Errands Day
Word count: 1,223
Rating: G
Summary: A snapshot into a challenging life.
So this is just a little original work of mine. Thought maybe somebody would be interested. Enjoy.
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The sun glinted on glass. It set the room aglow, and Adam stirred from sleep at its touch. Eyes open, he peeled off the covers, brushed his hair, dressed and buttoned, and went to the kitchen for breakfast.
On the fridge, he found a note. Reluctantly, he read it, facing it squarely.
Today was errands day.
A small, faltering exhale leaked from his lungs. He found his keys and wallet on a counter by the door, and he sat to put on his shoes; left, then right; tied, then tied. His wallet he tucked safely in its reserved pants pocket, and his keys he flipped through until surely the one to the house was pressed between his fingers. Carefully, he exited the house, and he locked up using what was indeed, after all, his house key.
He boarded his car with what was indeed his car key. After locking, he sat for a moment. Thenーtentativelyーhe backed out and cruised down the street.
He gripped his steering wheel if it were busy; fortunately, there were not so many other cars, and he arrived safely. The parking lot presented an easy space for his vehicle, and he filled it up before cutting the engine and patting his pocket to ensure that his wallet still filled it. He took his keys, and he tucked them in the other pocket, safe and secure.
He gazed out the window at the store on the other side of the pavement.
A tight, carbonated feeling stretched his veins. His muscles filled as with a gas, uncomfortably, and his skin felt cold and dry.
You will walk across the parking lot, he guided politely, picturing it in his mind. The doors will be automatic, and you will enter, and you will take a shopping cart right there at the front of the store. The shelves will be all lined up after them, and you will acquire your items to bring to the cashier and go home.
A medium, faltering exhale leaked from his lungs. He licked his lips.
You’ve done it before.
Cautiously, Adam exited his car. His feet grounded on the pavement, and he glanced side to side to side, checking for cars. It wasn’t busy. The sun was stale and white in the pale blue sky, and he tread towards the store doors beneath it, hands hovering around his pockets, ensuring that nothing fell out.
In the seconds it took for the doors to sense his movement, his stride was electric, tumulting between stop and go in worry that they wouldn’t open after all. But they opened, and he entered, grabbing a cart there at the front of the store. The rectangular lights were bright on the polished tile floors.
Adam pulled out his wallet to a piece of paper worn on every crease of its folds. It was a list; the scribbled pen faded as it trailed further up, naming items, describing where in the store each were located.
Yes. He lifted his head and confirmed what he remembered. It was the same every timeーbut what if he remembered wrong?
Canned Goods he double-checked on a sign, and he rolled into the aisle. Down the rows and rows he viewed every time he made this trip found he his can of beans, in the same brand he always bought with the same picture. He placed it in his cart and confirmed what his next item was.
Instant mashed potatoes. They weren’t too far from the beans, and he spotted their picture easy. The rest of the trip went much the same, and he arrived at the checkout with his goods, observing each register. None of them were empty, so he was forced to wait in line.
He wrung his hands on the cart. The person in front of him had a lot to buy, and there wasn’t any room to place his things on the conveyor belt. His heart inflated; he knew that the plastic divider would be involved, but this was not something he performed on every trip to the store and knew step-by-step how to do. His mind was empty, and it lurched repeatedly in registering if each new second was one in which he should actーhow he should, he wasn’t sure, and his blood ran thin.
The items of the person in front of him ran out. The cashier looked to Adam, and a thick moment passed of nothing.
“Go ahead and put your things on the belt,” she directed.
The chill of Adam’s skin inflamed, and heat crawled up his neck to his cheeks. Obediently, he emptied his cart, continuing by a method he was familiar with.
The cashier scanned each item, and the familiar beep sounded with every bar code read. Adam prepared his wallet. His fingers traced his debit card, waiting, anticipating how he would hand it over to pay.
“That’s twenty-three fourty-two,” the cashier announced.
Adam presented his card.
The cashier lifted her eyes. “Uh, over here,” she redirected, pointing to a device.
Adam froze. This was new.
Sweat accumulated under his arms and in the folds of his hands. The card grew slick. Wet beads dribbled in the open space between his sides and his shirt, frigid against the fires swelling inside of him while panic surmounted like an overflowing spring.
“Do you have a chip?” the cashier asked.
Motionless shivers lanced Adam’s bones. “What?”
“Insert your card in the slot,” she instructed. She touched her finger to the bottom of the device, and there was a picture.
Adam blinked. He cognized what the picture meant, and he licked the roof of his mouth as he pushed his card inside.
“Other side, honey,” the cashier corrected.
Adam flushed.
“Flip it over.”
Adam flipped his card, gritting his teeth, head dizzy and light and cheeks as red as tomatoes. The screen asked if he wanted cash back. He didn’t know what that was. Unsurely, he pressed no, fingers weak to the button.
“Alright.” The cashier bagged his goods and placed them in the next cart. “Here you go.”
“Mーthanks,” Adam choked, attempting a smile. It was a lopsided grimace, twisting his lips, wrenching his skin. The cashier wished him a good day, but he was too outside of his mind to find words.
A well sprung behind his eyes. It grew, gradually, flowing to the front while he loaded his groceries in the car, blurring his vision when he locked himself up. He sat in the car, in the quiet, and took a deep breath.
A tear slid from his eyelid. He pursed his lips, and they trembled. He swallowed.
You’re alright. It’s alright.
But he felt intensely dreadful. Discomfort rotted his innermost core.
Shakily, he moved himself to exit the parking lot and enter the road. He looked both ways, but someone honked; every hair on his body pricked as he flung to correct himself. The street lights bored into his retinas, but they made no sense. Only barely did he scrape by, crushed by the weight of cars zipping on his either side, reeling his mind again and again to provide meaning to the lines on the pavement. His skeleton shriveled, and his gut was full of bees. It was a two-minute drive home, and tears streamed hotly down either side of his face all the way.
