Fast Car | Escapes #1

Chapter 1

"Jenny!" someone shouted from behind me.

I flinched, dropping the bag of pasta I was trying to put back. "Yes?" I asked as I turned. My boss was standing behind me holding a clipboard. 

"I said your name twice," he said, sounding a little irritated. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, giving him the best smile I could muster. "I'm fine. Same as always. What's up?"

"I need you to head over to the produce section," he said after a short pause. "Someone knocked down the apple display."

I held in the sigh as I nodded. "I'll head that way." I picked up the bag of pasta and placed it on the shelf before heading to clean up fruit. 

When I arrived to produce, it wasn't as bad as I pictured it to be. There weren't apples all over the floor, just a couple dozen around where a small Asian woman was bent over, picking them up and placing them back on the stand. I winced as they all rolled back off. 

"Here, let me get those," I said as I got closer. 

She stood suddenly and faced me. "No no, is my fault," she said with a thick accent that's rarely heard in this small South Dakota town. "I clean." 

I smiled at her and moved to silently begin to help her. After all, why should I turn down help? She obviously wanted to do it. Still, it was part of my job, so I walked over and began stacking apples. There was a small trick to getting them to stay - one I'd learned over the last two years. 

Milton Foods was nothing if not dedicated to serving its customers. It was a small, family-owned business that had a chain in South Dakota. The store I worked at was the original one. The place it all started. This location was full of memorabilia and awards and pictures that could only be found here, where the original owner still ran things. 

Richard Milton was the owner. He loved his employees and was rumored to be teaching his son the ropes so he could take over one of the stores and eventually the chain when Mr. Milton retired. Which he seemed pretty close to doing. He was in his late fifties and looked older than that. Some of the older employees that had been there since the beginning or close to it all say that he looked younger than his age when he started this place ten years ago, but I wasn't so sure. He looked plenty old in those pictures in his office.

The lady handed me a final apple and I sat it on top of the new pile. "Thank you very much," I said with a smile. She gave me one in return and bowed slightly. A little confused, I returned it, which made her smile even more before she turned and walked off. Satisfied that I was done here, I went back to replacing items on the shelves.

That was one of many odd encounters I'd had over the last two years of working at this place. I was pretty used to the people coming in late in the evening time or early in the morning. Each time brought its own unique set of customers. I felt almost privileged at first when I started to see each of them. From the mothers with curlers still in their hair that just realized they didn't have enough eggs to feed their three kids before school to the business people that stopped in and rushed around the store with a basket to the college kids that came in right before closing to buy liquor. 

Not that there was never a dull moment. Don't get me wrong. There was a lot of down time and a lot of time to come up with creative displays. 

Okay, this is boring. You're not here to hear me drone on and on about the interesting moments of a grocery store. I know you're here for me to tell you something interesting, something juicy. Well, I hate to break it to you, but nothing interesting ever happens to me. Like ever. The closest to something interesting is that my mom walked out two years ago. That's it. 

That's not something I want to get into, either. I mean, I'll tell you eventually, but I need some time. It's been two years, but the wounds feel as fresh as the black eye I was sporting that day at work. 

Oh. That must have been why Mr. Milton asked how I was. Makes sense now. Anyway, I'll spare you some of the boring parts. That day, I finished my homework at work during the slow times, went home, tiptoed around my blackout-drunk father, and went to bed, knowing that, for as late as my day ended, it started just as early.

Right at 5, I was getting up and getting ready to start my day. The last part of my routine was making breakfast, which I'd learned how to do pretty quickly. That and make dinner. Which, I slowly realized as I stirred some scrambled eggs on the stove, I hadn't done the previous night. 

A creak of the floorboard in the hallway alerted me to my dad's presence. I tensed a little and waited to see what he was going to do. He was usually pretty tame when he had a hangover, but there were still times he wasn't. 

He walked past me with a yawn and yanked open the fridge, taking out his usual orange juice. I knew better than to say anything, so I kept on with breakfast. While he had his first screwdriver of the day, I plated our food and sat a plate on the table in front of him. He looked up from the drink he was nursing and gave me a small smile. "Thanks," he said with his gravelly voice. 

I smiled back and nodded as I sat with my own plate. Speaking was forbidden in the house when he first got up. Which, I mean, I could understand. I'd been around him enough to know sounds hurt when he's hungover. 

We ate in silence. When we were done, I placed our plates in the sink and grabbed my stuff to head to work. In a rare show of concern, he told me to be careful as I walked out the door. 

The morning was crisp. Early spring was still chilly, but I enjoyed it. I took a deep breath and felt the cold air fill my lungs. It felt good to be out of the stale apartment that reeked of booze. Left to his own devices, it probably would reek of a lot more, but I did everything I could to keep us from living in filth. He never cleaned, so I had my work cut out for me.

I walked to the bus stop, hoping that the men that were loitering around yesterday weren't here this morning. Strangers hanging around always made me nervous. Nothing really happened in this sleepy town, but I didn't want to break the norm. No one ever really does. Not in that way, at least. 

When I reached my destination, the guys were there again. I tightened my coat around myself as I tried to ignore them. They were passing something around between them and I recognized the scent of booze. Which meant they were probably drunk or on their way there. At half past six in the morning. 

Lovely.

"Hey beautiful," one of them called. Another whistled at me. "Why don't you come over here?"

"Leave her alone," the third one said. By the slur of his words, I could tell he had been there a while. 

The bus pulled up not a moment too soon. Heart pounding, I took a step towards it but someone grabbed the back of my coat. Panic began to rise when I felt the resistance. My hand grabbed the door of the bus as I heard someone say, "I thought I said to come here."

"Hey, that's enough of you," the bus driver said, standing. He was older, and I knew he was no match for the younger guys, but I appreciated it.

"Shut up old man," one of them slurred. "Let her go." The hand released my coat. I rushed onto the bus and turned around. The one I suspected to be the one that was slurring his words gave me a small wave while his friend was fussing at him. 

The doors closed, putting a barrier between us, and I let out a breath of relief. "Thanks," I said to the driver as I paid my fare. 

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile. "This old man can't do much, but a nice young lady like you shouldn't have to put up with that stuff."

I forced a giggle. "Well, I appreciate that." With a nod, I went to find a seat and try to settle my pounding heart, which I was barely able to do by the time I reached the store.