Dancing Between Reality and Reminiscence: Short Stories

Broken Glass

The old man sat behind the smudged glass counter listening to slow oldies tunes cranked from the radio in the corner. You could tell by its disjointed acoustics and duck-taped exterior that it had been in that lonely corner for quite a while. It sure had been there when the man had first started at the off-highway gas station, and that had been a long time ago.

The wheeze of a door much used and less taken care of announced the entrance of a patron, and the old man raised his eyes from his newspaper to see a waif of a girl slipping into the store, and heading past the sagging wooden shelves to the refrigerated corner. She wasn't anything special: coal black hair, fair skin, tall, skinny, but he felt as though he recognized her. He shifted in his chair to get a better look, his back sticking to the chair on the stifling July day.

It was not her appearance that struck his memory, but the way she held herself. The girl moved quickly and quietly with her eyes cast down as if she could just make herself disappear. Everything about her was nervous and hurried, but it was as if a thousand pounds were weighing her down. The old man knew the look of a girl who didn't think she was worth anything.

He grimaced at the path his thoughts were taking, and the old man shoved down the decades-old feelings that threatened to engulf him. He gripped the newspaper, staring decidedly at its familiar black and white print, and tried to loose the knots that were twisting his stomach. After a few minutes of prowling the dirty convenience store the girl appeared at the counter with her hands full. Out of her chipped digits spilled cheap make-up, lime green nail polish, feminine products, and a stash of chewy granola bars. The old man leaned back as she set down her predictable items, his eyes roving to the fan that stopped working months ago, Playboy posters his boss liked to hang up, and the scuffed floor that he hadn't cleaned in months. It was only when she produced her final purchase that he snapped to attention.

The girl slapped down a bottle of Burnett's with a definite thump, and the old man's chest thumped with it. Panic started to rise in his chest as buried memories started to be unearthed by that harmless bottle. Then again, he knew it wasn't harmless. The old man shook his head, telling himself he shouldn't dwell on the past.

"You ain't twenty-one," he scoffed, giving her a do-you-think-I-was-born-yesterday look.

"What's it to you grandpa?" she growled back at him, pursing her lips in annoyance. He almost laughed at her tough face, which was the weakest thing he'd ever seen. Boy, do you think you're tough girlie, he thought, smirking at her cut off hair and ripped jeans. His eyes stopped at her face, though, as his eyes caught a completely unsurprising black mark that was splotched across her cheek. It was still a bit beige with the cheap concealer that evidently had rubbed off.

He dropped his gaze to his paper, repeating the mantra it's none of your business, it's none of your business as he responded condescendingly, "Can't buy unless you're twenty-one sweetheart." She wrinkled her nose at him and made a annoyed sound in her throat.

"Look, it's not even for me! I'm running in for my boyfriend." The girl's look had now descended into full go to hell mode, tinged with a little...fright? The old man told himself he was imagining it, but he couldn't ignore the nasty feeling he was getting in his chest.

Almost under his breath, he muttered disgustedly, "Of course...your boyfriend."

The air around them froze, and he met the girl's eyes. Time stood still for a few moments until, shocked and now thoroughly angry the girl spluttered, "E-excuse me?!"

"Maybe you should check your face sweetheart," he spit out hatefully, spurring the girl to check herself in the back of her sleek, silver phone. Staring at her distorted reflection, the girl stiffened, her clear blue eyes widening. The man thought about how pretty those eyes would be if they weren't surrounded by dark bags and filled with a decided hardness. She had tempered them to steel by the time she looked back up at him, and he knew the lie was coming before it even left her tongue.