Reclaiming the Sand(3)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

And I sure as hell couldn’t tell her that I planned to get up early and head over to the community college. That I had made an appointment to talk to a woman in the financial aid office to see whether I could afford to take a class. That I was thinking about actually doing something with my life. And continuing to hang around with my so-called friends would only bring me down.

Because that would go over like a lead freaking balloon and would most likely involve lots of screaming, clawing and hair pulling. Dania was a scrappy fighter and it didn’t take much to set her off. I had been on the receiving end of those evil nails more times than I could count.

“I’m just tired,” I began but started to cave under the strength of Dania’s derision. Dania narrowed her eyes, her hand on her hip as she leveled me with her best don’t f**k with me bitch stare.

“Fine. I’ll head over after my shift. There had better be a shot waiting for me,” I said, giving in. I was just glad to see that both of Craig’s hands were now in plain sight and no longer underneath Dania’s skirt.

The bell chirped above the door and I barely glanced up as someone came into the store.

“We’ll see ya later, snatch,” Dania sing-songed. She grabbed a pack of Jolly Ranchers and another soda. I mentally added the items to the running total.

I eyeballed Craig, daring him to eye-fuck me again, but he looked away. Good thing too. Because I wasn’t above gouging the smarmy blues out of their sockets.

I propped my elbows up on the counter and cradled my chin, swinging my legs as I sat on the stool. Looking around the tiny convenience store, it was hard not to get depressed.

I hadn’t exactly progressed in my life. After I got out of juvie I was focused on living. That was it. That’s all I had been capable of.

Finding a place to live. Food in my stomach. Money in my pocket. Those were my only goals. I hadn’t allowed myself to think of anything else.

Being locked up for two years, waiting to turn eighteen, hoping you won’t get shanked for your hair gel, sucks your soul dry. Dreams were definitely not allowed. Not that I ever had them to begin with. My life had beaten all of the good out of me until there was nothing left but the shell of a person I was now.

And heading to juvenile detention was the icing on the crappy cake. Every horrible thing they tell you about incarceration to scare the shit out of you was 100% true.

It’s a terrible place. It makes you angry. It makes you mean. It ensures you will do just about anything to survive. I knew a thing or two about survival before doing my time, so I had naively thought that I was better prepared than most for what lay ahead.

I had been completely and totally wrong.

The acidic taste of my own bitterness burned the back of my tongue. It was always there. It never left me.

The squeaking of sneakers on the worn linoleum made me jerk my head up. The store was silent except for the ear-splitting screech of rubber on the floor. I caught sight of a brown mop of hair disappearing behind a shelf.

I really hoped it wasn’t some ass**le high schooler trying to shop lift something. I wasn’t in the mood to chase them down. Hell, I’d probably let them take the entire store. That’s how disinterested I was.

I pulled the college flyer out of my pocket again and looked at it long and hard. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to bite the bullet and see what else was out there for me in the big, scary world?

I felt a tingling on the back of my neck and rubbed at it furiously. What the heck? I looked up and saw the dark head again, ducking behind a display of magazines. Something about the convenience store creeper made me uncomfortable.

I hopped down from the stool and tied my long blonde hair up in a loose ponytail. I rolled my sleeves up and tucked the tiny gold cross I wore around my neck into my shirt. You never knew what to expect from people, so it’s important to always be prepared. I had learned a long time ago that the fewer things for someone to grab, the more likely you are to walk away.

I put my shoulders back, my chin high. I was a pro at looking confident. I was tough as nails and everyone knew it. Messing with me was a bad idea. I had a reputation in Wellsburg. Particularly after my stint in detention, people tended to stay away from me. Those with good sense anyway.

I used my fists first and my brain later. My mouth often landing me in trouble that I took care of with my steel-toed boots. I never shied away from confrontation. The scars underneath my chin and at the hairline by my ear proved that.

I didn’t like feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t like feeling anything. This guy needed to get what he came for and get out.

“Can I help you?” I asked belligerently. The man stood at the end of the aisle putting things in a basket. His back was to me and all I could see was the stooped bend of his shoulders beneath a long sleeved blue shirt, which seemed strange in the middle of July. His hair was dark and messy and he looked to be of average height. He wasn’t overly muscular, nor was he slight. He seemed to have a medium build with a nice definition to his arms.

He didn’t turn around at the sound of my voice. He continued to choose items from the shelf and carefully placed them in the basket, ignoring me.

“Hey! I asked you something!” I called out walking toward him. The man shuffled away and slipped into the next aisle, his sneakers shrieking against the smooth flooring. Why did I get the feeling he was running away from me?

Well, I did have that effect on people.

My general sense of disquiet increased as I followed him. He was still putting things in his basket but I noticed his movements were now jerky and less controlled. But he kept his face turned away from me.

I reached out to take the basket from him. “What the f**k is your problem?” I barked, giving the basket a hard wrench.

The guy ripped it out of my hands and then promptly dropped it on the floor with a loud clang. It tipped to the side. Tubes of toothpaste, a box of crackers, and several sleeves of chocolate chip cookies rolled across the floor.

“You need to pick that up, you know,” I commanded. The guy was already hurrying out of the store.

Forgetting about the spilled groceries, I scrambled after him.

He pushed his way outside and practically ran down the sidewalk. I stood in the open doorway, watching him, bewildered by the strange encounter. The hot summer air was suffocating in its warmth. Humidity bearing down on me like a blanket.

The dark haired guy waited for a car to drive past and then crossed the road. I thought about yelling after him. Maybe following him and making him clean up his mess. I was feeling edgy and wanted to take it out on someone. I wasn’t picky whether it was a stranger or not.