Relics and Runes Anthology

by Heather Marie Adkins

  The students groaned in protest, showing their discontent about studying for the quiz.

  “Settle down, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just Algebra.” She turned around to write on the chalkboard. “Let’s begin with last night’s homework, shall we? Turn to page ninety-eight.”

  Amber pulled out her textbook and flipped through the pages. For once, she had completed the entire assignment.

  “Who would like to explain problem number one?” Mrs. Pagano asked.

  Several hands shot up, including Amber’s. Two rows up, Amber noted the distinctive slouch, of the new girl, all too well as she’d executed the same move many times whenever she came ill-prepared to class.

  “Kelly.”

  “Mrs. Pagano, I didn’t raise my hand.”

  “I know, dear. Why don’t you answer the question anyway?” Mrs. Pagano glanced down at the page. “How do you solve 3x +12y+42z?”

  Kelly cleared her throat, stalling for time and straightened her posture. “Ummm.”

  Some of the girls in the back row snickered.

  “Sherry, is there something funny you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Mrs. Pagano asked.

  “Mrs. Pagano, I don’t think she did the homework,” Sherry replied.

  “Be that as it may, I don’t appreciate your interrupting my class.”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I’m only saying if she’d studied, like the rest of us, she’d know you can only find the sum of like terms.”

  “Thank you, Sherry, for your input, but I wanted Kelly to solve the problem. Kelly, you can solve the next problem.”

  “Mrs. Pagano, may I use the lav?” Amber requested.

  “Two minutes, Amber.”

  Amber walked up the aisle, stealthily dropping her notes on Kelly’s desk. Grabbing the ladies’ room hall pass, Amber looked in Kelly’s direction. Kelly made eye contact and mouthed thank you.

  Dennis Harrison, the supervisor, came out of the main office of Key Furniture Express to start the morning meeting. “Marco, I need you to construct cabinets today. Simmons will box them. Jackson and Baker, I’ve got you two on the loading dock.”

  Mary, from Payroll, had also stopped by to announce that they would be rolling out a new payroll system and to encourage those who had not elected direct deposit to reconsider. She frowned at Marcus a bit before reminding everyone to check their time sheets for accuracy, then headed back to the office.

  Mr. Harrison resumed giving directions, but Marcus continued to stare right past him at Mary’s retreating silhouette. Seeing her again, brought back his guilt.

  It had been a couple of months since he’d been working there, but he was having a hard time finding his place amongst his new co-workers. What to say? What not to say? It was tough to know what to avoid being that he was new and didn’t know anyone. Growing up in a family that didn’t mince words had given him a tough skin. Not much offended him, but these people were different. The slightest change in inflection could set them off.

  Although he meant no harm, he had offended Mary. She had been gushing over pictures of her newborn son when he asked if she worried about living to see him graduate and start his own family, given her age. A flutter of the eyes and a taut jawline, which was previously dimpled with lines, clued him in that he’d said the wrong thing. At forty-eight she was older to have just given birth to her first child, but women in their forties were healthier, exercising and eating right, making it possible to get pregnant. Who was he to criticize her for wanting a family? He recoiled with chagrin, apologizing but the damage was done. After that he opted to keep to himself with the exception of his co-worker, Lincoln. He got along swimmingly with Lincoln, but mostly because he was just as unfiltered.

  After the incident, Lincoln advised, “Try it out in your head, first. If it makes you cringe, then don’t say it out loud.”

  “That’s the thing. It didn’t sound so bad in my head when I thought about it…I didn’t think it was rude until I saw that look on her face.”

  “Ancient history, man. She’ll get over it.”

  It was easy for Lincoln to say, not being the object of Mary’s contempt. Admittedly, Marcus should have known better, but he never had this much trouble with being well received. Everyone, especially the ladies, loved him, but not this one. From that point onward, his statements would be prefaced by careful thought. He didn’t want anything like that happening again.

  “Marco,” Harrison barked, jostling Marcus out of his deep contemplation. “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Yes, Mr. Harrison, I’m sorry.”

  “Hit your head pretty hard last week, huh?”

