Before Dawn

Eleven o’clock at night, and I’m drinking coffee. My shift started at ten and ends at seven. I got up at six this morning, sent the kids to school, then headed to my day job. I took the overnight shifts a few nights a week at the local gas station to earn extra cash. It was a pretty quiet night. People usually expressed surprise that we remained open when they arrived. Most places in town closed down at nine. Especially in this town. Hell, the streets would roll up at nine if people had their way. 

A customer walked in as the door chime rang. A young fellow, early to mid-twenties, walked straight to the beer cooler. He stopped, turning around and shouted, “Hey, it’s not too late to buy beer, is it?”

“No, we sell beer until midnight.”

“Cool,” he retrieved a twelve-pack from the cooler. Thud. It landed on my counter. “ID?”

He handed it over; I scanned it, and the beer. Within moments, he was gone, and it was just me in the store again. A police car with its lights on was visible outside the window. The flashing blue lights distorted through the window. Being nosy, I couldn’t help but watch. Nothing terribly interesting was happening. The cop wrote a ticket and sent the driver on their way. The cop entered the store shortly after. He adjusted his belt as he surveyed the empty store. The fluorescent lights gleamed off his bald head. “You got coffee?”

“Yeah, fresh, too.” He made himself a cup; I tried to remember where I knew him from. Oh. There it was. I went to high school with him. My jaw clenched. Hope he doesn’t recognize me. He walked out of the store without another word. 

I stood at the counter for a few more moments, drinking my coffee. I’d get started cleaning in a minute. So ready to go to bed. Yawning, I put my coffee down and walked into the back office area, grabbing the dust mop. I pushed it around the store and noticed the mess the cop had left in the coffee area. Creamer cups and torn, empty sugar packets littered the counter. God, I feel bad for his wife if he acts like this in public. Leaning the push broom against the racks, I grabbed a wet towel and cleaned his mess. 

Wait. That’s what was missing. The radio wasn’t playing. That would definitely help the time pass. I went behind the counter, turning on a classic rock station. Now it didn’t feel so lonely in here. I continued cleaning and sweeping, singing along with the radio.

The door chimed, so I stopped and returned behind the counter. A lady paced the aisles. She was twitchy, her arms crossed over chest. One hand continued to pick at her face. Her unbrushed hair stuck up in all directions. A loose, baggy t-shirt fell over one shoulder, and shorts that fell below her knees. She came to the counter. “Do you have any Brillo?”

“Brillo?” I asked. Crackhead. 

“Yeah. Brillo. Got any?” I saw it under the register. I grabbed it and waved it in the air. “This?”

“Yeah. How much?”

I scanned it and told her the price. I waited impatiently, sighing as she counted out the change on the counter. Minutes later, she was gone. Probably to scurry back into whatever hidey-hole she came out of. I checked the time. Before I went back out to clean. 11:50. Well, hopefully there won’t be a last-minute rush to buy beer. 

As quickly as I thought the words, I realized I had jinxed myself. Four vehicles pulled up almost simultaneously. Shit. Six young men walked into the store, followed by four young females. They talked trash loudly to each other while the ladies just giggled. Every single one of them was at the beer cooler. At least three men came from well-known town families. All the girls were from prominent families. Must be nice to use Daddy’s money to get shit-faced. Not surprisingly, the girls paid for most of the alcohol. 

I was alone in the store once again. Time to mop now. Finding the mop bucket, I opened a pack of the industrial cleaner we used. The smell of ammonia and lemons knocked me back. I laughed to myself as I added water to the soap, zoning out as the mop bucket filled. Before I got started, I pulled out the wet floor signs, placing them randomly around the store. 

One of my favorite songs came on, and I began singing along as I mopped. About halfway done, the door chimed. I stuck the mop in the bucket and returned to my post. It was the woman from earlier. She glanced around skittishly and walked directly to the counter. “Got a glass rose?”

My nose wrinkled as I pointed at a display in front of the register. Knew it. Instead of change, she pulled a wrinkled ten-dollar bill out of her bra under her shirt. I took it, not wanting to touch the damp bill. I gave her the change, and she tucked it back into her bra, coins and all. Disgusting. I pumped the hand sanitizer bottle a few times and rubbed my hands. 

