This is the first part of an as yet unfinished short story, my newest. I'm not sure where this story is headed but I do know it's nowhere nice...
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Jim Jones was a mess, both literally and figuratively speaking. He was twenty-seven years old, unemployed, and still living with his mother in her tiny two bedroom apartment. Jim's mother was nearly eighty, and suffered from severe Alzheimers and dementia, the state paid the rent for the tiny apartment and provided a caretaker for Mrs. Jones. The caretaker, Mrs. Galloway, was supposed to be a full-time, live-in caretaker, but Mrs. Galloway was a large black woman, and Mrs. Jones was unabashedly racist, and verbally abused Mrs. Galloway at every opportunity. Mrs. Galloway pretended not to mind, but Jim, who was no racist himself and thought all that stuff was rather silly, was humiliated by his eccentric mother's behaviour, and so he convinced Mrs. Galloway to move out and allow him to take care of his mother himself. Nowadays, Mrs. Galloway only came by twice a week to clean up the apartment, the rest of the time Jim and his mother were alone together in the small apartment.
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Jim took care of his mom the best he could, cooking their meals, washing the dishes and doing other household chores, and cleaning her up when she had one of her "accidents." Lately there had been a lot of "accidents." His mother's Alzheimers was so bad that she often mistook Jim for her brother, Tony, who had been dead for over five years, and if he tried to clean her up when she was like this, she would scream, and yell at him that she was going to tell Daddy that he was "tryin to get at her again." Other times she called him David, and told him she loved him still even though he'd left her all those years ago. Jim didn't know who David was, his mother had never mentioned him before she got sick, but he was pretty sure she'd once told him his father's name was Paul, so maybe David was some guy she knew before him.
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They had no other living relatives, and Jim had no friends. Truth be told, Jim hadn't had a real friend since the second grade, when his best buddy Wesley had moved away. Jim wasn't as smart as the rest of the kids in school, and had to be in the "special" class. Also, his mother had made all of his clothes herself from old scraps of clothes she brought home from the thrift store where she worked. His clothes never seemed to fit right, and with all the patchwork and mismatched buttons, they were obviously handmade. The other kids teased him mercilessly, and everyone, even the kids in his "special" class, called him Patches. The name had followed him all through his school years, and he had remained a social outcast until he dropped out in his sophmore year when his mother had begun to show the first signs of Alzheimers. He was nineteen at the time, and his intention had been to get a job and help pay off some of the medical bills that were even then piling up with a rapidity that was nothing short of amazing, or so it seemed to Jim.
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Finding a job turned out to be a lot harder than he thought though. Jim was not a particularly big boy, he was in fact quite scrawny, and as we've already established, he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer either. Also, he was painfully shy, so when he was interviewed the interviewer more often than not came away with the impression that Jim was severely retarded, instead of just a little slow. After several months, Jim was able to get a job at a local fast-food burger joint, but it was just like high school all over again, his co-workers put him down every day, and called him "Corky." One of the men he worked with, Bryan, would torment him everyday, knocking his hat off his head, and kicking over his bucket of fresh mopwater, scalding Jim's feet and soaking him up to his knees. Once when Jim was taking out the trash, Bryan had snuck up behind him and kicked the garbage bag out of his hands, causing it to burst open in the parking lot. "Better hurry and pick up all this shit Corky!" said Bryan, laughing. Jim had been having a really bad day, and he just couldn't take it anymore, so he screamed at Bryan to leave him alone, and then Bryan had stopped laughing and started smiling in a way that made Jim afraid. He punched Jim in the stomach as hard as he could, knocking all the breath out of him in a single surprised whoosh, then he had punched him in the face repeatedly until his nose started gushing blood, and he finally stopped. Jim was afraid and humiliated, and he'd ran all the way home, crying hard and holding one hand over his injured nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Jim had never gone back to that place again, not even to get his first and last paycheck, the thought of facing Bryan again was just too terrifying.
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Jim tried to find another job, but it wasn't long after the incident with Bryan that his mother's Alzheimers took a turn for the worst. So Jim asked Mrs. Galloway to help him sign up for public assistance, and he had been taking care of his mother ever since. The only time Jim left the house was when Mrs. Galloway was there to keep on eye on mother, then Jim would go down the block to the supermarket on the corner and get whatever groceries they needed. This was the only break he got, and he tried his best to make the most of these little adventures, sometimes he would stop at Baskin Robbins and treat himself to a chocolate cone, or he would have a chicken sandwich and fries from the Diner next store if there was enough money left over.
