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I get to the back and finish helping the driver unload everything and take it to the stockroom. As I am getting boxes of napkins onto the shelf, Gennie’s husband John walks in.
“She’s worried about you.”
“Who is?” I say and turn to look at him.
“Gennie, you dimwit.”
“Well, she doesn’t have anything to worry about. I’m fine.”
“Oh yeah? So, spacing out and showing up late to work is normal behavior for you?”
I know he’s right but it’s only a momentary lapse. I set the box down and cross my arms, feeling my chest sink in a little.
WHEN YOU'RE READY
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“I get it. I’m trying to figure some stuff out in my head is all. I’ll get over it.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. I can listen. And you have a whole town of people here who love and support you.”
“Thanks, John.”
“No problem, kid. Now get your butt out there and unlock those doors before Lenard shows up and doesn’t know what to do.”
I let out a chuckle and slide past John into the main part of the bar. If these walls could talk, I can only imagine the stories they would tell. I look down on my way towards the front door and smile at the holes in the floor, remembering how this whole community came together every time we’ve lost someone to a horrible motorcycle accident.
Each time, a guy would bring his bike into the bar and burn out, making the wood grind down to the cement floor underneath.
The bar would be packed with people whooping and hollering, while the burning tire filled it air with smoke. No one cared though, they were there to celebrate the life that was lived. These holes are a constant reminder of the strength this town holds.
I unlock the door and do my rounds. Checking the bathrooms and the small casino area. I wipe down all the tables, bar and make sure the cabinet doors are completely shut.
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Chapter Four
Grayson
THIS WEEKEND CREPT BY and after what felt like an entire day of sleeping, I finally feel a bit more refreshed. Tuesdays are usually when I visit my parents, but I haven’t done it in a few months. I’m sure they assume I’m just living my best young adult life.
If living my best life is eating Pringles with Sharkbait watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island, then yeah, I am totally living my best life. Maybe I should talk to them about how I have been feeling.
I know, as my parents, they would be completely understanding.
I hope to have what they have one day. They rarely ever seem discontent where they are. Their home is on five acres of land that butts up to the river. They have chickens, ducks, goats, a couple of horse and an enormous garden. My mom cans anything and everything she can. I never have to worry about buying spaghetti sauce or jam. And her pickled beets are the best in town.
My dad retired two years ago from the mine and my mom was a nurse until five years ago. They are the kind of people who can’t go to the grocery store without seeing someone they know and stopping to have a twenty-minute conversation with them. They were also born and raised here. My mom left after high school to
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go to nursing school, and she came back because she married my dad before she graduated. They were high school sweethearts.
“I should go visit them.” I say, and Sharkbait looks at me from his spot on my futon couch. If cats could roll their eyes, I’m pretty sure he would be right now and saying duhhh
