Scallop Boy (an unedited short story written in 20 minutes)

Joe left the basement apartment. He closed the door behind him and pulled on his jacket, holding it closed. The cold air hit his face on the side and blew in his ear as he tried to walk to the car, his bare hands gripping his keys. Once he walked the 20 feet and got to his car, he could hardly feel the fingers that were holding the key. He watched his hand unlock the door, like a phantom limb. But, the key turned and he opened the door.

He started the car, the last CD he put in blaring. He was brought back to the thoughts he had as he had left the car earlier--Remember the scallops and mussels in the bag. Where are my keys? They are in my hand.

He backed out of the gravel driveway onto the gravel road and down the hill to the main road. He turned on his right blinker and waited for a couple of cars to go by, while changing the CD. He turned onto the street, the new music filling his ears and making him smile.

The supermarket wasn’t far down the road, but sometimes, driving on these roads, stopping at the lights…a mile seems like 12. He was listening to the music, a new memory popping into his head. The first time he heard that song. He was brought back to a time before, driving in his car as a teenager.

Someone honked a horn behind him and he was brought back to the road, and the light that had turned green. He moved on ahead, and turned left into the supermarket parking lot. He hated this place. It was too big. He didn’t want to carry everything and knew that he’d end up walking down an aisle and seeing items he didn’t plan to get, throwing them in his basket. He just wanted to stick to the list he made earlier. It would be much easier if there was a small store that only carried the products he wanted to get at a given time.

He stepped out of the car and back into the cold. He hurried toward the market, holding his jacket together, shivering. His glasses started to steam up when he walked in the door. He couldn’t see well, but knew where the baskets were and grabbed one, heading further into the store. He stopped to removed his glasses and wipe the off steam with his shirt. He put them back on and continued to walk.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Everything he thought was around him wasn’t real. All the rows of vegetables and the view of the other aisles was just a large photograph on the wall. He looked to his left and saw a large salad bar. It was also a photograph. He could see the bakery and cheese counter behind the salad bar. But, like the salad bar, it was all just part of the photo.

Ahead of him was a table. He moved in closer to the table to see what was on it and if there were just more photographs. Spread across the table, labeled and in alphabetical order, were all of the items he had on his list. Beer, bloody mary mix, celery, cheese, cigarettes, cranberry juice, garlic, mashed potatoes, vegetables, wasabi. There was even the vodka right before the wasabi, even though the supermarket doesn’t carry hard liquor.

He didn’t know what to do. Everything was perfect. It was all the brands he would have chosen. The perfect quantities. Had he thought of this and made it happen? Could just his thinking, wishing for such a thing make it true? Maybe he had just smoked some laced marijuana. This couldn’t be real. Maybe he had taken an Ambien and was having a hallucination. Maybe he was actually at his apartment.

He took his glasses off and put them on again. He pinched his arm. But, there it all was. The photos on the walls and the items on the table. He turned around and saw one cash register on the way back to the door. There was a young girl standing behind it, reading a magazine and snapping her gum. It looked like an express lane, but there was no one else there. The lit up sign above the register said “Joe’s Items, No Less.”

He turned back to the table. And he thought about it--You know what? If this is how it’s gonna be, I’m just going with it. Screw overthinking this.

He moved toward the table and put the items in his basket. He brought them all to his register and put them on the belt. The cashier put her magazine down and started ringing up his order, placing the items in a recyclable bag that said “Joe’s Groceries.”

He paid with his credit card, signed the electronic keypad and left the store. The wind had stopped and he didn’t feel as cold. He didn’t even think about the cold on his way to the car. He left his jacket swinging open and carried his bag, happy he’d be home soon.

He got in the car and started the engine. The music started and he was again brought back to being a teenager, driving his car. He drove into his driveway, hardly remembering the turns he made to get there. He grabbed his bag and headed back to his apartment, still having some lingering teenage thoughts.

His friend was inside, listening to another album that made him think of something else from the past. He told her she had to hear another album by the same group, but his favorite one. She was typing but said that sounded cool.

He put the bag down and offered her a beer.