THE LADY IN RED

THE LADY IN RED
In life’s twists and turns one never knows when a chance meeting with fate will forever change his life.

He was on register ten holding for the lady in her late sixties to cease scrutinizing her receipt for errors so she may quit holding up the cue and allow the two teenage love-birds behind her to check out when he noticed them walk in. They walked in through the grocery-side entrance on the west side of the store; Mark's register, a fast lane ,stood immediately alongside their path. He didn't notice them as much as he noticed the mammoth golf bags they slung on their shoulders .The tired-looking people-greeter stepped up and offered his usual greeting(actually, he more like recited it) and offered to red-tag their stuff reckoning they were returning some merchandise. They didn't falter a beat, they gave him a quick nod and a half-hearted keep-to-yourself kind of smile and zipped past.

"Hey you rung the zucchini twice",the old dame at the register interrupted shaking her head in a I-knew-you'd-fuck-up kind of way.

Shit ,a gadfly,he thought.

She glared at the receipt her thick glasses hanging precariously on the edge of her nose.

Blind as a bat.

Mark Samson, the six foot, handsome, muscular, overly tanned, quick- register- punching, two- star cashier snatched up the receipt. He was mad. She pointed at the receipt with her shaky, wrinkled index finger.He noticed that she lacked a thumb and the ring finger.

Seen better days.

"There ,zucchini ,I told you you had it twice but you ignored me."

He hated her niggardly kind.He knew she had a fuzzy view of the receipt.With those thick glasses on he could swear she was seeing double. He scanned the receipt. He had the Zucchini twice alright. Big deal.

"I apologize mum",he offered euphoniously.More work."A supervisor will help you in a moment mum".He tried to dissimulate his disdain with a smile.

"I am in a rush ,my puppy is in the car........."

The rugged-looking forty-something year old lady in cowboy boots and tight fitting blue jeans with an ill-fitting blouse, her dusty blonde hair held in a pony tail and huge black golf bag slung low on her short physique and the lanky young Latino in a Mexican cowboy outfit, lumbered past his registerThey left behind a redolent of stale tobacco breathe, dry sweat and fumes of alcohol.They headed for the bananas on a stall beyond. They stood there for a moment conversing in heated whispers .The Latino guy, in obvious exasperation ,walked off to the tomatoes stall. He toyed absently with a bag of Roma tomatoes flipping it up and down in the palm of his hand as he cast quick nervous glances about. Having worked in a gas station Mark knew the incipient stages of a hold-up.He suddenly felt an unsettling feeling descend upon him.

The old lady snatched the receipt from him ".....and you have both condoms rung up and I gave you a buy-one-get-one-free coupon".he ignored her .He found it difficult to brook her importunate barrage. The love-birds who had now quit smooching grabbed their groceries from the conveyor belt grumbling among themselves and moved off to register nine. The lady immediately behind them who had already stacked up a mountain of groceries set about gathering up hers, cursing in what Mark assumed was afghani or some middle-east language.

What was the old geezer buying condoms for anyway? Mark wondered ,he couldn't envisage her making love .She was twenty or so years out of the game.

"The customer service manager will be with you shortly mum",Mike said, now visibly agitated. She was fractious, it was no use trying to talk sense into her.

The canon of customer service dictated he smile but he was now beyond the edge.His face was plastered with a tired frown. He looked over at the CSM podium ,they were still busy chatting. He paged them again.

Lazy bustards.

At that instant_ with the old lady complaining and the CSM's still gossiping and the two love birds curdling on isle nine and the afghani lady cursing as she carted away and Mark staring blankly at the pointed points where the lady's two fingers used to be and wondering how she lost them_ it happened. From the grocery side there was a rapid rat-a-tat. Mark recognized the sound instantly.He had been in the gulf-war.There was no way he could forget the sounds a kalashnikov made and the ravage one of the bullets had on human flesh. He had seen it a good many times in Iraq; a sculp opened up by a single bullet, the exit wound of a bullet through the head.It wasn't a pretty sight.

