Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 24: Release

Watching Myrna pack up her things at the speed of a quadriplegic turtle was agony. "Damn, now where did I put my sweater..." she mumbled for the tenth time as the clock struck three PM. No one from the rugby team was due to arrive until at least eight, but I was still on edge.

"Sweater? Which sweater? The pink one?" I asked feverishly. "It's on the armchair in the living room. You know what, I'll grab it for you."

"Such a sweetheart," cooed Myrna as I dashed to get it.

As soon as I picked up the sweater, there was a knock at the front door. The top of Ezra's head was visible through the window.

"You're early," I said through gritted teeth.

"I'm just on my way back from visiting Uncle Todd C. Lindquist, Esquire. Thought I'd drop in and bid goodbye to dear ol' Myrna." He pointed to the pink sweater draped over my arm. "Nice top. Vintage?" My face turned red as he walked inside like he owned the place.

Ezra's presence turned Myrna into a giggly schoolgirl. He charmed her all the way up until she got into her minivan and, at long last, pulled out of the driveway.

"What a woman," sighed Ezra, hand on his heart. "Makes me want to rethink my lifestyle choices."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously though, why are you here?"

"I was bored and ready to give you gifts," he explained.

"But it's not my birthday yet."

"It's your birthday celebration day, though, and that counts enough for me," he shot back. "Go wait inside. I'll bring 'em in."

To be honest, the day before I turned twenty-one was a day I avoided thinking about until recently; the memory used to bring on bittersweet nostalgia that did nothing but cause me pain. Now, I realize it hurt because I was angry at myself for not understanding how perfect it was while it was happening.

It began with the gifts. As I squeezed my eyelids shut, Ezra placed a plastic bag on my lap. "We'll start small," he said.

"Feels like a great present already," I said, touching the bag like a blind man.

"Open your eyes, doofus." Inside the bag were two beers: Coronas. "The first time we met, I saved your ass by ordering you that Corona. So I figured we could kick the day off with them. One for me, one for you."

I wanted to make a joke, but I couldn't think of one. It was actually a pretty thoughtful gift. Ezra opened both of them and we toasted to my birthday. The first sip was icy-cold and delicious.

Next, Ezra handed me a terribly-wrapped box. "From Lynette," he explained. "She said, and I quote, 'tell him this should tide him over until he gets a real one.'" Inside was a set of shot glasses shaped like cars with tiny wheels on the bottom.

I took one out and pushed it around on the floor, laughing. "We're going to have so many races with these."

"And crashes," Ezra pointed out. "Now for a gift from me with a little more effort put into it." He placed a manilla envelope in my lap. Inside was one of Ezra's famous mix CDs, complete with grungy, hand-drawn art. The title: WE ARE (BROKEN CARTS). Below it, written in a thin Sharpie: To Hot Cashier Boy, From Hot Shelf Stocker Guy.

"The title's a riff on my stupid old song," Ezra explained.

"'Broken carts,' like Vita-Mart carts?" I asked. He nodded. "Damn, you're good. Should I pop it into my laptop and blast it on the bluetooth speakers?"

Ezra shook his head and blushed a little. "Listen to it on your own sometime. There's no original songs on there— I'm no DJ HighLo— but I hope you like it anyway."