The Rhodes Method

four

Jesus Christ, I'm so blue all the time
And that's just how I feel
Always have and I always will
I always have and always will
--- Funeral, Phoebe Bridgers

OCTAVIA RHODES

I am five hours into my six-hour shift, and I am still thinking about my father.

That's the problem with long shifts; when my mind is stuck on a topic, it will be stuck on this for many long, agonising hours. The lack of sleep is not helping either. For most of the night, I stared at the blank screen of my phone, wondering if the familiar name would pop up again. It did not. I wouldn't pick up if the number called, but the thought of my father on the other side of the line, his hand curled around his phone, alive, means I won't sleep again.

At least it is easy to get sidetracked at the supermarket I work at. I mainly stack shelves, unpack boxes, take out bins, and any other labour they can ask a seventeen-year-old on minimum wage to do. My job is not bad by any means. I have minimal customer contact, and I have a game where I see how many boxes I can pile on one shelf without it tipping over.

Thirty minutes before I end my shift, I am asked to work at the counter. Consisting of customer interactions, conversations I do not care for, and a lack of thinking space – this is the part of my job I dislike the most. But I promised myself I would not get fired, for disorderly conduct, or any reason of the sort, so I plaster on a smile, and greet customers with a grin.

The grin is wiped off my face when Damien appears in line, three customers back, with his friends. I swear under my breath, avoid my older brother's eyes, and try to flag down another employee to cover for my counter. I can't find anyone, though.

Damien speaks as I hand the customer before him a receipt. "When do you get off?"

I roll my eyes and start scanning his items. He and his friends have bought junk food: chips and chocolate. The store I work at is known for our fresh fruit and vegetables, so I know immediately of Damien's real reasoning for showing up here.

"Thirty minutes."

Damien nods his head slowly. His friend pops up next to him. I am not good with names, but I know very well that his name is Reid. He is good-looking, and too smart to be hanging out with someone like Damien. Too bad he's too old for me.

"Hey Tav," he greets. I have so many nicknames, it's absurd. "How are you doing?"

"Good," I say.

Damien leans forward, so his words are only heard by me. "Myles spoke to me this afternoon. He told me you weren't doing well."

I press my lips together and blank my features because Damien has always read me a little too well. "I'm fine. He's talking shit."

"He got out of bed before twelve to tell me. Doesn't sound like shit."

"Can you drop it?" I scan the last item. "That'll be thirty dollars and fifty cents. Cash or card?"

One of Damien's friends whistles. "Damn, inflation."

"Cash," Damien says, and then adds, "Do you want to hang with us when you're done?"

"I'm not interested in getting high with you guys."