Half an hour later, I mopped the floor clean. My eyes wanted to close. Coffee. Now. I yawned loudly as I got my coffee and returned behind the counter, sitting on a stool. I sang along to the radio for a few songs. The register beeped, signaling that someone was trying to use the gas pump. I didn’t recognize the car. Payment requires either going inside or paying at the pump. I took my phone out and scrolled, still singing along. 

“Hey, you can’t see me out there trying to get gas? Turn the pump on.” A tall, well-dressed Black man demanded at the door. “You gotta prepay or pay at the pump. I can’t just turn it on.”

“All you gotta do is press a button.” Angrily, he came up to the counter and threw a twenty down. “On pump five.”

I nodded and set the pump. Asshole. I bobbed my head to the music, returning to my phone. Yawning, I stretched my arms over my head and then took another sip of coffee. I stuck my tongue out. Too cold. My eyes burned, ready for sleep. I threw my phone down on the counter and then reheated my coffee. A song from my high school days began playing. I shook my head. That’s not old enough for classic rock. I’m not that old yet. 

Singing along, my head bobbed to the beat. My foot kept time, tapping on the stool. The door chimed, but I didn’t open my eyes immediately. I enjoyed the song for a few more beats and then opened them. I didn’t see anyone. Shrugging my shoulders, I continued to sing along until the song ended. My eyes quickly shifted to the door when it chimed again. A man walked in, wearing a dusty coat and a baseball cap. He didn’t look in my direction; instead, he wandered down the aisles. Familiar musical notes played again. I looked at the radio, confused. Didn’t that just play?

The man approached the counter, carrying an armful of snacks and a chocolate milk. He towered over me behind the counter. He wore an eyepatch and appeared not to have shaved in several days. “Anything else?”

He shook his head but didn’t say a word as I checked him out. With his items gathered, he walked towards the booths by the store's front, floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat in the last one. I stared at him, unable to get a read. Grown man drinking chocolate milk and eating snack cakes at two in the morning. I shook my head, mindlessly picking up my phone to scroll again. The song on the radio finally registered in my mind. Was the station playing this song on a loop? I quickly searched for the radio station’s website on my phone. Oh. That made sense. Rex Manning Day, they’d be playing the soundtrack all day. A low thud sounded from the fountain drink machine as ice fell. 

The man in the back booth started singing along to the song. I stared in his direction; his back was to me. My eyebrows rose as he hit a high note. Well, okay then. This song has to go. I switched the radio off. “I was listening to that.”

The man’s gravelly voice caused me to look in his direction. He still wasn’t looking in my direction. “Well, that’s the fifth time that song's played in thirty minutes. I can’t take it anymore.”

The man didn’t respond. I opened the music app on my phone, hit shuffle, and then set my phone down. The same song began playing. The man laughed from the corner. I sighed, but didn’t turn the music off. Fuck my life, I laughed. This was going to make me hate one of my favorite movies. 

Shortly after, the man went outdoors. There were snack cake wrappers littering the top of it. I watched him through the window. He smoked a cigarette while pacing in front of the store. He appeared to be talking to someone. The light overhead flickered. I rubbed my eyes to clear them. They flickered again, and the register started beeping. No one was at the gas pump, but pump number five read that someone wanted to get gas. I turned it off, punching at the buttons. 

The door chime rang as the man returned inside. He disappeared into the aisles; he went to the snack cakes again. Does he live completely off sugar and processed food? What the hell? Another pile of snack cakes and a chocolate milk spilled from his arms. He pulled an old leather wallet out of his pocket and laid down a bill. “Love Little Debbie’s, huh?”

Grabbing for the cash, he grabbed my hand mid-swipe. “Dance with me?”

I pulled my hand back, pointing at my phone, “To this? With you?”

He nodded and then whispered. “Damn the man.”

My hands dropped to my sides as I studied him. “What’s with you?”

Okay, he’s getting kind of creepy now. Put more distance between myself and the counter. He leaned over, a grin on his face, the eyepatch giving him a pirate look. “What’s with today, today?”

Incredulously, I shook my head. That was from one of my favorite movies when I was a teenager. The song started over from the beginning. I let out a long sigh. What’s with today, today indeed. Before I caught myself, my head bobbed along to the music. “Fan of the movie?”

“Used to watch it all the time twenty-five years ago.” He was bobbing his head along with the music, too. He grabbed his chocolate milk bottle, using it as a microphone, mouthing the words. I laughed to myself. I let myself dance, letting all the frustration I’d felt over the last few months out. 

