For Your Noodles

She’s crying again.

I watch through the rain-streaked windows of the convenience store, as her shoulders rise and fall with grief. She wipes her tears behind the counter then glances around for witnesses. It’s dark outside and the store is empty, so she blows her nose and straightens her back.

Will she forgive him again?

The door chimes as I walk in and she looks up, startled.

“Welcome in!” It comes out strained and she coughs a little.

I don’t pull down my rain-drenched hood and I don’t look at her. I head straight for the ramen and dry foods, pretending to consider my options. I hear her sniffle and hiccup.

“Excuse me…” Very faint, from beneath the front counter.

She acts busy, shuffling products around. I knock a snack bag to the ground and crinkle it loudly before sliding it onto its hanger. I feel her eyes on me. I grab a Cup-o’-Noodles, meet her gaze, and offer my most charming smile.

“Oops.”

“Oh!” She squeaks, “It’s you!”

“It’s me.”

I stand, pushing back my hood, and walk slowly toward her. I set the food down and lean over the counter, filling the small window of space. She shies under my smile, snatching the cup and backing away to scan it.

“My face has healed a lot since last time, thanks to you,” I remind her, lightly touching the gauze on my chin.

Her gaze slides over me. “Good. I hope this means you’re staying out of trouble, then?” She pauses, looking through the windows then back at me. “But what are you doing out so late in the rain? Aren’t you in college?”

She remembers. My smile widens.

“I’ve been behaving myself,” I assure her. “And yes, I do have class tomorrow, but my power is out. Mind if I use the hot water?” I throw a thumb toward the coffee station.

“A power outage? Do you live off-campus?”

I nod.

She bites her lip, eyes shifting. “How unfortunate. And you haven’t had dinner yet? Were you waiting for the power to come back on?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “I was waiting around forever and it was cold. I doubt things will get fixed tonight.” I gesture at the Cup-o’-Noodles. “I wanted something hot, so I guess it’s ramen tonight.”

Her eyebrows furrow as I hand her a bill. She looks around, then shoves the noodles and money into my chest and strides towards the hot food section. She stops to look at me sternly over the hotdog rollers and pizza.

“That’s not enough food for a growing kid. Pick something from here,” she demands. “And a drink. It’s on me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Yes you can!” she urges.

I raise my hands in surrender. “If you insist—”

“I do!”

I laugh, tuck the bill into my pocket, and return the Cup-o’-Noodles to its home. She watches me with narrowed eyes.

“How do you stay positive? Last time, your face was all scraped up, yet you kept smiling like now.”

“I’ll reward myself with something nice. Something simple.”

The fluorescent lights are so bright and the night so dark that the walls of the store close in. I make my way to the counter.

“Like visiting a friend.” I lean on the food case and wink.

“O-oh…” she clears her throat and looks away. “That’s nice. You should go visit a friend tomorrow.”

I catch her gaze again. “Why wait for tomorrow?”

She glowers at me and jabs the tongs at the hot food choices: taquitos, hot dogs with various stuffings, and pizza.

“Pick something. Then grab a drink.”

“What do you recommend?”

She blinks. “I’ve actually never tried any of it. I always make food at home—Oh!” She covers her mouth, “Sorry…”

I brush off her ‘sorry’ and head for the wall of refrigerators.

“Then I’ll have a slice of whatever pizza is freshest.”

The music in the store is barely audible. Above it, tongs scrape against a pizza tray and paper crinkles in a container. I want her to hum to herself like she sometimes does, but she knows I’ll hear her.

“Get whatever you want! I can afford a meal for one hungry kid!”

I snicker to myself. Opening the refrigerator chills my wet clothes, so I grab something and hurry back. She raises an eyebrow when I set it down.

“Chocolate milk? With pizza? I expected an energy drink or something.”

I shrug, smiling. “Milk might help me grow. Then, I can repay you.”

She sighs. “Don’t worry about repaying me; just enjoy being young and healthy.”

She scans the milk, types in the pizza, and swipes her card before pushing the food across the counter to me. I don’t move to take it. I’m standing so close to her, just the counter between us.

“When does your shift end?”

“Huh?” She looks flustered, “Why?”

“Well,” I look at my feet, scuffing the ground, “my place is really dark, so I’d like to stay out a little longer.” I meet her eyes again. “Plus, I want to eat this now but there’s nowhere to sit.” I cast around, as if I might find a chair by squinting at the shadows.

“Oh, right...” She looks out the window at the pools of water on the outdoor furniture. “I’ll get something. Just wait for a minute, okay?”

She disappears behind the ‘Employees Only’ door and my eyes drift to the tables outside, where she bandaged my chin last week. I’d appeared with a skinned knee and a bloody skateboard before that. Not sure what to do next time.

