Yarn

WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP

I’d just been messaging my buddy Tom, telling him how bored I was. It was my sixth night running at the 24-hour garage before a blessed three days off and everything had taken on that numbed stasis that I’d been trying to pop a hole in with cans of energy drink and bags of e numbers. So you can imagine what it did to my nerves hearing my car alarm going off.

It’s a fucken’ ol’ rust bucket with more hours on the clock than Mr Sandman so why anyone would wanna steal it was beyond me.

So I set about asking him. Shot out of the shack like a bullet, grabbed the kid by the back of his shirt while he was trying to make his escape. It was like having hold of a big back fulla feisty ferrets.

“Look, I don’t know man, I was just bored.”

I could relate, but obviously I wasn’t gonna tell him that. Instead I told him: “Help me finish stackin’ the shelves, and I’ll let you go without tellin’ the cops.”

The little twerp honestly seemed to consider his options for a minute. The young’uns today. Think they can get away with murder with a whole “it’s okay your honour, I’m a minor, I’m just starting out in life, I’m still figuring out the rules.”

“I’ll make this easier for you,” I said, shoving him in and turning the key in the lock. Through the talky vent I said “I’ll let you out once you’ve finished. It’s pretty self-explanatory. From box, unto shelf. Like with like. And no swiping anything. I got eyes. And we got cameras.”

Only half of which were actually functional, but lil Jimmy jackass didn’t need to know that.

I went back to texting Tom, telling him my evening had livened up a little. He was still up, coding some game or other. Tom likes to hear what’s going on in the outside world more than he does being in it. Maybe it could even inspire some character development.

I was watching his reply dots bounce when I became aware of a panting noise. I glanced up to see what animal it was attached to, expecting it to be about level with my knee when it rounded the corner.

It towered above me, wiping blood away from its mouth.

I unlocked the door and told the kid to make like an egg and scramble.

I turned to the interloper. “How can I help you…err, sir? Madam?”

He didn’t look very trustful but I could tell he was in need and that the need would win out in the end.

“Call me Sasha,” he said. Panicked watery eyes swam beneath two sharp V’s of eyebrows. It seemed like he simultaneously wanted to hide behind his hair and have his artfully contoured nose take the spotlight. “Um, yeah…weird request, okay? But do you happen to sell sunglasses?”

I looked Sasha in the eye. And around the eye.

“C’mon in. We have a selection.”

“Thank you,” Sasha practically whispered. I guess with that last request, all the fight had gone out of him.

I let him browse while I got some frozen peas. Yes, you read that right, frozen peas. We do stock a real bunch of random crap but hey, it wouldn’t be in stock unless people didn’t come callin’ for it, ya get me?

“Working here, we get all sorts come in. Been on the business end of it myself enough times to know what fixes things up quick.”

Sasha was rooting around in their handbag. “I don’t suppose you sell a colour corrector?”

That was a new term to me. “Now that, we don’t do. But I could suggest to the higher ups we get it in stock.”

“I’d rather the necessity for wearing it would just disappear instead.”

“I feel ya.”

He cocked his head at that. I hope he knew it was just a turn of phrase. I don’t have a problem with what other folks are into, but I’m quite happy just staying in my lane. Sasha was probably just on high alert, considering what else had evidently gone on in their evening so far.

I wish more women would stray into my lane now and then. At the moment it’s just clogged up with roadkill. The eligible ladies, if/when they do appear, mainly seem to just wanna use my lane for take-off.

It was like my thoughts summoned her.

“We’re done here Sasha,” I said, raising my arm to give him a hearty slap on the back before realising that might not be received so well by a person so very recently experienced in trauma.

Sasha muttered her thanks and tottered off into the night.

I watched the newcomer. Tattered black leather jacket mostly held together by the number of pin badges on it, giant shoes helping her skinny self not to be toppled over by the fan that balanced on the boxes of soda. Quick dark eyes under a jagged fringe darting up and down the shelves like ghosts running from Pacman. I sensed she would have better luck findin' stuff without another pair of eyes on her, so I busied myself with one of my lists. Today’s was a horoscope parody column, written on the back of the delivery checklist. I hoped for the girl’s sake she wasn’t a Libra. They were in for a rough week.

Eventually she sidled up the counter, bangles chiming up and down arms that had never seen sunlight from the looks of things. I gave her what I hoped was a winning smile. An ex once told me I had a grin like a crocodile, so I’ve tried to reduce the amount of toothage on display.

I rang up the items. Cider. Painkillers. A pack of razorblades.

“These too, please,” she said, sliding over a couple of near sell-by date chocolate bars in the bargain pile.

In other words: hope.

“You look like a reader,” I told her.

A shy smile. “Oh?”

“Sorry. Force of habit. From your selection I’d say you’ve got an evening in the bath planned, probably with a good book.”

Her face gave nothing away this time. I continued.

“I’ve just finished this if you want it. Interesting story. Funny but touching. It’s about a guy who instead of waking up as a werewolf every full moon, wakes up as some dumb little dog every time.”

“I’m more of a cat person,” she of course said.

“Don’t worry – half the book is about the cat person he meets. Go on, I can see you’re interested. Take it.”

I passed her the book. ‘Turnt’, by Karen McDermott. One of those demented tales that came from people having too much time on their hands in COVID and lettin' their imagination run riot. I read it in like two sittings. Well, standings. The boss doesn’t like us sitting behind the counter, because how dare staff ever be comfortable.

“And look, it even comes with a free bag,” I said, grabbing one of the plastic ones off the hook and swiping the book and her alarm bell ringing collection of goods inside before she could protest.

“Thanks,” she said. And to my assessment, left the shop somewhat lighter footed than how she’d slunk in.

Books have saved my ass a couple of times. Not coping with the story of your own life? Pick up a book. It’ll either distract you, or help you. Even if it blows it’ll give you something to complain to your friends about and that will be doing them a favour from having to hear about the suckfest that is your life.

My shift was grinding to an end. I mentally took down the ‘The Doctor Is In’ sign. It was time to focus on what I needed.

I dropped in another 24-hour shop on my way back home. A different one to last night’s, I like to mix it up. That and I don't want the same moron judging me on what I buy every time. And it’s usually a six pack of beer and large rolling papers. You can judge away – I don’t have to see it in your eyes so it’s fine with me.

And who’s sitting behind the counter, chewing on a hangnail and reading what was until very recently my copy of Turnt?

She looked up and I forgot what it was I went in to buy. I made a mental note that my next list would be a selection of book recommendations to bring to her. Titles that got her smiling like that. Stories to break the monotony of work. Yarns to stop her unravelling.

And when I’d run out of ones to recommend, I’d write her one of my own. Starting with how we met.