Sam

[This was written in August of 2008.]

Ida had Sam drive down to the Kroger’s at nine o’clock because she’d forgotten the Mandarin oranges for the ambrosia salad. She made her request and he eyed her through the paper, smoke billowing over his head, until finally relenting and reaching for his keys. Sam hated shopping.

The leather seat in the Regal felt cool on his back. Fall was coming, and he could feel the crisp in the air. He rolled the windows down a crack and breathed in. Backing down the driveway, lighting a cigarette, Sam felt odd being out of the house on a Friday night. “Watch out for all the maniacs on the road.” Ida’s voice played in his mind.

It was a five-minute drive to the store. Sam listened to a radio station advertising an all-oldies weekend. “This will be good for tomorrow,” he thought, pulling into an empty space, away from the other cars. “Ida likes this music.” The first few notes of Kind of a Drag slipped through the speakers before Sam pulled the key from the ignition.

A few girls were sitting in a red hatchback, looking him over as he passed. The driver rolled down her window. “Sir?” she called. Sam pretended not to hear, and continued to walk, but he stopped when he heard the car door open. “Sir?” she repeated, stepping out. He turned.

“Hi, my name is Tracy,” she said, approaching fast with her hand extended, like a sales woman. Sam looked about nervously. “Yes?” he said, trying to sound unfriendly, but coming off as frightened. She closed in. “My friends and I are supposed to meet up with my one friend’s cousin out in Port Huron, and my friend who’s 21 got stuck at work…”

Sam realized where this was heading. She continued, “We don’t need a lot of alcohol or anything – just a couple fifths – and we’re going to spend the night out there…” She spoke to Sam like he was a father. “Do you think you could help us out?” Without even realizing it, he was shaking his head.

“No. No, I’m sorry,” he said, anxiously, “I- I can’t.” The girl nodded with apparent understanding. Sam turned away quickly and continued on his way, shuddering upon hearing Tracy’s car door shut. He could hear one of the other girls say something, but it was too obscured by laughter for him to make it out. He sighed with relief when the store’s automatic doors rattled open, granting him sanctuary.

Produce was on the opposite end of the building. Sam had parked on the wrong side, and realizing this, immediately began to think how much better life could have been if he had remembered the store’s layout. He thought of Ida; she would have reminded him. But that was all irrelevant now.

Sam made his way down the aisle with the breads and hamburger buns and cookies. He stopped at a box of graham crackers which seemed out of place, then quickly returned to his mission. Mandarin oranges. This is what Ida needed, and the reason why he was out at nine o’clock on a Friday night, getting harassed by teenage girls.

He thought about Tracy. She seemed like a nice girl, just out with the wrong people, that’s all. “She has no business drinking at her age,” he thought. Then Sam remembered his teenage years. When he was 18, he was old enough to buy alcohol, and Tracy couldn’t have been far from 18…

Sam rounded the corner and walked past the deli meats and fish. A young man, probably one of Tracy’s classmates, was standing behind the counter, picking something off his blood-stained apron. Sam nodded in his direction. It always made him happy to see a boy that age working. If Sam had had a son, he would’ve insisted upon it. It would’ve been Ida’s job to worry about their girl, though that was just as irrelevant now.

When he passed the dairy section, he stopped to pick up a bag of shredded cheese that had been knocked to the floor. He checked the display for an empty hook, but decided it was best to leave the package on top of some other discarded bags. He wondered how long it had been lying there, on the ground. Could it have gone bad?

Sam arrived at the produce section and looked around at the baskets of supposedly fresh fruits and vegetables. The apples seemed too red, and the broccoli was gleaming from a recent misting. It was as if none of it was real. Sam went to a corner where the pre-packaged fruits were and picked up a small plastic tub of Mandarin oranges.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, now that his mission was nearing completion, Sam also picked up a bag of dried apricots and cherries, which he planned to open on the drive home. The two items in his hand, he walked over to the checkouts and got in line behind an old couple buying at least a dozen discount greeting cards and a gallon of skim milk.

Looking around, Sam noticed that this lane – the express lane – was the only one open, with the exception of the self-checkouts of course, which he would never dream of using. He noticed, also, that this lane had a sign over the register which read, “Your Alcohol and Tobacco Station,” below which the legal ages required to purchase such items were posted in bold.

He looked behind the man ringing up the old couple, at the wall of liquor bottles. Whiskey, rum, scotch, et al. He remembered Tracy and her friends. He wondered if they were still waiting in the parking lot. Would they be watching him as he passed to get to his car? He looked over the wall.

The man was accepting money from the old woman while her husband slowly wound his fingers around the handles on the plastic bag containing the milk. Sam watched this, then returned to the liquor. “She couldn’t be far from 18,” he thought. The register made a loud noise when it opened and Sam started.

When the old couple stepped out of the way, the man gave Sam a nod, inviting him forward. Sam handed him his two items and the man rang them up quickly, depositing them in a plastic bag before him. “All set, sir?” he asked. Sam was sweating. He looked at the man, and the wall behind him, and licked his lips.

“What do you think a woman would like?” Sam asked, pointing behind the counter. The man smirked. Sam quickly added, “My wife.” He looked around to see that there were no other customers approaching. The man said, “Well, something fruity maybe. A vodka. Do you want to make her something, or just drink it straight?” The question made Sam nervous.

“Straight,” he said, “I think.” The man at last took his eyes off of Sam and looked at the bottles lined up behind him. How about this? He pointed at a bottle with palm trees and pineapples on the label. “How much?” Sam asked. The man pointed at a small sign that read “$13.99.” Sam smiled uncomfortably. “Yes, she’ll like that.” The man picked it up and scanned the barcode. “Can you ring that up as a separate purchase, please?”

Walking through, to the other side of the store, Sam’s heart raced. What if Tracy and her friends were gone? Could he bring the vodka home? What would he tell Ida? He deposited the receipt for the alcohol in a garbage bin near the exit. The automatic doors opened and the night air hit him once again, causing his hairs to stand up.

The red hatchback was gone. Sam looked over the lot to see if maybe they had moved, but there were only a few cars now. Disappointment set in, but he shook it off and lumbered toward Ida’s Regal. When he reached it, he found that the side mirror had been knocked loose.