Unpaid Bill

Amateur Everything

CONTACT

  • Crossing: Three

    Bexar County, Texas, 2010

    As Scarlet racked her brain for another song to tap the tune of with her fingers, she leaned on the jewelry counter of Rachel’s Closet, the department store where she felt that she wasted most of her evenings. Between the boredom of the job itself—which boiled down to flattering elderly women into buying tacky jewelry—and her cloying manager, Jacinda, who absolutely loved telling anyone who had to listen to her to “put on a happy face”, Scarlet wondered if she was actually in Hell, purgatory, or experiencing some other eternal damnation by another name. “Nah,” she thought, “I just have a shitty job.”

    “Uh-oh, no leaning!” a sing-songy voice announced from behind Scarlet. She rolled her eyes as she stood and turned to see Jacinda standing at the countertop behind her. Standing at 5’1”, she was often the shortest person in the room. Below a crown of cropped, feather-cut gray-gold hair, her face was regularly caked with enough makeup to make Tammy Faye blush. If Scarlet didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that she was staring at Mimi Bobeck in the flesh, or perhaps Clown, pre-Violator transformation.

    “We want our customers to see our pretty jewelry, don’t we?” Jacinda continued, flipping through a clipboard on the countertop in front of her.

    “Yeah, no—definitely!” Scarlet said, her best “work smile” in full effect. She prayed that Jacinda wouldn’t stick around trying to make small talk, and shot a quick glance at the clock on the small computer screen used to process orders and purchases.

    “9:52”, Scarlet thought. “Eight minutes. Please don’t st-“.

    “Oh, you’re gonna love this!” Jacinda squealed. “So last night we had our Family Game Night, me and Jim and my girls. They don’t always love it but the family that plays together stays together!”, she continued, laughing at her own made up idiom.

    Scarlet pretended to listen as she fingered the dark crystal pendant that hung on a necklace that she wore, a gift from an ex, or someone soon to be. 

    “Last night was Jim’s night to pick—of course, Scrabble, AGAIN! So there we are, me, Jim, Tiffany, Jim Jr. and Jessica, and damn it, these girls just…” she threw her arms up in a playful, exasperated gesture, shaking her head. “You know what Jessica had the nerve to put on that board?” She looked around, making sure no customers were around to her, then cupped one hand around her mouth. “Seeeex”, she told Scarlet in a long whisper, her face almost distressed.

    “Oh jeez—I—wow,” Scarlet started, blowing a raspberry and doing her best to feign interest and concern for a few minutes. “What ended up happening?”

    “Well after I dang near hollered my head off, putting such unchristian thoughts in everyone’s head—on Family Game Night? Jim just shook his head while Jim Jr. giggled with Tiffany. I know she’s almost a woman, 17 and all that, but she still ain’t one yet!” Jacinda said, checking off a few items across different pages on her almighty clipboard. “So, you closing with us tonight? We’d love the extra hands.”

    “I am actually getting off in…” Scarlet dragged out the last part, a small effort to hear as little else from Jacinda as possible. “Now!” she exclaimed with a smile, unpinning her name tag from the navy blue uniform vest.

    “That’s not very Rachel,” Jacinda said, cocking her head with a straight face. “Is there somewhere you need to be?”

    “Well, right now, I’m kind of helping out my sister with her kids—babysitting more than anything— so I just generally like to be available for her”, Scarlet said, removing her vest. “Sor-ry”, she said in a sing-song voice, as she punched out on the computer by the register.

    “Alrighty, have a nice night ma’am,” Jacinda said unenthusiastically as she coasted away, in search of a new victim. “We’ll see you next time!”

    Scarlet grabbed her bag from beneath the counter, and hustled toward the store’s exit like a soldier escaping from behind enemy lines. She pushed the door open, and the summer air hit her—a stark contrast to the store’s chilly interior. She unlocked her phone, and scrolled through her messages. 

    Whitney: Sean said there all going to a party . Like a rave or something, might be fun?? Lmk ❤

    Scarlet paused, horses held at the thought of running into Sterling, with whom Whitney’s current boy-toy was almost certainly with.

    “Fuck it.”, she said aloud, then quickly checked her surroundings to make sure she didn’t outwardly appear as crazy as she felt for going along with this.

    Scarlet: Yeah lol, let’s go

    Whitney: On my way !!

    When Whitney would finally arrive—Earth shattered bass and tire treads in tow—the mostly empty parking lot had all eyes on her. Most people would have been surprised to see who was behind the wheel. Scarlet was long past that.

    In front of the used book store two doors down from Rachel’s Closet, Whitney arrived and beeped the horn twice; Scarlet joined her on a journey into night.

  • one picture.

  • Zygote / Circumvention

    It was one of those nights cold enough for a windbreaker, but warm enough to be sweaty if anything were added to that outer layer.

    “What was the name of that one guy you liked—music? You said everyone would be like ‘he’s bad’ but you were like ‘no, he’s good!’?”

    She emphasized this with a kick to a stray pebble that was unfortunate enough to find itself in her path.

    “Blood Orange.”

    “Like the fruit?”

    “Yeah. Well, I didn’t know it was a fruit when I’d first stumbled across his stuff,”, I’d started, well aware of how dumb I sounded to myself. “I had assumed it was just two random words and that was cool to me. His third album came out right around the same time as Brandon Flowers’—The Desired Effect—and they just kind of ran together for me.”

    She laughs but it’s not really funny, and I can safely assume that it’s my delivery of the nonsense that I try to fill the air with—instead of anything actually heartfelt or true—that has the desired effect.

