Taking Stock (23 page)

I sigh. Gilbert knows I’m dating Theresa.

“What’s your name?” Gilbert asks the girl.

“Shianne.”

“This is Sheldon,” Gilbert says. “He’s an honest man in a world without truth.”

“Yeah?” she says. “What do you do?”

“I’m a writer,” I say.

Gilbert puts a hand to the side of his mouth and shouts at Shianne over the music. “He works in a grocery store.” He walks down the hall, leaving Shianne and I looking at each other.

“Oh my God,” she says. “I lost my phone and I haven’t been on Facebook all weekend.”

“Everyone must be wondering what you’re doing.”

“I know!”

I bid Shianne adieu and go down the hall. I turn into a room with just one guy in it, sitting on a couch, playing a guitar, and singing. I approach him, and stand nearby. This close, I can hear him over the music.

He sings, “Discouraged by our limitations, we pursue inebriation to make them grow—it’s fun, you know.” He stops, and looks up at me. “I just made that up.”

“It was pretty good.”

“Thanks. I don’t think I know you. Who invited you?”

“I’m with Gilbert.”

He nods. “Right on.”

Gilbert comes in. He’s holding a new beer. He points at the guitarist. “Play
My Fair Lady
!”

“Um, that’s a play,” the guitarist says.

“Play
The Starry Night
!”

The guitarist frowns. Gilbert leaves.

“Who was that?” he says.

“I have no idea.”

I go into another room, where a tall guy wearing a fedora is standing behind a bar, pouring shots for a bunch of people. I guess he’s the host. I walk up to the bar and lean on the end.

“Hey,” the fedora-wearing guy says, pointing at me. “I don’t know you.”

“I’m with Gilbert.”

“Yeah? Well, who’s he here with?”

“Um, he’s with Sheldon.”

“Whatever. We’re doing shots. You want one?”

“Sure.”

He pours me one. “What’s your name?”

“Sheldon.”

“You have the same name as the guy your friend came with?”

“Yeah.”

We all down our shots, and the host pours another round. He repeats this several times.

I find Gilbert talking to a pretty brunette in the kitchen. “Is this Sheldon?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Gilbert says. “Sheldon, meet Stacy.”

“Hi.”

Stacy wraps her arms around one of Gilbert’s. “Me and a few friends are talking about going DT,” she says. “Would you guys be up for that?”

“Going what?” I say.

“DT,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“It stands for downtown.”

“Why didn’t you just say downtown?”

“It’s what they say on the internet,” Gilbert says.

“That’s fucking stupid,” I say.

The girl glares. “Asshole.” She stalks away.

“Whoops,” I say. “Didn’t mean to salt your game.”

He raises his eyebrows, takes a sip, and says nothing. There’s an open bottle of rum on the counter with a third left. I pick it up and take a swig. Some of it dribbles down my chin and neck. I take another.

Some time later—I’m not sure how long, exactly—I’m standing on a coffee table, shouting at a group of people gathered below me. “Never trust alliteration,” I say. “Never! If someone feels it’s necessary to convey a message using words that all begin with the same sound, you should be suspicious!” I drink from my beer. I sway. Someone steadies me. I hold the bottle up in the air. “When you use alliteration, you’re not using the most appropriate words. You’re just using words that sound similar. Meaning gets sacrificed on the altar of alliteration! So does heart! And soul!”

Everyone laughs.

Gilbert appears. “We have to go.”

“Why?” I say. I shout: “I’m only getting started!”

More laughter. I hold up my beer.

“I just played a central role in breaking something very valuable,” Gilbert says. “I’m leaving right away. If you choose to stay, you will probably be required to produce a large quantity of money.”

I step down from the coffee table. “Let’s go DT.”

We walk swiftly through the party, weaving through the packed hallway toward the staircase. “Excuse me,” I say. “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

When we’re halfway down the staircase, someone shouts from above. “There he is! That’s him!”

