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3:10PM.
Alyson waited impatiently at the counter of the nearly deserted pharmacy. There were only two people there with her. The first was a man hovering around the Cold & Flu aisle, comparing two kinds of cold medicine, and the other was the pharmacist. The pharmacist was young, with dyed black hair and a ring through her nose. She wore way too much eye makeup and desperately needed a manicure. Alyson tapped her fingers on the counter while she watched the pharmacist fill her prescription.
The sick man in the aisle behind her let out a phlegmy cough just as the pharmacist appeared in front of her. Together, they watched as the man wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket and continued his search for the perfect medicine.
“That’s disgusting,” the pharmacist mumbled loud enough for Alyson to hear. “Almost everyone who comes in here is diseased or crazy, and it’s obvious which category you belong to.”
“Excuse me?” Alyson was taken aback by the inappropriate comment. The pharmacist held up a small bottle of pills and shook it, eyebrows raised. “I’m not crazy.”
The pharmacist shrugged as she shoved the bottle into a small white bag. “Powerful stuff for a sane person,” she said, “but they can be fun when—” Another mucus-filled cough cut her off. She turned her attention to the man and waved a hand in the air. “Sir? You must have read those boxes a dozen times now. Honestly, just get them both. It sounds like you need them.” The man shyly put both bottles into his basket and moved toward the snack section. The pharmacist turned her attention back to Alyson and continued her thought. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, these can be quite fun if taken unnecessarily. Mad hallucinations.”
“How do you still have a job?” Alyson asked, bewildered. “Can I just pay?”
The pharmacist totaled up the amount, and it came to just over seventeen dollars. Thank God for insurance, Alyson thought as she swiped her credit card and shoved the pills into her purse. She could have sworn she heard the word ‘crazy’ escape the pharmacist’s lips as she exited through the automatic door.
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ALYSON WAS IN A HURRY to get to work. She was already fifteen minutes late, and any moment now her boss would notice. The restaurant where she had worked for longer than she’d like to admit was located just off the water. The salty breeze filled her lungs, and the seabirds cheered as she neared her destination.
You can make it, she assured herself. Almost there.
She’d never been very graceful, and so her hurried trot along the path was a risk, even with her anti-slip boots. It didn’t surprise her that when she rounded the side of the building, in her mad dash for the door, she collided with something.
“Damn it,” she said, under her breath, dropping her purse and watching in indignation as the contents spilled out. She regretted not being more on top of keeping the bag organized and was more than guilty of leaving a collection of receipts to go unchecked for months at a time. Now those small papers, as well as her keys, sunglasses, and lip gloss, were scattered around her feet.
She bent down to collect the escaped items and was surprised to find another pair of hands already at the task. The hands belonged to a man who seemed out of place. He was too well put-together to be a tourist, but didn’t seem from the area either. His espresso hair was slicked back, and his matching beard was trimmed neatly. His ensemble gave the impression that he had never seen the inside of a department store, never mind stepped foot on a fishing boat.
“Are you all right?” the man asked, handing her his pile of scrap paper. “You seem...” He hesitated, searching for the correct word.
“Late,” she finished for him, hastily shoving things into the bag while making sure she wasn’t missing anything.
The pills.
Where were the pills?
Her heart leaped as she scanned the ground, before locating the pharmaceutical bag in the stranger’s outstretched hand.
“Late, that’s it,” he chuckled, handing her the small bag. “I apologize for contributing to that.”
“You aren’t the one who should be sorry. I ran into you.”
He smiled. “That you did, so I think you owe me. Do you know of any good places to eat around here?”
“Are you making fun of me?” She gestured to her uniform that was partially visible under her coat.
“A bit,” he said, his smile growing. “Seriously though, is this place any good?”
She shrugged. “I’d lose my job if I told you anything except that we have the freshest crab legs in all of Anchorage.”
“The freshest? That’s a bold claim. What would you say if your job wasn’t at stake?”
“I’d ask how you feel about mediocre chicken wings and grilled cheese sandwiches.”
