painted, the floors replaced, the lighting vibrant and cheerful. Thankfully the store already smelled like disinfectant, which was a useful aroma in the work of pharmaceuticals. This would be the first time John had taken on a venture so large, the first gamble he had ever taken. Since the house was inherited John had sunk all of his saved earnings into the new business, holding out hope that the spot in the middle of Main Street would allow for a steady flow of traffic coming in and out of the store. Once he got prescriptions he might secure a returning population of costumers. At the moment he tried not to worry about the costumers, in fact he decided instead to relish in the new items that he would be putting up for sale. He unloaded boxes, stocked shelves, and hung a myriad of different things from the wire hooks that had at first looked perfectly deadly. Now they looked quaint and tame, dangling various luffas and toothbrushes in all colors of the rainbow. The only thing that comforted John in this business ploy was that all of this inventory technically belonged to him. If the business failed he would never want for anything that fell in the range of self-hygiene products. Oh, they could eat lip balm for all he cared. They would survive, with all the bandages and painkillers a family could want. It was hard not to think of the worst case scenarios, and as John tried to stock the shelves in a way that made them look fuller he could not get the pessimism out of his head. Even with the radio playing cheerful latest hits, various songs by Fleetwood Mac and the Bee Gee's, John felt a large dark cloud hovering over his head. A cloud that pushed the worst case scenarios into his head and made him lament on all of the money he had spent for these useless little bars of soap. Eventually John had to step out of the store, finding the harsh lights to be quite maddening after so long. The store itself resonated an empty feeling, one that seemed to suck in more than just his dollars. The sunlight, in direct contrast, seemed to fill him with hope. His skin basked in the light, in the warmth, and in his working flannel and loosely fitting jeans John sunk into a wooden bench that had been left outside of his shop, kicking his heels together and enjoying the sound of the passing cars. John remembered these streets all too well, in memories so vivid it was hard to realize that they had been formed over nine years before. It felt as if he had never left, as if the memories he had from college or from the city had just been dreams, hallucinations, all made as he sat upon this very spot. It seemed as though he wasn't allowed to leave, even if he had attempted it before. These were the streets he had wandered as a child, strapped to his mother by a cloth leash to keep him from wandering too far. Then they were conquered by bicycle, throughout his middle school years, riding around with his friends on road bikes as if they had formed a sort of motorcycle gang. He spent his years getting ice cream, watching movies, and tormenting the adults for a sip of their beer on the sidewalk of the local bars. Eventually he was old enough for everything. Though he had passed into adulthood far away from these slabs of cement, far enough away that they would not recognize him in his advanced years. He used to be carefree, and yet now he was so trodden by cares that he could hardly lift his head up for long enough to observe the thick crowds of passerby. As John lounged, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sudden eruption of a loud horn, blown from the top of a police cruiser who suddenly emerged from the steady line of traffic that had been passing through. At first John looked for the culprit, he searched for a vehicle that might have been going faster than the caterpillar of cars that were lined up behind the old blinking stoplight. When no one could be found, and as the police car settled into the only available parking spot upon the sidewalk, John began to worry that he was in some way responsible for the ruckus. By now there were spectators, the passerby having stopped to watch as the siren wailed and honked, the car now struggling to neatly parallel park in the empty spot alongside the pharmacy. John rose to his feet, wondering if he ought to start walking away in an attempt to avoid any potential loitering charges. This was his business, though perhaps the police force did not yet understand that the empty store was now being transformed. Though as John got to his feet the car door opened, and from the interior rose a large, dominating figure dressed all in blue. John nearly ran, almost falling over himself for fear that it was his relaxing that had drawn the police man to him. The sirens were still wailing, the engine still running, as if the policeman was ready to take his capture to the station without a second thought.
"Sir, I'm afraid you can't be here." the policeman called out, his gruff voice emulating from under the wide brim of a most frightening cap. John cowered, his youthful fear of the police resurging with a sudden urgency. For a moment he felt as if he was getting busted with a pocketed box of candy, or perhaps a cigarette.
"Sorry, I'll um...I'll go back inside." John assured, wiggling his fingers apprehensively as he turned back towards his shop.
"Can't be there, either. In fact, last I heard, you couldn't possibly be in this whole godforsaken town."
"What?" John whispered.
"If I remember correctly you were leaving. Leaving, and never coming back. Well how'd that work out for you, Johnny Boy?" Suddenly a familiar laugh began from behind the shadowed brim, a laugh that was so disarming that John even dared a smile himself. At first he couldn't exactly place the humor, though as the policeman rose to remove his hat John was suddenly whiplashed into his high school years. They say you never forget a face, though John had just nearly looked over the older and matured face of his best friend.