I look up. Fedora guy is standing at the top of the stairs, next to the guy who gave us the beers when we first arrived. The beer guy is pointing at Gilbert.

Fedora guy runs down the stairs toward us. Gilbert grabs me by the shirt and drags me around the corner and down the second flight. Fedora guy catches up with us at the front door, and grabs one of my arms. For a few protracted seconds, they play tug-of-war with me. Finally, Gilbert grasps my shirt with both hands and yanks me outside. Fedora guy is quick, though. He leaps after us and grabs my arm again.

Gilbert plucks the fedora off his head and throws it into the street. Fedora guy looks at his fedora lying there on the asphalt, and looks back at us. He looks at the fedora. A car is coming.

He lets go. We dash toward the Hummer.

Gilbert jumps in the driver’s seat, and I open the passenger side door. “Wait,” I say. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Yes. I have. And if you don’t get in right now, you’ll be arrested.”

I get in. Gilbert backs up to get clear of the car parked in front of us, whips around to face the other way, and drives into the night.

After a minute I say, “We’re far enough. Find somewhere to park.”

“Why?”

“You’re drunk. You’re driving drunk.”

“So?”

“It’s illegal.”

“So is driving stoned.”

“This is way different. I saw you drink a lot at that party.”

“Not as much as you.”

“Let me out. Pull over.”

Gilbert rolls his eyes. “This isn’t my first time driving after having a few.”

“Pull over, Gilbert.”

He stops the car in the middle of the road. I glare at him, open the door, and get out. I don’t bother closing it.

Neither does he. It closes by itself as he speeds away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I haven’t spoken to Gilbert much since the party. I did ask him to make Frank take me off overnights. I no longer trust myself to work hard without supervision.

I’ve been experiencing strange things during overnights. I’ve seen stuff fall off the shelves without being touched. And, as I front, I keep seeing movement in my peripheral vision—like someone walking briskly past the aisles. Twice, I ran to check if anyone was there.

One time, with my earphones in, I thought I heard a woman call my name. I turned off my MP3 player and listened, but it didn’t happen again. The voice sounded just like my mother.

I don’t believe in ghosts, but at night, this place is freaking me out. I’m still seeing 37 a lot, too. More than before.

*

Why is everyone looking at me?

“Sheldon? You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You’ve barely said anything since we left the apartment.”

Theresa and I are at the mall. We biked here with plans to see another movie. There are a lot of people here. More than I expected, I guess. And they all seem to be staring at me. Do people normally stare this much?

A cashier from Spend Easy passes in front of us. She sees Theresa, and seems about to say something to her, but then she sees me. She breaks eye contact and keeps walking.

I’d like to call out to her. I want to stare her in the face and ask her how her day is going. Make her uncomfortable. Make her pay for not talking to me.

Except, I can’t remember her name.

“I need to use the washroom,” I say.

“Sure.”

I go into the Men’s room and splash water on my face. I smoked with Gilbert after work, and I still feel stoned. I look stoned, too. My lids are heavy, and the skin under my eyes is dark. I wonder if Theresa knows.

She said I seem depressed, lately.

I rejoin her outside the restroom, and we walk to the theatre. The movie begins in 15 minutes, so we rush to buy our tickets and food. I get a large popcorn. It comes with one free refill. I want to kill this high as quickly as possible.

When we enter the theatre, the previews have already started. We find two seats together near the front. During the opening credits, I think about how vulnerable I am to the person sitting behind me. If that person had a knife, or a gun, he or she could easily take me out.

As discreetly as possible, I twist around and glance at the person sitting behind me. It’s a little girl—probably five or six. I face forward.

“I need to use the washroom,” I whisper to Theresa.

“You just went.”

“Yes.” I get up and start edging past people.

I call Gilbert from the restroom stall. He answers on the sixth ring.

“Gilbert, I feel like I’m going nuts. I keep thinking everyone’s out to get me. A security guard looked at me, and I was sure he was about to throw me out. I’m tripping, here. I think the pot was laced with something.”

