Stuffed to the Gills

 

Photo credit: Robsalot (that's me!)

The snow was a thick blanket that had dulled the sharp edges on the world outside her bedroom window. It was different then she thought it’d be, which surprised her. She expected dazzling white, sparkling in the morning sun, coating the world with fresh possibilities, but instead it was steel grey, a reflection of the dull clouds that perpetually hung low over the endless plains. She sighed and pulled the covers back over her head. It was Saturday morning, her first day off in a week and a half, and she needed to spend at least a few more hours of it asleep.

The phone rang, a presumptuously optimistic tune cutting through the quite of her apartment, just as she was about to fall back to sleep. She really hated the phone. When she first arrived in town she refused to get one. She was afraid he would somehow figure out her new number, and from there it would only be a matter of time before he found her. But eventually she realized it was impossible to live without a phone, to find jobs, to do a lot of things really, so she got one of those cheap phones they sell at the gas station, and registered it under her middle name and her maiden name. This made her feel safer, how could he know to look for the her she had become? But now the phone was ringing, and it was an unknown number. She didn’t answer.

A few more minutes tossing and turning and she gave up. It was no use, she wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep. She rolled out of bed and that’s when she saw the phone flashing with a message. It was her boss, asking if she wanted to pick up an extra shift that day. “Why not” she said to the empty room. The hours of the day stretched out endlessly before her, she had to fill them with something.

The next thing that surprised her about the snow was how disgusting it was. It was a long walk from her apartment above the laundry mat on Main Street to the gas station at the edge of town. “Layers are key” she muttered to herself as she attempted to stuff her feet, and three pairs of socks into her brand new snow. Downstairs she found the street was sloppy with brown slush from salt and car tires. It would not be a magical walk to work in a winter wonderland.

The store had been empty for a half an hour. The police had set up a DUI checkpoint just down the street and all night the store had been packed with far too many sloppy staggering people drenched in the smell of rancid alcohol, desperate for carbs and black coffee. Finally, though, with only ten minutes left until closing and she was alone, standing in the back filling the mop bucket, when she thought she heard the bell above the front door jingle. She emerged from the back room to find him waiting at the register. As he looked up she noticed the expression on his face was exactly that of a person who had just seen a ghost.

“Anne?” he asked, his voice was small, like it was afraid of the sound of her name.

“Fuck,” she whispered, as she reached down to twirl the wedding ring on her finger. It was a nervous tic, she hadn’t worn the ring since the day she left him, six months ago.