"Greg!" he exclaimed with a huff, hesitating on the sidewalk before deciding he ought to go in for a hug to get it over with. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with relief, and besides, he now had a large crowd gathered around him to witness his arrest. It was better to assure the audience that he was not in trouble, at least not for anything the law was concerned with. And so John threw his arms around the broad shoulders of Greg Lestrade, trying to get the tighter grip and failing immensely when his lungs were crushed under the bone breaking enthusiasm of his friend.
"Had you scared there, didn't I? Don't think I've seen that look on your face since Janine asked you out in the tenth grade." Greg joked, giving John a great clap on the back that nearly knocked the wind out of him. With that they released, John pulling back a bit awkwardly as he tried to remember if he had ever hugged Greg in their entire friendship. It was a rather intimate thing to do, not something a bunch of teenaged boys ever grew comfortable with.
"How was I supposed to know you were the embodiment of the law?" John defended. "They really just let anyone sign up!"
"I happened to earn this badge fair and square. I had competition." Greg assured, patting the silver badge on his chest with an upturned look, one that dared John to taunt him another time. The sirens were still going, perhaps a chorus left intentionally singing in order to make this moment more dramatic. Once their fearful nature had dissolved John began to find the horns annoying, and by the time Greg made his first introductions John was about to go to the car and figure out how to turn them off himself.
"Well, congratulations. Good to know that our boys in blue have at least some sense of humor." John muttered, crossing his arms and studying his burly best friend. Nine years had changed them in opposite ways, it would seem. While John had expanded his brain and views of the world Greg only seemed to expand his muscle mass. He had always been stocky, though by now it was some wonder he fit in the door of his house. John must have looked pathetic while standing next to him, his short little stature only exemplified by his scrawny arms and quiet haircut.
"There's been all sorts of talk about this new shop. Some people had the most outlandish theories for who was going to be moving in." Greg admitted, finally spinning around to pull the key out of the ignition of his little station wagon painted with a golden police star.
"Oh well, I'm sorry to disappoint." John grumbled.
"What are you making in there, then?"
"Do you remember what I went to school for?" John wondered, tapping his fingers against his crossed arms and watching with a smile as Greg awkwardly wiggled his keys around his fingers.
"Uh...social studies?" Greg muttered, his face wincing with doubt even as he suggested it. Thankfully John still remembered how to laugh, his own joy only making Greg blush in embarrassment.
"Pharmaceuticals." John corrected. "This is going to be my pharmacy!"
"Oh ya? Well that's great. Truly great. I know that most of us have to take the highway to get our prescriptions, and it's always been a big hassle. Especially for the old folks." Greg muttered.
"That's a good omen for sales, then." John presumed.
"Oh don't worry about sales, mate. So long as you've got a bell on the door and drugs behind the counter you'll be sure to have a market." Greg assured. John nodded thankfully, looking up and down the street at the fading crowd of pedestrians. The conversation lulled, as neither of them truly cared about the pharmacy enough to discuss it any farther.
"Living somewhere, then?" Greg presumed at last, a rather stupid question to be asking a man who did not look like he woke up in a cardboard box.
"Ya, took over my parent's house. And about time, too. They had been living in their own filth probably for the duration of my absence. The place was a pig sty by the time authorities got involved." John admitted.
"Authorities?" Greg chuckled.
"Ya, like the safety people or whatever. Those that come in and decide you're no longer fit to live on your own." John agreed, not entirely clear on the topic of his parents' eviction.
"I thought that was the child's job?" Greg wondered.
"Nah, it's the child's job to pay for the nursing home and inherit the house." John admitted proudly.
"That's not a bad set up." Greg decided after a moment, as if he had to think back deeply to remember the interior of John's childhood home.
"I'll have you over sometime. I'd love you to meet my wife." John insisted, the first sincere invitation he handed out since his time spent in this rickety old town. He had been met with a handful of childhood acquaintances, all which got the same offer, though a halfhearted one at that. Most were curious to see what the old house had turned into. Others were just nosey, wanting to take a peek at the wife John had managed to secure while he was away in the big city. But for Greg the offer was legitimate. In fact the house would only grow emptier the longer the man was absent.
"Wife? Dang John, I thought you swore off those as well." Greg remembered with a chuckle.
"Maybe when I was ten!" John defended, feeling unusually insulted by Greg's doubt. "All of us have to settle down eventually."
"Don't I know it." Greg huffed, flashing a ring of his own on his wide, tan hand. John nearly leapt in excitement, never having expected to see a glint of gold upon the wild man's finger. Greg had been more into chaos than girls, even throughout his high school years he couldn't seem to bother.
"Molly Hooper." Greg clarified, somehow predicting the next question that would come from his friend's mouth. John returned with a gape.