“We used a vaporizer, Sheldon.”

“So?”

“It only vaporizes the THC—nothing else. It wouldn’t matter if it was laced.”

“Why am I tripping balls, then?”

“Because you tend to trip balls.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You trip out. Over nothing.”

“No I don’t.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for your help, Gilbert.” I hang up.

I go back into the theatre and resume cramming popcorn into my mouth. Theresa isn’t saying anything. Is she upset with me? She probably thinks I’m a loser. I can’t even stay sober long enough for one date. She doesn’t smoke pot at all. She probably thinks I’m a huge stoner. This will likely be the last date we ever have.

After the movie, when she asks me what I thought of it, I have very little to say. I barely watched the movie. My thoughts kept repeating in my head, on loop, loud.

On the bike ride home, it feels like the ground is rushing past underneath me. I keep asking Theresa to slow down. “We’re not going that fast, Sheldon,” she says once, but she slows down each time I ask.

I ride with her to her apartment. She gives me a kiss before going in. “Call me, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. I get on my bike, and ride away.

*

I quit smoking pot. Theresa didn’t ask me to, but I’m afraid it will start causing problems with us, if I continue. I got really scared, during our date—it made me realize how much it would hurt me to lose her.

That isn’t the only reason I quit. When Gilbert asks why, I say, “I don’t know. You’ll probably think it’s stupid.”

“Probably. Why?”

“I started feeling like the only time I’m happy anymore is when I’m high.”

“Were you happy before you started smoking?”

“Not really. Sometimes.”

“Well, synthetic happiness is better than no happiness.”

I visit my mother’s grave, for the first time in months. Someone’s planted something on it. I get down on my hands and knees and study it up close. It looks like a bunch of little ferns.

I stand up. I clasp my hands together and I bow my head. I say, “God, if you exist, please make my Mom happy, if she still exists somewhere.”

I look up at the sky. There are a few clouds. I don’t think they’re trying to tell me anything. I don’t feel any better, or any worse. Nothing has changed.

“I’m going to be okay, Mom,” I say. “I’ll come back.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Since I quit smoking weed, Theresa and I have gotten a lot closer—joking around a lot more, trusting each other more. We’ve been together almost every day, and a couple times we’ve stayed awake till the morning, lying in each other’s arms, talking.

That’s how I know this is a bad idea.

“How long has it been since you smoked?” Donovan says.

“Almost two weeks.”

“Oh, man. This is gonna mess you up, then.” He passes me the joint.

“Thanks.” I take a hit and pass it back. “Do you have any eye drops?”

“Nope.”

“Damn. I left mine home. Didn’t think I’d be doing this tonight.”

We’re on break, standing behind the strip mall across the road from Spend Easy. The sun is setting. Someone drives past, and Donovan hides the joint behind his back till they’re gone.

“Hey, man,” Donovan says. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t look good. You wanna sit down?”

But then it’s like the sun plummets below the horizon, and it all goes dark.

*

Shaking. Someone’s shaking me.

“Sheldon? You all right? We have to get back to the store, man. We’ve been gone too long.”

I open my eyes. Donovan’s face hovers over me, concerned.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” I say.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I have a cousin who faints sometimes, smoking.”

“Was I saying anything?”

“No. You cracked your head off the side of the building, though. You all right?”

“I feel warm.” I look down at myself.

“I think you pissed yourself, dude.”

“Fuck.”

We walk back across the road to the Spend Easy parking lot, and Donovan grabs me some napkins from his car’s glove box. I mop up as much of the urine as I can. I ask if he thinks it’s noticeable, and he says yeah, it sort of is.

“I suggest you walk to Aisle One as quick as you can, pocket some eye drops, and go to the customer washroom.”

“Yeah. Sorry, man. You probably weren’t counting on this being so stressful.”

“I’m not stressed.”

