Chasing the Tide

by A. Meredith Walters

  I sat up straighter and folded my hands in my lap, trying like hell not to explode.

  Should I even respond to that statement? I chose silence instead of serving him with a dose of Ellie tongue-lashing.

  “I was an assistant clerk while I finished my accounting degree. I must say I don’t miss dealing with the court system. Though I’m sure you understand that.”

  Okay, this guy was being a total asshole. I couldn’t tell if he was intentionally being a dick or was just unfortunately oblivious.

  I didn’t say anything, scared that if I opened my mouth it would be to tell this guy to go straight to hell.

  “So you ended up going to school. That’s amazing!” Mr. Lambert said with a hint of incredulity and I wanted to bash my head into the table.

  Of all the dumb luck, I had to apply for a position with someone who knew the more sordid details of my life.

  I knew walking out wasn’t an option, I had come this far and I really needed the job. So I dug down deep for the brightest, fakest smile I could muster and I plastered perky all over my tragically frozen face.

  “Isn’t it?” I replied, with just a hint of sarcasm, that Mr. Lambert clearly didn’t pick up on.

  “It says here that you graduated just over a month ago. With a major in English. What in the world do you plan to do with that degree? Write a book?” Mr. Lambert asked, chortling as though he wasn’t blatantly insulting me.

  “Well, if ending world hunger by writing the next great American novel doesn’t pan out, I’m hoping to answer phones for you,” I volleyed back, my smile so wide and so brittle I thought my face would crack in half.

  Mr. Lambert obviously loved that answer. He slapped his knee with his hand as though we were having this totally amusing conversation. What a fucker.

  Mr. Weaver looked uncomfortable with his partner’s less than polite remarks. “Your resume says you don’t have much in the way of administrative work experience, but you were responsible for inventory as well as shipping and receiving at JAC’s Quick Stop.”

  God when he said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic than it really was.

  “Uh, yes. I worked at JAC’s for almost three years before I left to go to school.”

  It had obviously been too long since his last offensive comment, because Mr. Lambert cut in. “Isn’t that Jeb’s place?” he asked, and I nodded. “Didn’t his wife leave him for that pizza guy? She was always a bit of a well…you know. She liked the men. Especially the underage ones.” His grin was lascivious and more than a little gross.

  “Well, it also says here that you worked at the Baltimore College Bookstore while you were in school. So your work experience consists totally of retail. Is that correct?” Mr. Weaver asked and I was getting the feeling that he felt as though this entire interview was one giant waste of his time.

  Between Mr. Lambert’s knowing smiles and Mr. Weaver’s disdainful looks, I knew, without a doubt, that they’d never hire me. That no matter how far I had come or how much I had tried to change, that I was still being defined by the person I used to be.

  When would that person disappear? Would I ever be able to live outside of her shadow?

  Not as long as I lived here, that’s for sure.

  Not when I ran the risk of everyone remembering my mistakes and making sure I never forgot about them.

  “Yes, I’ve worked in retail but I’m a hard worker and a quick learner, as my current boss will tell you.”

  Mr. Lambert looked down at my resume again. “Oh, you’re working at JAC’s now,” he said, and I felt my teeth grind together again.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied shortly.

  “So tell me, Ellie, what are your biggest strengths?” Mr. Weaver asked, moving on to more traditional interview questions.

  I relaxed marginally hoping the trip down Ellie’s memory lane was over.

  “I think I’m honest and trustworthy. And I can work in a group or individually. I’m a fast learner and I work hard,” I answered.

  “And resilient! Given everything you’ve been through!” Mr. Lambert piped up and I wanted to groan in exasperation. Apparently that trip wasn’t quite over yet.

  “And resilient,” I repeated with an acidic smile.

  Mr. Weaver went through a few more standard interview questions and I had to endure Mr. Lambert’s ridiculous observations and comments. I wasn’t sure I could stomach working for such jerk but my options were slim.

  “Well, Ellie, thank you for coming in. Wilma will be calling to let you know soon,” Mr. Weaver said, reaching out to shake my hand again. Mr. Lambert opened the door to the conference room and led me back out to the reception area.

  He patted me on the back like I was a dog and grinned down at me. “It was good to see you again, Ellie. I can’t tell you how nice it is to see someone with your background rise above it all.”

  My background? Seriously?

  I couldn’t thank him. I couldn’t say anything. I was about to lose what little cool I had left.

  I gave him a curt nod and left as quickly as I could with what little pride I had left intact.

  Shit. That had been bad.

  Even though I thought I had answered the questions decently enough, it was overshadowed by the knowledge of my past.

  It’s nice to see someone with your background…

  I drove from the office building wishing I could run.

  Far, far away.

  **

  As I sat behind the counter at JAC’s later that night, I tried not to fixate on the disastrous interview.

  Maybe I’m imagining how bad it was. I answered the questions well. It couldn’t have been that horrible.

  Even my inner voice didn’t sound too convinced.

  I watched as two teenage girls hung around the refrigerated aisle, casting me nervous looks. One had long blonde hair, and sneaky eyes. The dark haired girl seemed a bit more brazen and openly popped the top off a can of whipped cream and held the nozzle to her mouth.

