Once we are about ten miles away from the warehouse, Ice pulls over on the side of the road and signals for me to cut my engine. Pulling out his cell phone, he dials a number. Seconds later, he’s talking to Screech.
“Need you to watch the movie, brother,” he orders Screech to check all cameras in the area.. “Then we get word to let the pigs fly.”
The hard part about our jobs is staying in the know, yet out of the way unless absolutely necessary. The local police are the pigs in this situation, and it will be time for them to fly in to at least provide some closure for Tom Johnson’s family.
Clicking off the phone, Ice looks at me. “Looking a little green there, Coal.”
I nod. “Shit is whack, Ice.”
“I don’t think anyone will be eating donuts on that crime scene,” he jokes before raising his hand up for us to ride home.
I don’t think I will be eating dinner tonight. In fact, Pixie’s unprocessed lasagna suddenly sounds like the best meal I could ever devour.
~Paisley~
Closing shift at the grocery store is the worst since time drags on and on after nine o’clock. Once I clean up all the registers, I start stocking the candy. My mind wanders to the mystery that is Trevor Blake.
He’s straightforward. I have never met anyone who says what is on their minds as frankly as him.
Our interactions haven’t been good. No, from the moment my bumper brushed the rubber of his tire, we have been off. He tells me to go away, and I explain I want to make it right. Therefore, we have come to a standoff.
After that dinner, I let him be. There is no need to chase my tail. He was clear in his reasons, and I was stupid for not taking into consideration that my lifestyle isn’t for everyone.
Only, I can’t stop thinking about him. For instance, why does this Amber person want to contact him? Why does he have no social media and doesn’t want me looking into him?
The problem with my personality is that I’m curious to the point that I can sometimes be, oh dare I say, nosey. Now I have all these questions, and I can’t help wanting to know the answers.
Liquid goo coats my hand, drawing my attention to the busted sugary candy. It takes time, but I can get all of it cleaned off and disposed of, as well as marked on the product losses.
My shift is coming to a close, so I count down my till before heading to the breakroom to clock out. However, when I get just outside the door, I hear a crash behind me. Turning, I sigh when I see two bottles of sparkling water have busted, leaving water and glass all over the floor.
Cleaning up the mess and putting out the “wet floor” sign, I’m over forty minutes late clocking out.
I’m exhausted and frustrated by the time I get home and into bed, and sleep comes all too quickly because I am mentally done in.
“Paisley Charmaine Asher, I can’t believe you!” my mother screeches into the phone. “Your father and I are working two jobs each to send you to school and we get your grades,” she huffs impatiently through the phone.
I’m too drunk to care. “Mom, it’s fun. It’s art. I’m passing; that’s what matters.”
“Are you even going to classes?”
“The ones I like,” I slur.
“I am so disappointed in your behavior!”
She’s disappointed in me? For what? I’m a college kid; isn’t this supposed to be about learning who I am and who I want to be? Really, this is when she ran off with my dad to live free from her controlling parents’ religion and follow love. She went to Bible college, and then on a weekend retreat, where she met my dad and everything changed. I thought if anyone would want me to take time to live it up before I have to be responsible in life, it would be her.
“I’m so disappointed in you and Dad!” I roar back. “Once, you guys believed in freedom, be one’s self. You named me Paisley, for crying out loud! You always told me to believe in my art. Be a free spirit. Now I go to school and suddenly I’m a burden and a disappointment? Really, Mom, why don’t you guys make up your minds!”
“I never said you were a burden! This school costs money, Paisley. We have to work for you to have this, and you don’t even care! What has happened to you? It’s like you’re lost.”
“No, Mom, I’m just not found yet,” I simply reply before hanging up.
I wake up in a cold sweat. That was the last conversation I ever had with my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, loved me unconditionally, and believed in my art. No, she believed in me. Young, drunk, and stupid, I took everything they worked to give me and threw it all away.