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Most of the time though, he went straight to the supermarket, and the reason for this was quite simple; Lindsey might be there. Lindsey was one of the cashiers at the market, and she was also the most beautiful girl that Jim had ever seen. Even though he'd never said a word to her he was in love with Lindsey, or at least he thought he was, he wasn't exactly sure what love was, he just knew that whenever he saw her he felt dizzy, and his heart threatened to beat it's way out of his chest.
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The thing he liked most about Lindsey was that she was both beautiful and kind, Jim was too afraid to use her checkout lane when he paid for his groceries, (he would have had to speak to her) but he always used the lane next to hers and he saw the way she was nice to all the customers as she rang up their purchases with a smile. She wasn't there every time Jim went to the supermarket, but when she was there Jim forgot about all of his troubles for as long as he was in the store. His crazy mother, his sad friendless life, all of these things ceased to matter to him when he walked through the automatic doors and saw her standing at her register.
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When she wasn't at her usual place however, Jim would immediately begin to wonder where she was. Had she gotten another job? Or, worse yet, had she been in an accident? Was she hurt? Had she been kidnapped, and was she tied to a chair in a basement somewhere, waiting for Jim to come and rescue her? These and other equally ridiculous scenarios would play out in Jim's mind while he shopped, and Jim would be in a state of near panic until the next time he went grocery shopping and saw Lindsey standing in her usual spot behind the register in checkout lane number four.
.
Jim took care of his mom the best he could, cooking their meals, washing the dishes and doing other household chores, and cleaning her up when she had one of her "accidents." Lately there had been a lot of "accidents." His mother's Alzheimers was so bad that she often mistook Jim for her brother, Tony, who had been dead for over five years, and if he tried to clean her up when she was like this, she would scream, and yell at him that she was going to tell Daddy that he was "tryin to get at her again." Other times she called him David, and told him she loved him still even though he'd left her all those years ago. Jim didn't know who David was, his mother had never mentioned him before she got sick, but he was pretty sure she'd once told him his father's name was Paul, so maybe David was some guy she knew before him.
.
They had no other living relatives, and Jim had no friends. Truth be told, Jim hadn't had a real friend since the second grade, when his best buddy Wesley had moved away. Jim wasn't as smart as the rest of the kids in school, and had to be in the "special" class. Also, his mother had made all of his clothes herself from old scraps of clothes she brought home from the thrift store where she worked. His clothes never seemed to fit right, and with all the patchwork and mismatched buttons, they were obviously handmade. The other kids teased him mercilessly, and everyone, even the kids in his "special" class, called him Patches. The name had followed him all through his school years, and he had remained a social outcast until he dropped out in his sophmore year when his mother had begun to show the first signs of Alzheimers. He was nineteen at the time, and his intention had been to get a job and help pay off some of the medical bills that were even then piling up with a rapidity that was nothing short of amazing, or so it seemed to Jim.
.
Finding a job turned out to be a lot harder than he thought though. Jim was not a particularly big boy, he was in fact quite scrawny, and as we've already established, he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer either. Also, he was painfully shy, so when he was interviewed the interviewer more often than not came away with the impression that Jim was severely retarded, instead of just a little slow. After several months, Jim was able to get a job at a local fast-food burger joint, but it was just like high school all over again, his co-workers put him down every day, and called him "Corky." One of the men he worked with, Bryan, would torment him everyday, knocking his hat off his head, and kicking over his bucket of fresh mopwater, scalding Jim's feet and soaking him up to his knees. Once when Jim was taking out the trash, Bryan had snuck up behind him and kicked the garbage bag out of his hands, causing it to burst open in the parking lot. "Better hurry and pick up all this shit Corky!" said Bryan, laughing. Jim had been having a really bad day, and he just couldn't take it anymore, so he screamed at Bryan to leave him alone, and then Bryan had stopped laughing and started smiling in a way that made Jim afraid. He punched Jim in the stomach as hard as he could, knocking all the breath out of him in a single surprised whoosh, then he had punched him in the face repeatedly until his nose started gushing blood, and he finally stopped. Jim was afraid and humiliated, and he'd ran all the way home, crying hard and holding one hand over his injured nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Jim had never gone back to that place again, not even to get his first and last paycheck, the thought of facing Bryan again was just too terrifying.
.