    “How’s your mom? Is she still ———?”

    “——, —. ——,”, and it’s hard not to laugh, so I do. “— ——.”

    “—! ———!”

    “I know you know she’s not a fan of the weirder, horror-type stuff, but she’d seen part of Midsommar while ——; ——.”

    “Oh my God, your poor mom! I miss her; I know after everything—or well, you know, certain things that we always sweep under the rug,”. She pauses, and smiles while looking at the ground. I think she’s going to cry, and I don’t know why, but she cups my cheek instead.

    “Angel, you know I love you forever but this isn’t the right time, again—and I know I said that before, but it wasn’t then, either.”

    Then she actually starts crying, and I feel like I want to, or at least should, but it just feels awkward because I’m already disconnecting.

    “She deserves the ‘you’ that I gave up—and you deserve someone who loves you unconditionally, and I know that you know that.”

    That was it—triplicate. Forever in love but not actually—no matter the distance; words were changed but the events were essentially the same. It’s all gray lately.

  • Crossing: Two

    Bexar County, Texas, 2010

    Sterling knew he only had one chance to hit his target. It sat between two antagonists, though that wasn’t how the evening began. To his right stood CJ and Mikey and to his left stood Sean—fists clenched in anticipation as Sterling prepared to shoot.

    “Remember boys; men win, niggas lose”, one of the sailors said, while the other let out a deep bellow of approval. If the line had come from anyone who wasn’t white, or at the very least, mixed race, it might not have echoed in Sterling’s mind so heavily, or at least not so heavily in tandem with a number of one-liners that were prepared for the end—whatever the outcome.

    Sterling exhaled deeply, carefully launched the ping pong ball across the table, as though to guide it in the air. His eyes followed the arc from his fingertips to a single barely audible ploop that came from the red plastic cup that sat on the table extended longways before him.

    “I guess y’all are a couple of albinos, huh?” Mikey shot out, as the two sailors—opponents of Sterling and Mikey in what started as a friendly game of beer pong that became very unfriendly—hurled middle fingers and “fuck you”s from across the patio of Brown’s Icehouse; this continued until they found an exit. 

    “Could you imagine missing that shit? Goddamn, that would’ve been embarrassing as hell.” CJ said to Sterling as the dust settled, handing him a “victory” shot. 

    “Shit, I guess I’m really that guy,” Sterling said as he did a robotic jig, bursting into a laugh. CJ joined in shortly after. He threw down the shot and winced, blowing air out of pursed lips.

    “Shpiseh!”, Sterling laughingly choked out as the whiskey settled in. Mikey wandered over and threw a heavy hand down on Sterling’s shoulder, a frequent habit that Sterling hated, but neglected to inform Mikey of on on every occasion.

    “Ay’ good job you foo’, for real!”, Mikey slurred as he bore down on Sterling’s shoulder.

    “Thanks,” Sterling said, dropping his shoulder and maneuvering it out of Mikey’s grip. “all in a day—er, night’s work.”

    Sean joined the group, two cans of Lone Star clasped between two fingers on each hand. He placed them on the table that the group now circled and flexed his nearly frozen-feeling fingers.

    “Alright boys; last round!” Sean announced, “I think we’ve got places to be!”. He turned to Mikey, already chugging one of the ice-cold lagers, the can upside down above his head as he faced upward. Sean thumbed toward him with a chuckle.

    “You got the address?”, CJ said, followed by a long sip of his own beer.

    “Yeah, all the way out by Floresville or something like that; supposed to be a forest rave or something foo’”, Mikey choked out, his drink nearly finished as he belched, and loudly slammed the can down on the table. People began to stare, and those already staring began to whisper.

    “Right…” Sterling said, and turned to CJ. “I mean, I I’m ready to go if y’all are,”. He took a large swig of his drink. “It’s already 9:30 though, so we should get out there.”

    “Hell yeah!” CJ said, thrusting his can in the air. The four cheered—if one could call it that—and toasted with half-full containers, finished their drinks, and exited the bar. They pile into CJ’s car, all whiskey breath and excitement, crank up the radio so that Big Curtis’ hit single “Drop It” could be heard by anyone within 20 feet of the vehicle, and sped southbound out of the city and into the night.

    From the dark of the backseat, Sterling thumbed through text messages on his phone. Nothing new, as was generally the case on nights like this where, despite whatever good time was in store, whoever he was with, wherever he was going, the person he truly wanted to be with, anywhere else, doing anything else, couldn’t be further away. He pushed the thought away as Mikey, sitting in the passenger seat catty-cornering him, passed over the pint of whiskey that the group began sharing around once they got out of city limits. As the liquor slid through him like napalm, Sterling could feel himself slipping into oblivion.

    …

    To: Alfredo Baez <abaez@stxmhs.com>

    CC/BCC: Mimi Arrington <marri@stxmhs.com>; Herschel Gururajan <hguru@stxmhs.com>

    From: Nahum Manjarres <nmanja@stxmhs.com>

    Subject: CID: 119-CC-2048

    Body: Alfredo,

    It’s one thing to dump patients that you don’t want to deal with on another provider me—it’s another to hire somebody to come in and pretend to be crazy to try to get a rise out of me. I’m referring to Mr. Walker and his “donkey lady”, and I’ll also be CC’ing. MiMi and Herschel on this, but this needs to be addressed.

    Nahum Manjarrres (email communication, May 30, 2006)

  • 1 picture.

    When I die bury me next to two Grinches.

  • four pictures.