  I rolled my eyes and walked towards them. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the shelf opposite them. They didn’t notice me. They were too busy getting their cheap high.

  “You know you’re going to have to pay for those,” I said and the blonde girl nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Oh, shit!” she whispered to her friend. The dark haired girl tucked a can under her coat like I couldn’t see her.

  “Are you serious right now? Do you think I can’t see you?” I scoffed.

  The girls faced me with hard, angry looks on their faces. Eyes narrowed and hateful. It was like looking into a mirror fifteen years ago.

  “Fuck off!” The blonde girl’s voice wavered slightly and I knew she was trying really hard to be a badass when on the inside she was scared shitless.

  “Wow, I’m shaking in my shoes. Now pay for your stuff and leave,” I said, affecting a bored tone.

  The dark haired girl, clearly the ring leader in this ill advised whip-its operation, twisted her face into an ugly sneer and gave me her best mad dog stare.

  “We’re not doing shit and you’re not going to make us. So back the fuck off.”

  My anger spiked and I was two seconds away from letting these dumb little bitches know exactly who they were messing with.

  But something in the blonde girl’s eyes gave me pause.

  I looked at her, not her obnoxious friend. Her mouth was set into a firm line but her eyes—a deep, dark brown—held a sadness that hit me straight in the chest.

  This was the type of girl who had seen too much and not enough. She was hooked up with a bad crowd because she had no one else.

  Yeah, I was making some serious assumptions. But her entire life was tattooed on her too young face.

  “Get the hell out of here,” I said firmly.

  The dark haired girl smirked but I barely paid her any attention. Girls like that would never learn until life forced them to. I would be wasting my breath saying anything to her.


  I reached out and touched the blonde haired girl’s shoulder and said something that I wished someone had said to me all those years ago. Not that I would have listened though.

  “You can do better than this.”

  The girl’s lip curled in derision. “What the fuck?” She backed away, looking at me as though I were crazy. And I felt something like disappointment when she and her friend left, tucking some candy bars beneath their shirts, which I didn’t even bother to comment on.

  Had I really expected some vague Yoda advice said by a convenience store clerk to make any sort of difference? I thought about myself at that age and how I would have responded.

  I would have probably been a hell of a lot nastier.

  I went back to my spot behind the counter and had just sat down on the stool when the bell droned from above the door.

  The blonde haired girl rushed towards me and dropped two Milky Ways on the counter. The same ones I had seen her tuck in the waistband of her jeans. Then she handed me five dollars.

  “To cover the whipped cream,” she whispered, as though she’d be overheard.

  Before I had a chance to say anything she was gone, slipping out the door.

  Things were never set in stone and people could change. In a single moment a life could be altered forever.

  And I wished for that girl with the blonde hair and sad eyes for a thousand moments that could make things better for her.

  Just as I had hoped them for myself.

  Chapter Twenty

  -Flynn-

  A few years ago

  “Chicken. Mayonnaise. White bread. Dog treats.” I read my grocery list over and over again. I don’t want to forget anything. These are things I need. It is important that I find all of them.

  I walk down the aisle as close to the shelves as I can get. The rows are too narrow and people stand too close to me.

  I try to go to the store when I know it won’t be too busy. It is eight-thirty at night. The store closes in thirty minutes. I have twenty-five minutes to get my groceries. It takes about five minutes to ring the items up and put them in bags.

  “Chicken. Mayonnaise. White bread. Dog treats,” I say again, looking for the packet of chicken breasts for $4.00 that I always get. I look and look and can’t find them.

  “Where are they?” I ask. A lady with white hair stares at me. I move away from her to search for the chicken. I don’t like being looked at. I never have. I have gotten better with it now that I’m a teacher. The students look at me all the time. But the way they look at me is different than the looks I get everywhere else.

  Like the way the lady is looking at me as if there’s something wrong with me.

  Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me.

  I know I’m different.

  I know that I’m too loud and I get mad easily. I say things I shouldn’t and tell people stuff that should stay in my head.

  Ellie tells me when I’m being rude. So does Leonard. But it’s hard to remember when I’m by myself. Then I just say things because I think it.

  “Why are you looking at me?” I ask the lady with the white hair. Her eyes widen and I know I’ve said something bad.

  The lady with the white hair looks scared.

  Is she scared of me?

  Am I scary?

  Instead of saying anything else to her, I keep looking for the chicken. And I still can’t find it.

  I feel myself getting angry. Leonard calls them my triggers. When things don’t go the way I want them to.

  He’s been teaching me how to handle it.

  I try to remember what he’s told me.

  But I really just want to find the chicken.

  I look at my watch and see that now I only have fifteen more minutes until I have to go to the check out and leave.

  I start tapping my hand on the freezer. I don’t rub my hands together anymore.

  But when I tap my hands and feet I feel better.

  It’s not helping me this time.

  “Where’s the chicken?” I ask loudly. Why won’t anyone help me find the chicken?

  “What chicken are you looking for?” someone asks me.