“Here.” She backs out of the employee area with two metal folding chairs. “You can sit on one and put your dinner on the other. I have to start closing up.”

She ignores me for twenty minutes, then shoos me out to wait under the awning while she locks up. I push water off one of the tables and the two chairs under it. I open the table’s umbrella and huddle under it.

She comes out soon after, head swiveling til she sees me, then rolls her eyes at the umbrella.

“You can’t leave that open.”

“I know. I just wanted to sit with you for a moment before I go back to my cold, dark apartment.”

She frowns.

“Just for a bit?” I plead.

She groans, turns in a circle, then sits in the chair I pulled out for her.

“Fifteen minutes. I have to go home and make dinner.” She busies herself wiping water off the table. “My husband will be home soon.” Her hands slow and her expression hollows.

“He’s lucky to have such a caring wife like you,” I poke a droplet close to her fingers and draw a smiley face. “But I’m sure he’s just as hard-working and kind.” Her sharp inhale cuts into my chest.

“If I was him—”

“I’m curious…” She bites her lip. My eyes stick there.

“About?”

“When is your birthday?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Why? You wanna throw me a party?”

She gives me a bemused smile. “No. It’s just… you seem so carefree despite your bad luck. You must be Earth or Water.”

I swallow a laugh. Ah, yes. The horoscope thing. At least she attempts to screen people.

“November 20th.”

She waits a beat. “Oh… you’re not going to tell me the year?”

I smile and lean toward her, a breath away.

“You want my Chinese zodiac too? So forward.”

“No!” She pulls back, horrified.

“T-that’s not AT ALL what I—!” She glowers when I chuckle.

“Ugh. Kids,” she huffs, ducking into her purse to dig for something. She pulls her phone out and holds it high with both hands, blocking my face from her view.

Tsk.

“You said November 20th, right?” Her nails tap the phone.

“Yep. And don’t worry; I’m legal.”

She drops her phone and her cheeks burn red. “You—! Who taught you to talk like that to your elders?”

“Heck of a skincare routine you have, Granny.” I laugh and block her half-hearted slap.

“Where are your parents?” she demands, looking around as if instinct would teleport them to punish me. “Do they know you’re loitering around, bullying retail workers?”

I dodge another slap, rocking my chair back beyond the reach of the umbrella. The cool rain washes away the scent of life before this moment. I let myself get soaked.

“You’re right,” I chuckle. “I’m misbehaving without my parents around. They’re overseas.”

“Oh!” Her face brightens then pales.

“You’re alone? But you have roommates, right? Friends? Hey—!” She folds forward, grabbing my jacket and pulling me to her. The chair legs smack the pavement.

“That’s dangerous! And you’re getting wet! Oh no,” She wipes my hair out of my face. “You’re hair! Why isn’t your hood up?”

“I must’ve been too cold to notice. Maybe I’m getting sick?” I pinch the water out of my hair, bumping her hand with mine. Her eyes widen and she lets go.

“I’ve got vitamin C!” She pulls a bottle from her purse and pushes it into my chest. “Take one tonight, then once a day for seven days, okay? Drink lots of water.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, I don’t get a fever.” I pocket the vitamins. “Makes me wish my mom wasn’t gone…”

Her expression shifts. She unlocks her phone—too simple and without facial recognition—and shows me the cellular menu with her phone number.

“Text this number if you’re feeling ill, and I’ll take you to the doctor. Only if you need a doctor though, okay? Emergency purposes only.”

I arrive home with only her number. One step at a time, I guess. I ponder the possibilities as I prepare for tomorrow.

She works the opening shift at the grocery store, so I set an early alarm since it’s harder to find her there. I check that binoculars are in my backpack, toss in a hammer and a grocery bag, and roll into bed. I stare at a framed picture of her in a crowd, and I drift to sleep, dreaming of a place where—

She’s crying.

The doorbell chimes as I enter the store and stop at the counter. I stare at her under the shadow of my hood. She gasps, hurriedly wiping her face with her palms, and I quell my rage by rehearsing my plan.

First: Her.

”W-welcome in!” Her lips tremble. “Can I help you?”

“It’s me,” I greet, pushing my hood down. I’m dazed by the fluorescent lights and feel the walls closing in. Not now. I grit my teeth. Not yet.

She startles, looking at me with wide eyes and a runny nose. She grabs a tissue and politely dabs her nose.

“Who?” Zero recognition in her glassy eyes.

No, I can’t be upset. One of us has to be calm.

“I needed help a few days ago and you took care of me. I—” I swallow the lump in my throat. Blink spots away. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” She tilts her head. Like a dog. Loyal to a fault, too. I clench my jaw.