His face lit up in feigned excitement. “I love mediocre chicken wings and grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“Then you could do a lot worse,” she said, as she turned and hurried inside.
Once within the restaurant, Alyson was careful to avoid her boss. She could see the colossal man at the other end of the diner and breathed a sigh of relief that his back was to her. Alyson weaved through the tables towards the back of the room and opened a door labeled ‘STAFF’. Without so much as a glance, she shrugged off her jacket and tossed both it and her purse onto the musty brown sofa, nicknamed Stinky, before heading back through the swinging door.
“You’re late,” came a voice to her left. Alyson gasp and turned to the source. Hand to her chest, she took a steadying breath. To say that it relieved her to see Patrick was an understatement. She and Patrick had been co-workers for about six years, and she thought of him as a good friend. Although they were very different in the way of personality, Patrick was the only person she felt she could talk to at work. He was young and vibrant with a penchant for fashion, and had a smile that made all the girls wish he was theirs.
“You scared me, you shithead,” she hissed, slapping him hard on the bicep.
“Was that supposed to hurt?” Patrick took her hand in his and pulled her arm up above her head. With his free hand, he felt for any hint of muscle along the stretch of her arm. “Oh, honey,” he said, shaking his head.
“Stop that,” she said, pulling free of his grasp. She tried to remain stoic, but a smile broke through her tight-pressed lips.
Patrick wasn’t much larger than her, but what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle. He went to the gym almost daily and genuinely enjoyed it. Never having been much of an athlete herself, Alyson couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of a person finding pleasure in such a place. Patrick was a fine specimen and often attracted the attention of ladies of all ages. High school girls would ogle him as he walked by, and cougars would do the same; if not attempt something more. Patrick wasn’t a fan of the attention—nor was his boyfriend—but they couldn’t complain about the tips it got him.
Patrick smiled back at her. “You know, I think I felt something that time. Has someone been skipping work to get in some lifting?”
“You think I’d be in less trouble with Striker if I used that as an excuse?”
Buck Striker was Alyson’s boss. His given name was Henry, but he’d adopted the name Buck after hitting one with his truck when he was a teenager. Unlike most of the boys from his town, he wasn’t much of a hunter, so the name Buck Striker became a badge of honor. It was a symbol of manliness that he clung to, though it wasn’t needed. Striker was a huge, bulky man, well-known for his short temper, and Alyson didn’t know how she’d lasted so long as his employee. It became a joke among the kitchen staff that Buck fancied her, but Alyson knew it wasn’t like that. She felt no awkward sexual vibes directed toward her and was well aware that her boss was happily married. She just considered herself lucky that he was willing to overlook her more than occasional lateness.
Patrick shifted awkwardly without answering and gazed some distance above her. Alyson turned to find Buck’s enormous frame towering over her with crossed arms.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Striker,” she said, her voice trembling.
He glared down at her, and his muscles rippled as he tightened his arms further. Alyson braced herself, but relaxed when he half-smiled. “You look lovely today,” he told her before returning to his work as if the confrontation hadn’t occurred at all.
Alyson took in a much-needed gulp of air as Patrick expelled a laugh. “I actually thought he was going to fire you that time,” he said.
“So did I.” She made a mental promise to herself to never be late for her shift again. It wasn’t just because she feared for her job, but also because her co-workers were sure to be talking behind her back and teasing her about this later. “I’d better get to it before he fires me for real.” She turned back toward the break room.
“Uh, the tables are that way,” Patrick said, pointing at her section of the restaurant with his index finger.
“Yeah, yeah,” she waved him off. “Give me a second. I forgot something.”
“Of course you did,” he said, rolling his eyes and returning to his work.
Alyson rushed back through the swinging door and over to Stinky. She dug through her black-hole of a purse until her fingers came to rest on the prescription. She pulled it from the bag, unscrewed the cap, and selected a pill.
The pill itself was small, but seeing it in her hand made her throat tighten. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for her dreams of Daniel to fade, but she was ready to accept that something in her life needed to change. She’d just been surviving for so long, and it was time to take the first step towards actually living.