I follow his advice. I walk through Aisle One, grabbing some eye drops off the shelf without stopping. The bottle comes encased in a cardboard box, which I stuff into my pocket and then walk to the customer restroom, making my strides as long as possible while attempting to appear casual. When I get there, I try the knob, but it won’t turn. It’s locked.

“Hey,” someone says behind me.

I turn around. Eric is leaning against the wall, his massive arms crossed.

“Looks like you didn’t make it in time,” he says. He nods at my crotch.

“I spilled something,” I say.

He uncrosses his arms, steps forward, and seizes the rectangular bulge in my pocket. “That feels like an awkward thing to be carrying around in your pants. What is it?”

“None of your business.”

He reaches inside and takes it out. “Eye drops. Your eyes bothering you?”

I don’t say anything.

He bends closer, and squints at me. “Looks a bit like pink eye. In both eyes. Do you have a receipt for this?”

“No.”

“And if we ran it through the system, would it come up as purchased? Or stolen?”

Again, I say nothing.

“Let’s head to Frank’s office, shall we?” He makes a sweeping gesture that ends with his left hand pointing toward Aisle One. “After you.”

I start walking slowly toward the store office. I can feel my heart beat. I struggle to put my thoughts together into some sort of plan. All I can think about is how difficult it would be to get a job anywhere else. This is my only work experience.

When we get to the office, Eric holds up the box of eye drops and tells Frank he found it on me, and that I was unable to produce a receipt. Also, that my eyes are red, and I smell of marijuana.

My pants are damp against my thighs.

Frank’s eyes are locked on the box of eye drops. “I’m afraid we’ll have to let you go. Employee theft results in immediate termination. We won’t press charges. You will receive your final paycheck in the mail.”

Eric smiles. Frank’s eyes dart to his computer monitor. Sweat gleams on his forehead, and he’s slowly clenching and unclenching his hands.

“Toodles, vegan,” Eric says.

I take a breath. And another. I turn toward the door. Eric moves out of my way, still smiling.

I don’t leave.

“I’m sure Randy has a Facebook account,” I say.

“What does Randy have to do with this?” Frank says.

“I’m just saying that I can easily get in touch with him. And I have some compromising information about you, Frank. I think I’ll go home and write it on his profile, for everyone to see.”

“What’s he talking about?” Eric says.

“Bye,” I say. I take another step.

“Wait,” Frank says. “You’re not fired. You can stay.”

The box of eye drops crumples in Eric’s hand. “What the fuck?”

Frank’s face is red. “Everyone in this room has a secret now, Eric. All three of us. Either all the secrets stay in this room, or they all get out. This isn’t how I want it. But it’s how it is.”

“What’s your secret?” Eric says.

“What’s yours?” I say.

Eric glares at me, his hands clenched so tight they’re shaking. “Get out, vegan. Get out before I throw you out.”

“Sure thing, asshole.”

*

The shift after our confrontation, I take a TV dinner and walk past the Meat department with it. Eric’s restocking hamburger, and I hold up the dinner.

“Have you tried the Chicken Parmagiana, Eric?” I say. “It’s fucking delicious.”

His eyes narrow.

Another day, Theresa catches me stealing a bag of chips on her way back from the washroom to the front end. She sees me take them off the shelf and walk toward the warehouse.

“Are you going to pay for those?” she says.

“No.”

“I didn’t think you’d steal, Sheldon.”

“It’s just chips.”

“What would your Mom say?”

Gilbert’s sitting on his cart halfway down the aisle, tossing a box of popcorn into the air and catching it. He watches as I place the chips back on the shelf, and chuckles.

Theresa goes back to the front end. “What would your Mom say?” Gilbert says, mimicking her.

“Shut up.”

“Life is a prison,” he says. “Girlfriends are the jailors.”

*

I asked Gilbert to arrange for me to work overnights again. We’re a couple hours into one, smoking a joint in front of the store, when Matt rides up on a bicycle.