  “Uh, yes, sir, but I’ve been cleared for duty. I just got lost in thought for a minute.”

  “Okay, Marco, no daydreaming while building the cabinets and operating machinery. That’s how limbs get lost in this line of business.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m focused,” Marcus said reassuringly.

  “That’s what I love to hear, Marco!” Harrison replied, and then exited the workroom to return to his office.

  “Hey, Marcus. When are you going to tell the boss that your name isn’t Marco?” Lincoln inquired. Lincoln Mitchell worked alongside Marcus building cabinets, stocking the shelves with goods, and operating the trucks for delivery runs.

  “I don’t care what he calls me,” Marcus responded, dismissing the misunderstanding about his name with indifference. After all, Marcus wasn’t his name anyway. What did he care if someone incorrectly pronounced his pseudonym?

  “Marcus, I wish I could be as carefree as you. I flip out whenever anyone misspells my name, let alone mispronounces it!”

  Marcus smiled and gave a ‘got to roll with the punches’ shrug. “I guess life is too short to worry about the small things, Linc.”

  “Man, you don’t know the half.”

  Huh, if he only knew.

  Both men took long swigs of their hot hazelnut brews and then stood up to return to their workstations.

  Marcus stared at the empty station across from him. “Where’s Mack?”

  “Oh, you didn’t hear?” Lincoln replied. “He’s out on medical leave. Got a hernia and had to have surgery.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I hope he’s doing okay.”

  “You wanna send him flowers?” Lincoln asked, holding his hand over his heart.

  “This must be what it feels like to have children.”

  “Oh, my man is on his toes today. Just when I thought you were going soft. You wound me, Marc.”

  They joked but this job really did a number on the body. Even his body was wearing him down. Marcus used to be able to cover a mile in less than five minutes. Now, he was lucky if he could do it in twenty. His breathing was labored now and his joints ached. At this rate, he might end up under the knife, too, if he wasn’t careful. They’d spent days lifting, bending, and twisting. One wrong angle and that would be bad news for him. He never had to worry about it when he was younger, but now was different. This was his bread and butter; he needed to be in decent enough shape to withstand the day-to-day workload. Not too many places paid under the table. No, he’d have to hang in there.

  “Are you ready to bang out some cabinets, Mar-co?” Lincoln asked cheerily.

  “Funny, Linc.”

  Marcus rubbed his stomach, reminded that it could have easily been him out on leave. Huh, that would have been good. “May I see you’re insurance card, Mr. Pratt?” Not likely. Since he wasn’t technically an employee they couldn’t very well sign him up for an insurance plan. Nope, he’d have to take heed of the proper lifting techniques as outlined in the company’s safety manual.

  Crouching to screw in the cabinet pieces, Marcus felt a sharp pain in his back and cursed to himself. “Hey man, I’ll be back,” he said, walking to his locker. He searched for a small bottle of analgesics, popped the two tablets in his mouth and swallowed half a bottle of water.

  With his back against the locker, he wondered how much longer
he could go on doing this. He hated having to move so often—always changing jobs, always working under the table—but it was necessary. Until he was able to find another solution, this was the way to go. He lasted this long, didn’t he?

  The shooting pain in his back dulled to a minor throb—still painful, but tolerable. That was as good as it was going to get. Securing his locker, he headed back to the assembly line. Keep your head low, don’t complain, and no more stupid comments. Anymore mistakes might cost him if he wasn’t on top of things.

  2

  September 5, 1997

  At 12 PM on the dot, the alarm sounded. The students grabbed their backpacks and shuffled out of the classroom, dispersing in different directions. Some of the students headed for their next class, and the others—if they were scheduled for the first wave of lunch—headed for the cafeteria.

  Kelly planted herself at an empty table with her cafeteria issued meal. She aimlessly twirled her fork, in the mush that was allegedly mashed potatoes with no intent of eating it. The chicken, marinated in an equally mysterious glaze, didn’t appeal promising, either. Still, she kept up the pretense, working the potatoes, busying herself, really. Finally she pushed her tray aside, feeling not only hungry but pathetic, because she was sitting by herself and had not made any new friends with the exception of the girl who’d shared her notes in Algebra. What was her name?