“For the bandages.” I manage to lift one corner of my mouth, touching the gauze on my chin. “It’s closing up nicely.”

“Oh! It’s you!” She sniffles. “Excuse me for a second.” She ducks under the desk and blows her nose gently.

I clench my fists, trying to control myself. I need a distraction, so I walk over to the dry foods and grab a bag of chips which crinkles loudly. They crinkle again on the counter. I twitch.

“It does look better. Your face, I mean.” My attention snaps back to her. “No fresh ones, right? Students should stay out of trouble.” Her puffy eyes manage to look stern. Behind it all, I see her cry for help.

“Right. Yes, I’m behaving myself.” It’s hard to control myself, but I have clarity. I know what to do.

She scans the chips. “$2.50. Anything else?”

The sound of the bag almost brings me to my knees. I fight it with everything I’ve got, but the drumming in my head picks up tempo, urging me to hurry. I offer the money, palm up, and touch her fingers lightly when she takes it. Her warmth brings me back.

“Do you have a chair?” The store closes soon, but I need an excuse to stay with her.

“Unfortunately, not inside. Sorry, I have to close up.” She gives me a look that begs me to stay. “I’ll get you a towel for the tables outside.”

I wait, kicking the floor and pacing away my anxiety. Then, I hear them. Sirens.

She’s still behind the employees only door, oblivious. I panic and look out the window to see them stop outside the store. Three of them.

The door chimes.

Three officers walk in, identical from head to toe. They say something to me but my head is pounding and I keep hearing crinkling, crinkling, crinkling. I hear her voice again, scared. He must be here. He must be hurting her again.

I can’t see!

“It’s gonna be ok,” a man tells me, calm. “You’re safe.”

“What about her?” I beg. “She’s crying!”

“Who?” She peers at me through puffy eyes.

“Me,” I repeat, pushing off my hood. “The clumsy idiot who keeps emptying your First Aid kit.” I grin, showing off the hole in my smile. “The scar is gone but so is the tooth!” I laugh.

She’s aghast. “Oh my god!” She reaches out as if to touch my face and then pulls back. “Does it hurt?”

”Nah,” I wave away her concern. “My chin hurt worse, but I had the best nurse around.” I wink and turn before I can see her reaction. I choose something randomly from an aisle. Cup-o’-Noodles sounds good. I knock a chip bag to the floor when I reach for it.

I pause before picking it up. I don’t like the sound chip bags make when they crinkle. So obnoxiously loud.

“Hey, kid!” She yells from the register, startling me. I turn to see her pointing between the noodles and chips. “Shelve those. Grab a couple of the Yakisoba bowls and a drink. On me.”

I smile. Somehow, I knew she would offer. I do as she says and bring them to the register.

“That’s just so terrible about your poor tooth,” she shakes her head, scanning the Yakisoba. She pauses. “Chocolate milk? With noodles? No.” She pushes it back at me. “You need to take care of the rest of your teeth. Get 2%.”

My mouth opens but she cuts me off.

“Uh-uh! Listen to your elders.” I bite my tongue and do as she says. My chest feels full when I return to her.

“How’s college?”

I love that she remembers. I hate how it makes me feel.

“I’m graduating this summer. I’m just one unpaid internship away from a grown-up career!” I want it to sound funny or relieved, but it comes out tight. I’m not where I need to be.

She still doesn’t see me.

“Make sure,” she says softly, bagging my food without meeting my gaze, “that you walk the path you can comfortably travel alone. Be true to yourself and you will be successful.”

“What’s your skincare routine, Granny?” Her head snaps up. Her eyes glint above a sharp smile.

”Watch your mouth, young man!” She smacks at me and I back away laughing. I grab my bag.

“Actually, I was wondering…” I try to look as innocent as possible, and glance out at the dark, rainy night. “Can I use the hot water and eat this here? My power is out.”

She looks at the clock and gasps. “I have to close up soon. Shoot! I’m sorry.” She looks at me apologetically. “You’re over 18, right? Get some hot water and run down the street to the bar. It’s not a bad place to hang out. Warm, bright, has a TV—”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” I did hang out there before I worked up the nerve to meet her for the first time.

I watch her close the store for probably the fortieth time. I slurp my noodles. She opens her umbrella and begins her walk home, away from the bar. I finish up, thank the bartender and take one of the umbrellas from the lost-and-found. It’s time to walk her home.

I keep my distance and patiently wait while she pets a stray cat and sidles around puddles. I try not to run and grab her when she trips. She catches herself and arrives at her stoop. Bracing herself, she opens the door. Before she disappears inside I wish for her to stop.

Crying.

I watch her from outside the store and gather the courage to go in. I think of every excuse to talk to her, but the only thing that seems normal is:

“Do you carry Cup-o’-Noodles?”