When I Found You

Discovery: Henderson

I hate my job.

I hate every part of it.

Everything is the same. I have to put up with stupid people who come through these stupid doors every day, often with stupid questions. People who don't know how to work the slot machine. People who don't know how to work the gas pump. People who don't know how to properly count their change.

What do I do?

Smile.

Simply smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sorry kid you can't stay here without buying something."

"Have a lovely day."

That's all I can say. My boss is constantly over my shoulder. He thinks I'm too young to be trusted. He thinks the moment I am alone I'll steal money from the register. Or worst... an energy drink. I'm nineteen. I'm not a thief. I don't have a bad history. I'm working the summer so I can afford my last class for my first year of college. It wasn't anything special. Just community college. Still, I hadn't been a bad student. I show potential. I haven't given him any reason to not trust me. It bothers me a little, but work is work. It'll be over soon. Then I can stress about becoming an engineer. Until then...

Every morning I wake up at 5:30. My shift starts at seven and my boss is always on time. Every morning Mrs. Anstray comes in at eight for coffee and plays on the slots for thirty minutes. Mrs. Anstray was a nice lady. She might have suffered from a gambling addiction, but she was a nice lady. At first, I thought it was weird. She comes in every day. Every day. Who does that? Why do that? It's kind of sad. Then I found out her husband died. He had worked his entire life. They spent most of their days apart, but for thirty minutes every day, Mr. Anstray would sit with his wife and read poetry as she knit. He passed away a year ago. Mrs. Anstray hasn't knit since.

It was six months ago, the first day she came in. She was driving to her grandson's house and was low on gas, so naturally, she stopped at the gas station I work at. She left and came back the next day. She grabbed a coffee. Her husband had always made the coffee in their house and she didn't quite understand how to use the "fancy" machine yet. See I knew this because this is what she told me. This is most of my conversations on a daily basis. People feel like they have to fill in the silence while standing at the counter, so I often get to hear small, insignificant tidbits of the lives of customers I'm likely to never see again. Part of me minds, I wouldn't mind the silence and not knowing these things about strangers. Still part of me looks forward to the small bit of knowledge. When she started playing slots she told me it was because she needed something to do with her hands since she couldn't knit anymore. Later she told me I reminded her of him.

"It's odd. I know," she began slowly. "but I'd just like to sit over there, play, and sometimes look at you. You have to understand." Her voice falters for a moment. "He's been- he was in my life since we were children. I'm not ready. I don't-" she clears her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. "It's odd, but it would mean a whole lot to me if you just let me sit over there for thirty minutes and take glances at you. Then maybe I won't cry for the thirty minutes he used to read to me, every day, with nothing to do with my hands and this," she paused as a tear ran down her face, her voice breaking as she continued. "this empty feeling. That way I don't feel like I've lost him completely." It was shocking she could be so open with a person she had known for such little time. It wasn't as if I had even been welcoming. I hadn't told her anything about myself, in fact, I was barely listening when she spoke most of the time.

I didn't understand. I mean, who wants some old lady watching them every day for thirty minutes? It wasn't just "odd", it was creepy. When I told my mother she asked if I remembered her playing old music all the time when I was younger. I did. She'd wash the dishes while singing songs from the seventies. She explained that it reminded her of my grandfather who had passed away.