  “Hi, I’m Amber Khalid. Is anyone sitting here?”

  Kelly perked up, her beak nose proudly taking center stage, as she swatted her purple-streaked bangs aside, revealing a recent outbreak of acne across her forehead. “Ye-yes. I mean no. Um, yes you can sit here.”

  “Thanks. You’re new, right?”

  “Yes, my dad just got a new job so we had to move. I’m Kelly Stowe, by the way. It’s really nice to meet you. You know, I think you’re the first person who has spoken to me.”

  “Yeah, the kids here are kind of mean, huh? Don’t feel bad. We can be outcasts together!”

  “I’m okay with that.” Kelly laughed, her braces twinkling in the afternoon sunlight pouring into the cafeteria.

  Amber unpacked her lunch and spread it out in front of her.

  “You should move that,” Kelly suggested, pointing at the cherry pie.

  “Why?” Amber asked.

  “Hey Brody, think fast,” Nelson Mayner yelled, throwing a Orange Fizz soft drink to Brody Thomas.

  The girls were seated in the middle of the two jocks and the soft drink fell short, landing in Amber's pie.

  “My bad, Amber,” Nelson said.

  “It’s okay,” Amber grumbled, picking the bottle up with her index finger and thumb. No telling where Nelson's hands had been.

  “Sorry about your pie,” Kelly said.

  “How did you—”

  Kelly shrugged. "Good instincts.”

  “Oh," Amber said, checking the rest of her food. “My sandwich looks okay.”

  “Well, then, you're one up on me,” Kelly joked.

  “You’re not eating?” Amber asked, pointing at the untouched tray.

  “Ugh, no, I’m not sure this passes as edible.”

  “Want half of my turkey and swiss?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Marcus sat at a picnic table and pulled out a tuna wrap he’d purchased from the truck vendor. Lincoln strolled over and sat beside Marcus as he wrapped up a phone call.

  “What did Grandma say, Leans?”

  “Well, if she already told you no, then, I don’t know why you’re asking me?”

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Are you sure it’s just a sleepover?”

  “I’m not going to talk to Grandma if any boys are going to be there.”

  “Okay, I’ll run it by her, Leans, but she’ll probably say no.”

  “Okay, I gotta go. Love you, too.”

  He disconnected the call.

  “Was that your daughter?” Marcus asked.

  “No, my little cousin, Lena, but she’s like a daughter. Ma took her in when her father died.” He removed a wallet sized photo from his wallet. “We wanted her to still feel like she had family. Sweet kid, but sneaky. Every time my mother tells her no, she asks me. It took a while for me to catch on. Anyway, what about you, man? You got any kids?”

  “No, but I have a sister just like Lena.”

  “Oh yeah, any pictures?”

  “Uh, no, it all got lost when we immigrated here.”

  “Ah, that’s too bad. Hey, man, we’d better head back. Lunch is almost over.”

  They discarded their trash and crossed the parking lot. Sleet began to fall on their way back to Key Furniture Express. In response to the unexpected precipitation, Lincoln merely slung his hood over his head and kept walking. Marcus, however, flinched as each pellet of ice ricocheted off of his skin. He regarded the overcast sky suspiciously as though nature was staging an affront with him as its target.

  “What is this?” Marcus asked.

  “It’s sleet. You’ve never seen sleet before?”

  Marcus shook his head. In his mind, rain made sense. All of the trees and plants alike needed rain to promote growth, but he could not find any purpose for sleet. No, this felt more like a message—a message that they knew his location and were coming to collect him.

  Interrupting his thoughts, Lincoln replied, “It happens sometimes when the temperatures drop—man, I don’t know. Do I look like a meteorologist?”

  “So this sleet isn’t abnormal?” Marcus asked with a self-derisive laugh. He realized he was overreacting.

  “No, you are,” Lincoln said, amused. “It must have been nice living in tropical weather.”

  “Tropical? Right, yes, it was great.” Marcus must have mentioned residing in warmer climates at some point during one of their many conversations. He’d have to start keeping better track of what he’d said from now on.