  I recognize the voice and I don’t like it.

  “Go away!” I yell, holding my hand out so she won’t come any closer.

  “Flynn, it’s okay. I just wanted to know if you needed help with something.” Dania is mean. She doesn’t like me. She was always nasty and said awful things. Ellie isn’t friends with her anymore and that makes me glad.

  Dania has a baby strapped to her front in some strange looking bag thing.

  “Why do you have a baby attached to you?” I ask.

  “She’s my daughter. Her name is Lyla. And she’s in a sling,” she answers and I don’t care. I want her to leave.

  I keep looking for the chicken. I start pulling packages out of the refrigerator and throw them on the floor. They’re in the way. I need to find the two chicken breasts for $4.00 that I always get.

  “You need to stop doing that or they’ll throw you out of the store, Flynn,” Dania says, and I ignore her. I don’t care what she has to say.

  “Tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll help you find it,” she says.

  “The two chicken breasts for $4.00. It’s what I always get,” I say.

  Dania starts to dig through the chicken and hands me the package. “Here you go,” she says and she smiles. It’s not the smile she used to have on her face when she was saying things to me that hurt.

  This is a nice smile.

  I still don’t like her.

  Her baby starts crying, and I frown. I have never been around a baby before. She’s loud. I put my hands over my ears.

  “Tell her to stop,” I yell over the crying.

  Dania makes a noise with her mouth as she leans close to the baby. Finally the baby stops crying and I lower my hands.

  I look closer at the baby in the sling on Dania’s chest. “She’s funny looking,” I say because it’s true. Her face is all wrinkled looking and she doesn’t have any hair.

  Dania laughs, and I wonder what I said that was funny. “Babies do look funny. But her looks will change as she gets older.”

  “That’s good. It would suck to look like that forever,” I tell her. I drop the chicken in the basket I’m holding and head towards the next aisle.

  “Mayonnaise. White Bread. Dog Treats,” I say, looking for the next thing.

  I finish the rest of my shopping and head to the cash register. I stand behind Dania who is trying to get something out of her purse but can’t because of the baby strapped to her chest.

  “Do you need help?” I ask her because I need to pay for my groceries and go home. I need to make dinner and grade papers. I like grading papers. It relaxes me.

  Dania looks at me and hands me her baby. “Can you hold Lyla just for a second?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to,” I tell her. I have never held a baby. I don’t want to hold Dania’s baby.

  I have thought about Ellie having babies. Of us having babies together. I like the idea of being a dad. I think I would be good at it. Like my dad was before he died. I won’t care that babies are loud because it would be my baby. And Ellie’s. Our baby together.

  “Just for a second, Flynn. Please,” she says and I take the baby who is now awake. I hold the baby away from my body, not sure how I should do it. She isn’t very heavy, which is strange since she’s really just a little person. Not a very pretty one though.

  “Hi,” I say to the baby that Dania calls Lyla. Her eyes are blue and she smells strange. I lean down and sniff her head, trying to figure out what she smells like.

  “What are you doing?” Dania asks.

  “Smelling the baby. She smells…good.” She does smell good. It’s weird.

  “Here I can take her back,” Dania says, but I like holding Lyla. She isn’t crying which is good and she is just looking at me. And not in a way that I don’t like.

  Maybe
she isn’t so funny looking.

  “Flynn,” Dania says, and I shove the baby away from me. Dania takes her. “Thank you,” she says.

  Dania takes her bags and moves away from the cash register. She smiles again in that way that isn’t like her old smiles.

  I think she’s trying to be nice.

  “If you and Ellie ever have kids, I think you’ll make a good dad,” she says and I like the way that makes me feel. Warm and happy.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, knowing that is important to say after someone says something nice to you.

  “Bye, Flynn. Tell Ellie—“ She stops talking.

  “Tell Ellie what?” I ask.

  Dania touches the baby’s head and smiles again.

  “Never mind. Don’t tell her anything,” she says.

  And I don’t.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  -Ellie-

  The sound of Dania’s moans on the other side of the wall made me want to throw something. It was the fourth time this week she had brought home a random and screwed his brains out…with her door open…and very, very loudly.

  I turned up the volume of the television, trying to drown out the obnoxious shriek of my best friend’s mating call. Someone should probably tell her that she sounded like a screeching dolphin. But that someone wouldn’t be me. I had some sense of self-preservation left.

  I had only been out of Spadardo’s for a week and I was starting to almost miss it. By the end of my stay I had established a reputation for punching first, talking later, which allowed me a modicum of respect. Which also meant I was left the hell alone.

  They had a library and a decent cafeteria. I got regular exercise and even got my GED. It was sad to admit that I had been more productive in juvenile detention than I had ever been on the outside.

  I had thought living with Dania would at least give me a bit of time to figure out my next steps. I should have known sleeping on her couch would involve being subjected to her out of control sex show multiple times a week.

  Forty minutes later a guy walked out of her bedroom, his jeans unbuttoned, pulling his T-Shirt over his head. He was greasy and unwashed and looked to be around forty with a bald patch and patchy beard. What in the hell had Dania been thinking?