Jim tried to find another job, but it wasn't long after the incident with Bryan that his mother's Alzheimers took a turn for the worst. So Jim asked Mrs. Galloway to help him sign up for public assistance, and he had been taking care of his mother ever since. The only time Jim left the house was when Mrs. Galloway was there to keep on eye on mother, then Jim would go down the block to the supermarket on the corner and get whatever groceries they needed. This was the only break he got, and he tried his best to make the most of these little adventures, sometimes he would stop at Baskin Robbins and treat himself to a chocolate cone, or he would have a chicken sandwich and fries from the Diner next store if there was enough money left over.
.
Most of the time though, he went straight to the supermarket, and the reason for this was quite simple; Lindsey might be there. Lindsey was one of the cashiers at the market, and she was also the most beautiful girl that Jim had ever seen. Even though he'd never said a word to her he was in love with Lindsey, or at least he thought he was, he wasn't exactly sure what love was, he just knew that whenever he saw her he felt dizzy, and his heart threatened to beat it's way out of his chest.
.
The thing he liked most about Lindsey was that she was both beautiful and kind, Jim was too afraid to use her checkout lane when he paid for his groceries, (he would have had to speak to her) but he always used the lane next to hers and he saw the way she was nice to all the customers as she rang up their purchases with a smile. She wasn't there every time Jim went to the supermarket, but when she was there Jim forgot about all of his troubles for as long as he was in the store. His crazy mother, his sad friendless life, all of these things ceased to matter to him when he walked through the automatic doors and saw her standing at her register.
.
When she wasn't at her usual place however, Jim would immediately begin to wonder where she was. Had she gotten another job? Or, worse yet, had she been in an accident? Was she hurt? Had she been kidnapped, and was she tied to a chair in a basement somewhere, waiting for Jim to come and rescue her? These and other equally ridiculous scenarios would play out in Jim's mind while he shopped, and Jim would be in a state of near panic until the next time he went grocery shopping and saw Lindsey standing in her usual spot behind the register in checkout lane number four.
.
And so it went for some time, Jim lived out his sad life alone with his mother and twice-a-week Mrs. Galloway, and the only real happiness he knew was seeing his beautiful Lindsey at the grocery store. Then one day she spoke to him, and everything changed forever.
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It happened quite unexpectedly, but it started out as just another ordinary shopping day. It was a brisk fall day, the air outside crisp and pure and cold. Jim whistled cheerfully to himself as he prepared to leave, shrugging into his old jean jacket with it's many brightly colored patches. He watched a few minutes of General Hospital with his mother while waiting for Mrs. Galloway to arrive, then bade them both goodbye with a hug and a promise to come straight home he had no intention to keep.
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His heart felt lighter on the walk to the supermarket, as it always did, but it fell to the floor when he walked through the automatic doors and saw a woman who was clearly not Lindsey standing at register four. Jim was immediately filled with the usual fear that he would never see her again. Something's bad happened to her, I just know it, thought Jim, as he pushed a cart up and down the aisles looking for items on his list. He began to daydream, imagining Lindsey being held captive by ninjas in an old abandoned warehouse downtown. Who would be brave enough to take on the skilled ninjas singlehandedly and rescue the beautiful cashier? Jim, that's who!
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"I like your coat." Her voice came out of nowhere, simultaneously bringing him back to reality and causing him to blush a scarlet crimson. She was stocking shelves, and he'd been so caught up in his fantasy he'd managed to walk right by without seeing her. Now he wished he'd kept right on walking, because he had no idea what he was supposed to say.
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"You're not at your register." As soon as the words were out of his mouth Jim realized how stupid he must sound, but he felt a little better when she smiled at him. Then he realized she was smiling at him, and he felt as if he might pass out, just faint dead away in the middle of the pasta and sauces aisle. Just a few seconds ago he'd been ready to rescue her, whisk her away from danger like a slightly retarded Spider-Man, and now that she was standing there next to him it was just too much.
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"Yeah, they made me stock shelves today, Mr. Nuvoski said I spend too much time talking to the people and I take too long to ring them up, and then my line gets long, so he said I have to stock shelves, since the store is so busy from everybody buying stuff for Thanksgiving and since I'm too slow and I talk too much."
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This was as close to Lindsey as Jim had ever been, and now that she was right there next to him and he'd heard her speak, Jim realized something. Lindsey was "a little slow" just like he was!
To Be Continued...
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