  Marcus made it through the remainder of the day without provocation. The spectacle he made over the mundane precipitation was all the humiliation he could take. He kept busy all day, hoping Lincoln would forget all about it, but Lincoln didn’t mention it all afternoon. Maybe he was overreacting. He’d find out soon enough.

  “Can you give me a lift?” Marcus asked, jogging to catch up to Lincoln on his way out. “My car’s still in the shop.”

  “Sure, man, just give me a second to go to my locker.”

  Lincoln returned seven minutes later with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

  Marcus smirked to himself, a private joke playing in his head.

  “Something funny?”

  “As a matter of fact, I find it hilarious that you have so many things that you have a need to carry a backpack.”

  “Shut up, do you want a ride or not?”

  “What do you have in there, anyway?”

  “Food mostly, bananas, water, energy bars.”

  Marcus smile widened.

  “Okay, smart-ass, I’ll remember that the next time you fall out in the back of that hot ass delivery truck.”

  “I’m just kidding, Linc,” Marcus said, reaching for the passenger side door.

  “Oh, no, you can sit in the backseat,” Lincoln retorted.

  “Sure. You wish you were that lucky.”

  Marcus gave Lincoln a series of directions while changing the radio stations until finally settling on some oldies. The car slowed to a stop at a traffic light. Marcus stared absently out the window, his interest piqued at the bus stop vestibule.

  “You know her?” Lincoln asked, hitching his head at a wiry, teenage girl with purple streaked hair. A moment ago, she had been fiddling with the clasp of a necklace that kept coming undone. Now she sat, holding the turquoise centerpiece in her hand. Then, she zipped it up in the pouch of her backpack.

  The necklace was unique in design. Marcus remembered its previous owner well. “Ah no, she just reminds me of somebody that I use to know.”

  “What, like a woman or lack thereof,” Linc joked, turning up the volume as Bobby
Womack crooned on the radio.

  “Hilarious, Linc.”

  “Seriously, buddy, you’ve got to get out more.”

  “Uh huh, take a right at the light,” Marcus instructed, ignoring the unsolicited advice. “I get by just fine.”

  “I hope so. Can’t have you going ballistic on the job, because you’re lonely.”

  “Pull over behind the green Volvo.” Marcus hopped out the car.

  “This is your place?”

  “No, it’s just a stop on the way home.”

  “Oh, dude. I can wait.”

  “No, no it’s no trouble. I’ve got some other errands to take care of and then I’ll hail a cab.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. Thanks, man. See you tomorrow.”

  Marcus waved, watching Lincoln merge into traffic. It wasn't until Lincoln's car turned the corner that Marcus crossed the street and entered a derelict building due for remodeling. He climbed a flight of steps and opened the door to a larger abandoned office space. A flute of champagne and a lit candle was set on the table, waiting for him with a note. “In the boardroom.” A joke, Marcus chuckled, scrutinizing the dust motes that settled on the vinyl seats and once white lampshades. He wasn’t sure the small room counted as a boardroom, but he decided to go with it.

  He spied a doorway just beyond the receptionist desk, picked up his champagne, and ambled towards it. One of the doors was missing and the other hung askew, its hinge broken. Marcus gingerly moved it aside allowing him entry into the adjacent room. A woman, captivating to behold, stood by the window sipping champagne.

  “You started without me, Mel,” Marcus said.

  3

  September 7, 1997

  The day was wrapping up and Marcus was on his way out the door when he noticed a cell phone had been left behind. It was Lincoln’s phone. Just as he was considering whether he should wait until the next day to return the phone, the screen brightened either addition of new entries. Seven missed calls and eight text messages. Then, to tip the scales in Lincoln’s favor, the phone buzzed, and the name, Ingrid, showed up on the home screen. He let it rang a few more times before depressing the ignore feature to send her to voicemail. He learned very quickly not to select ignore prematurely or he would end up on the receiving end of a conniption. Knowing Lincoln had been messaging Ingrid recently and raving about her, he knew Lincoln would be disappointed if he didn’t get the messages. Noting the time, a quarter to five, Marcus figured he had enough time to drop off the phone and still make his appointment. So he asked the main office for Lincoln’s address.