The Beginning of a Story

 

If I were to write a story, it might start something like this.  Who knows.  Maybe I am writing a story, just very slowly, and this is the beginning.

 

Ed left the car running and dashed into the convenience store.  He thought it would only take a minute.  How long does it take to grab a 2 liter coke and a bag of potato chips?  He had just rounded a short aisle stacked with chips, snatching up the nearest bag, when  he spied the 2-liter coke bottles on a display near the cash register.  This was going to be quick.  He grabbed a coke and accelerated to the finish line.  Then he noticed the problem.

Nobody was at the counter.  The cash register was open and still full of money.  In fact, a hundred dollar bill was sitting right on top of the tray.  Ed thought it very strange.  Usually, the large bills are tucked under the tray, which is then promptly closed.  Something was definitely odd.  Why would anyone leave it sitting on top with the tray open?

Just then, the door opened and another customer walked in.  a breeze took the opportunity to slip through the open door, sneaking a small puff of air toward the open cash register door.  Ed watched as it lifted the edge of the hundred dollar bill, sending it skittering toward the edge of the drawer.  His instinctive reflex was to reach and grab it before it fell to the floor.  He lifted his hand, and then checked himself.  He watched as another customer came in and the wind pushed the bill over the edge. Big deal.  It’s not my problem, he thought.  Still, something didn’t feel right.  He brushed off the feeling just as the hundred dollar bill slid under the cigarette counter, totally out of sight.  Now Ed was starting to feel annoyed.  Customers were lining up behind him.        “Am I in charge of watching the cash register?  Doesn’t anybody work at this place?” he mumbled.

He sat his chips and drink on the counter and was about to walk out when a young lady came walking from the back of the store.  She was walking as fast as her short stubby legs would move her, considering she was obviously very pregnant.  He smiled at her awkward waddle.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, an out-of-breath apology puffing out as she made her way behind the counter and to the front of the cash register.  She noticed the open drawer and her eyes widened.

“What happened to the drawer?  Who’s been in the cash register!?” Her voice was full of excitement and urgency, with a hint of hysteria thrown in. “Who saw what happened?”  She paused for a couple of seconds, and when nobody responded added, “Ok, Nobody leave.  I’m calling the police.”

Ed thought if he didn’t get out of there quick, he’d be stuck there for hours, so he shrugged his shoulders, mumbled “Whatever,” and headed for the door.  A coke and chips just wasn’t worth this hassle.

He walked out the door, ignoring the woman’s objections.  Stepping off the curb, he turned to his right and made for his car.  Only when he looked up, he noticed it wasn’t there.  His mouth cracked open while his eyes squinted and his forehead crinkled.  It took a second for the whole situation to register.  His car was gone!

Spinning on his heels, eyes searching in every direction, his heart pounded harder and harder even as it dropped into the pit of his stomach.  Ed froze for a moment, waiting for his brain to reset and figure out a way to deal with the situation.  Then he took three quick steps back towards the convenience store, jerked open the door and barged in. “Someone stole my car!” he blared.  “Call the police!

The young lady behind the counter was busy counting the money in the cash register.  She looked up only briefly, just long enough to give a very insincere and obviously sarcastic smile, then went back to counting the money.  Ed cursed, turned, and plowed back out the door.  From somewhere down the street he could hear a police siren.

— *** —

Terance drove the white Honda Civic down I-85 at precisely 75 miles per hour, his hands knocked together at the top of the steering wheel. His eyes constantly danced around him, first looking at the road, then back to the speedometer, then in the mirror, then back to the road. Occasionally, he would glance up at the sky, which was growing darker as angry clouds squeezed into a fading sunset. His speed never varied nor did his hands move from their frozen grip on the steering wheel. He thought he would feel better once he got out of Atlanta, but so far, his feelings were going south just as fast as the car.

 Posted by at 8:41 am

  2 Responses to “The Beginning of a Story”

  1. Well, you must write more! I want to know what happened.

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