98¢ Soul
[Author's Note: This is what remains of a story I wrote in my college creative writing class. I had lost part of the middle, so I did my best to replicate it.]
Harold McEwan drove to the store one fine day. It was a corner convenience store, the kind open twenty-four hours every day, seven days every week, three hundred sixty-five and one fourth days every year.
He made his purchase, slightly larger than the usual. He bought a case of Coors Silver Bullets, several bags of Doritos, Fritos, Tostitos, and other –itos brand snacking chips from Frito Lay, and some Oh Boy! Oberto brand beef jerky. There was a game this weekend. He needed to make sure he had enough on hand so he wouldn’t miss a single moment of the action
He paid the clerk, receiving ninety-eight cents in change. As he left, case of Coors Silver Bullets under one arm, plastic bag laden with various bits of processed corn or animal product in the other, the clerk said, “Must feel so horrible.” His voice filled the otherwise vacant convenience store.
Harold halted, turned his head. Was this clerk talking to him? “What?”
“Must feel so horrible,” said the clerk.
“What must feel so horrible?” asked Harold. He sounded like he knew what he was saying, though Harold still thought the clerk mistook him for someone else.
“Abusing children like that.”
Harold was genuinely confused. All he wanted to do was get some snacks, instead, he was getting a lecture. With a tinge of sharpness on his voice, he said, “What are you talking about? I don’t have any kids.”
“Is that how you deal with it? Denial. I bet your wife is thrilled.”
“I have no wife,” replied Harold, attempting to calm himself slightly at the accusations of this stranger. What was this clerk doing?
“So you are divorced, and yet you have custody of the children? I shudder to think of how horrible your wife was to lead to the current state of this broken family.”
Harold slammed his bags and brews down upon a display featuring a buxom woman, standing five feet, eight inches tall, wearing a form-fitting denim button-down shirt, unbuttoned partially to reveal her clever advertising stratagem. She advertised a particular brand of chewing tobacco.
“Listen here,” pause to look at clerk’s nametag, “Ellsworth, I bust my ass at work every week just to make ends meet. On weekends, I like to chill out in front of the tube and watch the game. I need this to relax.”
Ellsworth just stood there, listening to Harold, a smug expression bedecking his face.
“What I don’t need, however, is you, some guy I don’t know from Adam, criticizing me for doing stuff I have never done in my life.
Silence still.
“So, for the record: I don’t have any kids, I don’t have a wife. Hell, I don’t even have a girlfriend, but you know what? If I did kids, I’d never beat them. If I did have a wife, I’d never do her wrong. I’d love them, love them all. So, what do you have to say about that?”
The clerk closed his eyes for but a moment. He took a slow yet deep breath. Exhaling, he opened his eyes. Looking Harold directly in the face, he said “I say that you’re a very noble man, sir.” He paused to breathe again, his voice remaining calm and collected. “And as a noble man who loves and would care for women and children, sir, might I recommend making a small cash donation to help abused women and children all over America? Until you get a set of your own, that is.”
Harold looked at the clerk, squinting with his eyes and furrowing his brow. He fished around in his pocket and found his change, ninety-eight cents. He dropped it into the appropriate jar, resulting in eight metallic tinks echoing through the convenience store. Ellsworth nodded in gratitude as Harold retrieved his things and exited the store, loading the junk food into the passenger seat of his car.
He drove out of the parking lot, and into the street. While waiting at an intersection, he flipped open his cell phone. He dialed eleven digits. The phone displayed: “NOW DIALING… Barbara.”
A quiet female voice answered the phone.
Harold apologized.
Harold McEwan drove to the store one fine day. It was a corner convenience store, the kind open twenty-four hours every day, seven days every week, three hundred sixty-five and one fourth days every year.
He made his purchase, slightly larger than the usual. He bought a case of Coors Silver Bullets, several bags of Doritos, Fritos, Tostitos, and other –itos brand snacking chips from Frito Lay, and some Oh Boy! Oberto brand beef jerky. There was a game this weekend. He needed to make sure he had enough on hand so he wouldn’t miss a single moment of the action
He paid the clerk, receiving ninety-eight cents in change. As he left, case of Coors Silver Bullets under one arm, plastic bag laden with various bits of processed corn or animal product in the other, the clerk said, “Must feel so horrible.” His voice filled the otherwise vacant convenience store.
Harold halted, turned his head. Was this clerk talking to him? “What?”
“Must feel so horrible,” said the clerk.
“What must feel so horrible?” asked Harold. He sounded like he knew what he was saying, though Harold still thought the clerk mistook him for someone else.
“Abusing children like that.”
Harold was genuinely confused. All he wanted to do was get some snacks, instead, he was getting a lecture. With a tinge of sharpness on his voice, he said, “What are you talking about? I don’t have any kids.”
“Is that how you deal with it? Denial. I bet your wife is thrilled.”
“I have no wife,” replied Harold, attempting to calm himself slightly at the accusations of this stranger. What was this clerk doing?
“So you are divorced, and yet you have custody of the children? I shudder to think of how horrible your wife was to lead to the current state of this broken family.”
Harold slammed his bags and brews down upon a display featuring a buxom woman, standing five feet, eight inches tall, wearing a form-fitting denim button-down shirt, unbuttoned partially to reveal her clever advertising stratagem. She advertised a particular brand of chewing tobacco.
“Listen here,” pause to look at clerk’s nametag, “Ellsworth, I bust my ass at work every week just to make ends meet. On weekends, I like to chill out in front of the tube and watch the game. I need this to relax.”
Ellsworth just stood there, listening to Harold, a smug expression bedecking his face.
“What I don’t need, however, is you, some guy I don’t know from Adam, criticizing me for doing stuff I have never done in my life.
Silence still.
“So, for the record: I don’t have any kids, I don’t have a wife. Hell, I don’t even have a girlfriend, but you know what? If I did kids, I’d never beat them. If I did have a wife, I’d never do her wrong. I’d love them, love them all. So, what do you have to say about that?”
The clerk closed his eyes for but a moment. He took a slow yet deep breath. Exhaling, he opened his eyes. Looking Harold directly in the face, he said “I say that you’re a very noble man, sir.” He paused to breathe again, his voice remaining calm and collected. “And as a noble man who loves and would care for women and children, sir, might I recommend making a small cash donation to help abused women and children all over America? Until you get a set of your own, that is.”
Harold looked at the clerk, squinting with his eyes and furrowing his brow. He fished around in his pocket and found his change, ninety-eight cents. He dropped it into the appropriate jar, resulting in eight metallic tinks echoing through the convenience store. Ellsworth nodded in gratitude as Harold retrieved his things and exited the store, loading the junk food into the passenger seat of his car.
He drove out of the parking lot, and into the street. While waiting at an intersection, he flipped open his cell phone. He dialed eleven digits. The phone displayed: “NOW DIALING… Barbara.”
A quiet female voice answered the phone.
Harold apologized.
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