“Hey, Matt,” I say.

“You need to stop giving Eric trouble,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s worried about you exposing him. And he’s taking it out on us.”

“By hitting you? Why don’t you call the cops, Matt? Why do you let him do that?”

“He threatens to hurt my family.” Matt’s voice is growing ragged. “He knows I have a sister from searching my Facebook profile, and he specifically mentions her. He’s crazy, Sheldon. And he’s military trained. He says if I tell, and they arrest him, he’ll just pay bail and go after my sister.”

“If you tell what?”

Matt sobs, and doesn’t speak.

“What does he do to you, Matt?”

“He rapes them,” Gilbert says, in the croak peculiar to people holding smoke in their lungs. He exhales, and I can see it disperse in the light shining out from Spend Easy.

I look at Matt. But Matt won’t look at me, and he doesn’t speak.

“Matt,” I say. “You need to do something about this.”

He shakes his head. “It’s my fault. He says I sent him signals. Sometimes I think I could be gay. I probably did give Eric the wrong impression.”

I put my hand to my forehead. “Even if that was true, he has no right,” I say.

Tears roll down Matt’s face. He stays silent.

“Go home, Matt,” Gilbert says. “Go on, you poor bastard.”

Matt gets on his bike and pedals away.

Gilbert holds the joint out to me. I take it and throw it on the ground, crushing it against the sidewalk with my foot.

“Eric rapes his employees?” I say. “Grown men? He just rapes the entire department, and no one does anything?”

“Not all of them,” Gilbert says. “One or two, at any given time. The ones with the lowest confidence. Makes them think it’s their fault. You heard him.” He opens the door and heads into Spend Easy. I follow. “He screens all his new hires. A lot of his workers are poor. It’s not that surprising no one exposes him. Statistically, men raped by other men are the least likely to report it.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“A while.”

“Why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“Eric knows I’m blackmailing Frank.” Gilbert leads me down Aisle Five, grabbing a bottle filled with caramel corn on the way to the warehouse. “If I screw him, he’ll screw me. Pardon the pun.”

“That’s disgusting. You’re fucking disgusting.”

He whirls around, and jabs me in the chest with the caramel corn. “Back the fuck up, Sheldon. Quit being self-righteous long enough to use your brain. Eric’s an insane motherfucker. If I recall correctly, he’s suspect number one for locking you in the freezer. How do I know he won’t really go after his employees’ families, if he’s exposed? How do you know? Are you going to take that risk?”

I say nothing. I’m grinding my teeth.

“What do we do in this society, when we see atrocity? Huh? What do we do, when we learn our favourite clothes were made by kids in sweatshops? What do we do, when it comes out that first-world governments are torturing people? We look the other way, and we say thank God it’s not me. Then we go see a movie. Read a book, maybe.”

He turns again and walks toward the warehouse. I stay where I am.

“If Eric goes down,” Gilbert says as he leaves, “he’s taking all of us with him. Me, Frank, and even you, Sheldon. You’re part of this, now, too.”

*

I sleep past my alarm, and get up late—too late to make it on time for my shift. I trudge to the washroom and start brushing my teeth.

The bristles hurt my gums. That’s weird. I look down at the toothbrush, and there’s a tiny bead of blood.

I brush more carefully, and when I’m finished I rip off some floss and insert it between two molars. The floss gets stuck, though, and I wiggle it back and forth, trying to work it out. Four of my teeth fall out, and a large section of my gums comes with them, tearing away like play-dough. It all falls into the sink with a
splat
, and lies there, glistening.

I wake up, drenched in sweat, to the phone ringing.

Just a dream.

“Hey, Sheldon? This is Ralph. Just calling to make sure everything’s all right.”

“I slept in.”

“No problem. Try to make it in as soon as you can.”

“Actually, Ralph, I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I can come in, today.”

“Very good.” He hangs up.

I walk into the living room. For a long time, I sit on the couch with my head in my hands.