NEW FICTION: Sissy
Sissy
a very short story by Joshua Matthew Meeks
Sissy moves methodically along the bodega shelve, duster in hand, swiping away the filth that accumulated on the bags of tortilla chips and boxes of animal crackers while she was in bed recovering.
She sets the duster down and frowns as she scratches the fold of skin on her right elbow where the rest of her arm used to be. There’s a burning rash there—a symptom of her fibromyalgia—the lingering aftermath of the last few days in bed, in the dark, wondering how long it would be until the pain relented.
An empty peanut wrapper catches her eyes. Someone must have stuffed it back into the display after eating them in the store. She grimaces as she holds the greasy, crumped plastic bag with the tips of her fingers. “Animals,” she grumbles.
The desk in the back office is covered with notes from her brother that she’s been ignoring, but with the store in order, coffee brewing and the front door unlocked for business, she steps into the back to take a closer look, hopeful the sound of the bell will call her back.
Invoices with scribbled notes are piled high on the corner of the desk. Somehow her brother’s anger is conveyed even when he scribbles three word notes: “Check on this!” “Where are they?”
The store was intended to be a nest egg to keep Sissy cared for as she ages – a legacy from her parents. Todd’s partnership was meant to protect her. He’s the successful businessman who will keep her safe, her parents hoped.
But her brother sees their partnership as something else entirely, and the store has become another node in the network of revenue generating mechanisms feeding his abundant lifestyle: two-story condo downtown, house in Colorado, boat in Ft. Lauderdale, hunting lease in Iowa, and a private plane with hired pilots so he can practice under the eye of an expert.
But Sissy has a secret of which her brother is unaware. Every time she goes to the grocery store she steals something to sell in the bodega, something that her brother won’t know about, an item of value not listed among the inventory spreadsheets he scrutinizes at night, leaving rough voicemails with questions and complaints that make Sissy cry.
She pushes his notes and the papers stacked on the desk into a drawer with an uneasy laugh, then returns stiffly to the front of the store. She shuffles down the aisle, carefully reviewing her private stock of products stolen from the grocery spread throughout the bodega: three packages of diapers, five pairs of work gloves, duct tape and air filters, and several rows of bottled water in the cooler. She checks each of them to make sure they’re in place and inviting. When someone wants to buy one, she rings up the item on the register, makes change for the customer, and later voids the purchases and pays back the change she made from the cash drawer with the proceeds from her sales. The credit card machine is always “down” when someone approaches the counter with one of her pilfered commodities.
Sissy thinks about the old metal suitcase under her bed filled with the money she’s made from her scheme – her “retirement plan,” as she calls it when working up the courage at the grocery store to steal again. The suitcase belonged to her grandmother, who also kept it under her bed, storing fireworks she’d purchased during trips to neighboring states where they weren’t illegal.
There’s a sharp electric ding as the front door opens and a young woman in a hoodie too big for her and yoga pants covered in ash enters the bodega. Her eyes are red, and she walks straight to the front counter behind which Sissy stands.
“Cigarettes,” the young woman says.
Sissy pulls a pack from the dispenser overhead and pushes it across the counter. “$6.59,” she says, trying without success to hide her disdain. The girl drops seven, crumpled, one-dollar bills on the counter and leaves without a thank you.
Sissy puts her hand on her lower back and rolls her head around, trying to relieve the muscle aches that torment her. But there’s no relief, only a dissatisfied sigh. She looks down to her stump, which is bright red and itchy. She scratches it until it bleeds.
She is dabbing at the blood with a tissue and fighting the urge to cry when the front door dings again.
She recognizes the man who enters, and a wave of terror washes over her. She loses control of her bladder and piddles in her pants, a loss of control that’s plagued her since she was a girl.
The man stops just inside the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light or struggling with pain, Sissy can’t tell which. It’s the manager of the grocery store where she shops.
She looks at the baby diapers and has the urge to run and grab them. To run out the back door with them and never come back. “Will he take back it all back?” she agonizes silently. “It’s all I’ve got.”
The man walks to the cooler where the bottles of water she stole from the store he runs are for sale at $3 each. ”Excuse me,” he calls in a strange tone, and the fear in her nerves screams louder.
He looks angry as he approaches the counter, sets the bottle of water down hard, then stands there looking at Sissy, like he’s confused are struggling.
“I know you?” he asks.
Sissy shrugs. The moisture in her pants is uncomfortable, and she feels like she might scream.
The man closes his eyes and steadies himself with both hands on the counter.
“Do you have any Excedrin?” he asks.
On the shelves behind Sissy there is a large collection of pain relievers, acid reducers and energy shots. Next to them, nearly out of sight, are pornographic magazines and condoms.
“A migraine came on at work and hit me hard on the drive home,” he says as she sets a single-serving package of two Excedrin on the counter.
The man reaches for his wallet, and his eyes widen when he realizes it’s not in his pocket.
“Oh, I must have forgotten my wallet in the car. Just a moment, please.” He goes outside without waiting for Sissy to reply.
A moment later he returns, a deep frown on his face. “I must have forgotten my wallet in the office at work,” he says pitifully.
Sissy shrugs again and slides the water and Excedrin closer to her side of the counter.
“I hope you find your wallet,” she offers flatly.
It appears that he is going to argue, or ask for help, but he looks at Sissy finally, tears filling his eyes, then turns and leaves.
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