The song ended, and the door chimed. Both of us turned toward the door. The deputy from earlier that evening returned. I rolled my eyes, and Eye Patch gathered his Little Debbie's and chocolate milk and went back to his booth. “Your coffee’s cold.”

The deputy stared in my direction. I shrugged, “No fresh coffee until 4:30. Management rules. There’s a microwave if you want to heat it up.”

He made a face. “You can’t make a fresh pot now?”

“Nope. It’s 3:30. Another hour and you'll get fresh coffee.” 

He exasperatedly sighed and then walked to the fountain drink machine and made himself a drink. I looked down at my phone, the same song still playing. I pushed the next button. It started from the beginning. What the hell? The door chimed as the deputy left. 

“Was that Joe Richards?” Eye Patch stood up and walked back to the counter. Shocked, I responded, “You know him?”

“Grew up with him. He’s still an asshole. I remember when we were kids, he threw a fit because he lost a bike race. A few days later, one of the guy’s bikes comes up missing. We found it a day later, tires and chains missing.” Eye Patch shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in twenty years. Makes sense. He’s a cop now.”

“Wait. You grew up with Joe?” My mind raced. Do I know this guy? Eye patch laughed, “Yeah. I grew up here in Gloster.”

His face grew serious, and his eyes softened. “I know you, too, Chrissy.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Uh-huh. I’m wearing a name tag. Nice try.”

He laughed. “You just don’t remember yet. Before dawn, you will.”

“That’s doubtful.” I laughed, sure that I didn’t know him. He walked back to his booth. I sat down on the stool, scrolling on my phone again. Who was Eye Patch? The stupid song started over again. I pushed stop; the silence of the store felt heavy. Silence felt more tolerable than hearing the same song all night. The booth at the back of the store drew my attention. I stared at the back of his ball cap. Back in the day, Joe Richards and I moved in different social circles. I was an outsider, having moved to town at thirteen. 

An hour passed, and I made a pot of fresh coffee. I still hadn’t figured out just who Eye Patch was. A pump started beeping at the register. A regular I recognized, so I authorized the pump, and the beeping stopped. Minutes later, the door chimed and in walked a guy in a plant uniform. “Hey Chrissy. Been here all night?”

“Yeah, only a few hours left now. It’s been a slow night. Need anything else?”

“Yeah, give me a can of dip.” He paused by the door, gazing at the booth in the back after I completed the transaction. “Hold up!”

He walked a few steps and stopped before the booth. “Are you shitting me? Jason Bates?”

Eye Patch, I shook my head, no Jason Bates, stood up and shook the other man’s hand. They chatted for a few minutes until the other guy exited the store. Jason Bates. Jason Bates. Why did I know that name? I sat there quietly for a while, trying to figure out the connections.  

Eye Patch, er, Jason stood in front of the register, watching me as I scrolled on my phone. I met his gaze. “So. You’re Jason?”

He grinned. “Yeah. You still don’t remember me, do you?”

“Nope,” I laughed. “This feels like some kind of joke.”

He shrugged. “Play the song one more time.”

Curious, I did as he asked. “You moved here when you were thirteen, right?”

I nodded, remembering that I knew only one person in town. And then it dawned. My mouth fell open. “We watched Empire Records in my basement! After that night, I watched it on repeat for months.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Jason freaking Bates.”

I laughed as I walked around the corner and gave him a tight hug. “Why are you in Gloster?”

“I just moved back. I’m a night owl, and when I stopped here initially, I didn’t know I would run into you. Wanted to satisfy my sweet tooth. You haven’t changed in twenty years!”

“Oh please. You’re just being nice now. Wow,” I said as I shook my head. “I had such a huge crush on you before you left.” 

Laughing, I playfully pushed him. The door chimed, uninvited. He smiled, “Well, I better get on. See you around?”

“I hope so!” I smiled as I returned to the counter, and he left with a wave. Wistfulness washed through me. What could have been? The last ninety minutes passed quickly as people headed to work. I felt strangely energized by the random encounter. Jason Bates. Thirteen-year-old me had been head over heels for him. My coworker came in at 6:59, I left with a wave and a smile. The sunrise tinged the sky with pink and orange. I got to my car and noticed something stuck behind the windshield wiper. 

Chrissy,

It was crazy running into you tonight. Even crazier that I’m doing this, I should have just given this to you inside. I promise I’m not a stalker. Call me soon. 686-900-8754 -Jason