He realized he was in the quagmire of a hold-up. By nature Mark wasn't an epitome of courage.Without a moment of hesitation he ducked into the confines of the cash register.It was mighty crumped but with the situation at hand it was just perfect.

"..........and the mangoes, I told you to give me a price match with Wal-mart ,twenty five cents each.What's wrong with you people".The old lady went on, oblivious of the situation.

If only you'd stop your rumblings long enough maybe you'd see what's going on,Mark thought.

For a moment things carried on as normal.The store had not paused a beat. Mark thought that perhaps he was coming down with a case of gulf-war syndrome. He peaked out a slit at the CSM podium .The CSM's were still yapping, one was inspecting the other's hearings.

"Are they pure gold?" Mark envisioned her asking

"Pure as can be",she would answer.

Lazy bustards.

The second rat-a-tat ripped through the store followed in quick succession by another even louder-shotgun-from across the store on the east side entrance. The store went dead silent for just a second then, as if on cue, all hell broke loose.There was an unbearable cacophony as people scrambled for cover .Mark wasn't peaking out anymore.He shut his eyes and rolled himself into a tight ball. Amid the chaos he could hear, off behind him, the Afghani lady doing a quick gibberish.He assumed it was a prayer of some kind.It was so well rhymed that were it not for the predicament they were in he would have given her quick rap ovation.He was mighty glad she was doing it though.He had none to offer.The many years away from church had left him pretty rusted. Up at counter nine the lovers lay sprawled.They jostled for space in a rather tiny enclave between the cash register and the candy display. From the look of things there was no Romeo and Juliet love anymore it was now everybody for himself.

A quick blast from the Kalashnikov was followed by a rugged rapt voice over the speakers ordering everyone to shut up and stay down if they valued their lives.From the sound of things almost everyone did. Almost.

"....and the apples ,they go for 2.99 not........"

There was a huge clap of gun-fire then a slight scream. It wasn't so much a scream as a gurgled almost muted sound followed by a thud. Mark didn't need to peak through the slit to know who it was .The three fingered, buy-one-condom-get-one-free, price-matching-for-mangoes, apples-were-not-charged-right lady slumped awkwardly onto the register .Warm blood dripped steadily from a wound on her chest .She stared directly at Mark her eyes cold, unblinking. She hang suspended for a while.Suddenly like a sackful of potatoes she slumped over and fell onto him. He let her rest against his lap.Her blood quickly soaked his clothes and formed a huge pool. He wondered if her shooting was a harbinger to a massacre. He didn't hear much after that.He didn't hear the Latino guy in a Mexican outfit step over him and rip the register open and snatch the few dollars .He didn't hear him cuss and say how she'd have saved her life had she ducked when he ordered everyone to.He didn't notice his arrogant insolent pride.He didn't even feel the heavy construction worker's boots stomp on both of them as he rushed for the door, for he was busy staring at three photos that had spilled from the lady's bag. They were photos of an adult and a toothless toddler and an eight year old looking girl who radiated ethereal beauty. Mark gingerly picked them up. Inscribed on top were their names.

On the back of the adult's were the inscriptions :In loving memory ,Son ,Bruce Smith. .Born 1972, died 6/2/2005.Iraq. The others had the faint inscriptions :Granddaughter Adeline and grand daughter Sera.

She was a Grand ma trying to raise her son's kids.With a single nefarious deed she had lost her fiduciary obligations.

He looked at the receipt, the condoms were going for four dollars and the Zuchini went for a couple of dollars .She was trying to save a couple of dollars for her grand kids when she got zapped. As people swirled around Mark and cops and paramedics arrived and a heavy hand tried to pull the weight of the old lady off of him Mark found himself unable to let go. It took two paramedics and a burly cop to pry her away. As they did a little piece of paper floated down from her bloodied dress and fell on to his lap. Unconsciously he picked it up.

It was a faded wrinkled note.On the note was a bad portrait of an old lady with a walking stick.Immediately under, written in child-like handwriting were the letters :(Do not forget to wear your hearing aid granny.)

The situation was almost imponderable.Mark slumped back letting his emotions overwhelm him.
Shit happens, he thought ,he only wished it would have been less tragic.