"Molly Hooper? That quiet girl, the one who used to carry all those books?" John exclaimed. To this Greg had to laugh along, as if he understood the irony of the situation. Certainly he would never have paid attention to someone who had made the top ten of their class, especially if they were not known to have said a word throughout their entire career at grade school.
"Turns out she's pretty cool." Greg shrugged.
"Alright then. I guess I'll take your word for it." John muttered. Greg merely sneered, giving John a playful (if not painful) slap on the arm for good measure.
"I'll let you find out for yourself. I'll come around and bother you, maybe tomorrow night if you're up for it." Greg suggested. John grinned in agreement, bouncing upon his toes to show his enthusiasm. As nice as it was to settle back into his childhood town he had been feeling considerably lonely, as if everyone he used to know had ultimately forgotten him during his absence. To have Greg reappear in his life may very well fix it all.
"I'd love that." John agreed. Greg nodded, plopping his hat ceremoniously back upon his head and clicking his heels back into a rigid, militaristic stance.
"As for now, Johnny Boy, I must go back to enforcing the law." Greg declared in a deep voice, one that was not as sarcastic as it ought to be.
"Yes of course. There might be a robbery at the donut shop if you're not careful."
"I ought to check, you're right. I ought to check if someone might have poisoned the Boston Crèmes."
"A true hero." John muttered, smiling in his goofy way as he watched Greg clamber back into the police car. The entire thing shook to hold his weight, as if the left side of the car would suddenly droop down and drag against the pavement.
"I'll be around!" Greg promised.
"As will I. Be safe out there." John suggested, giving Greg a quick wave and getting another honk of the sirens in response. John winced, hating to draw attention to himself, and was glad to see the car pull aggressively into the line of traffic, as if Greg was relying on the dark blue color to allow him to merge unsafely. With the spectacle crawling slowly down the road John retreated back into his store, figuring there was no more use for the sunshine. He ought to get finished with the front half of the store before lunch time, in the hopes that by dinner he would be ready for the first round of business the following day.

When John returned the sun had just set and dusk had fallen through the neighborhood, enough to require his headlights to light the way through the dark streets. The street lamps had not yet been lit, which seemed perfectly counterproductive in his opinion. Why invest in such infrastructure if they were not being used at their necessary times? John pulled into the driveway with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, remembering each and every time he had stared from the back window of his mother's station wagon at the slowly approaching lawn. The garage was closed, and at the moment John had no motivation to open it, and so he slid out onto the pavement and locked the car securely behind. Trampling in through the mudroom, John was met with the fantastic scent of baked goods. At the moment he could only determine the scent of chocolate, though the entire room was basking in warmth and sweetness.
"Baking?" John asked a bit obviously, stepping into the kitchen to see Mary poking a toothpick inside some of the warm, bubbling cookies that were sitting freshly in their pans.
"I thought it would be a great way to introduce ourselves to the neighbors." Mary said with a smile. John's eyebrows creased, finding some skewed logic.
"Isn't it the neighbor's job to bring us food?" he pointed out. Rosie gave a coo from her high chair, waving with a handful of chocolate chips.
"Perhaps they're shy. Or perhaps they're hesitant." Mary suggested.
"Perhaps they're rude, and not worthy of our company." John countered, plucking a cookie from the cooling racks and receiving a slap with a wooden spoon in return.
"Either way it's best to reach out. We don't want to have a bad reputation." Mary pointed out.
"Oh who cares? Even if we're the newest members of the neighborhood we still have the oldest claim. I grew up here, which gives me privilege. It gives us the ability to turn up our noses."
"You don't know that. Perhaps some of these are your old neighbors. Have you looked?"
"No, haven't had the time. But I doubt it, really. They were all old and decrepit. A lot like my parents, actually. Their time in their own homes was expiring." John assured. Mary gave a little noise of disappointment, as if she had been hoping to meet some of the faces from John's past.
"Well, either way it doesn't seem like anyone leaves this place. If they didn't grow up on this street they might have grown up on the opposite side of town." Mary suggested. "I don't think we should go parading around until we're sure they're more outlandish than ourselves."
"I guess a college education does degrade you around here." John agreed ironically, finishing off his cookie with a satisfied little sigh. Mary merely scoffed, turning towards the dinner she was preparing simultaneously with the deserts. John patted Rosie on the head, trying to find any more hair that had been growing in her bald, smooth head. When that search failed he instead moved to the living room, sinking into one of the recliners and staring blankly at the dark window. At the moment their direct neighbor was shielded by a large wooden fence, ensuring that neither of them could take advantage of the harsh lighting that would allow for ideal observation. John shivered to think that his neighbor had remained constant on that side. He shivered to consider what growing up in such proximity to that house could do to the little girl he was trying to raise.