The Vinegar Thief

A drug addict working the late shift at a supermarket catches a teenager stealing vinegar.

The screen reads 20:41:26 as the plastic pill slides down my throat. Five hours, twenty-six minutes and seventeen seconds since the last pill. Twenty-nine minutes and fifty-eight seconds until the next one kicks in. Well, approximately.

 A dull ache pulls at the back of my neck. I turn my head to the right, and my reflection stares back at me from a pair of automatic doors. A bell rings each time they open. I used to watch the customers come and go; now, I just get bored. A long string of empty registers stretch out behind me, with Colin pacing back and forth in between them. He sees me looking and points to the doors. I turn around. It is 20:41:30.

I hear a noise and look to my left. Cereal and a can of coke. I drag them past the register and stuff them in a bag. “How are you?” I ask. “Want a bag?” I hold out my hand. It is 20:41:46. I take the card and slide it and I hold it back out. A bell rings. Somebody sneezes. “Bless you,” I say. I lift the bag off the counter and extend my arm. “Have a nice day.” The weight is lifted. The bell rings. It is 20:41:55.

I look up at the illuminated one stationed inches above my head. I reach to my left and flick the switch. The one starts blinking. It is 20:41:59.

Colin is ignoring me. I turn my back to the doors and I fold my arms and I stare at him. His shoes squeak against the newly washed floor as he paces back and forth. I look up at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights are so bright they are practically blue. I turn my head down, and a pixilated square of blue plasma floats in front of my vision. Colin’s body gets larger and larger. His legs take long strides in my direction. His head is obscured by the square.

“I don’t have time for this, Kenneth,” says Colin’s voice. “What’s the matter? Are you sick? Dying?”

“Definitely dying,” I say. I can’t help feeling like the pill is still stuck in the back of my throat.  I swallow once.

“Don’t pull that crap,” says Colin’s voice. “One day you will be dying and I won’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me now,” I say. The blue square gradually fades to reveal pasty white skin scarred by freckles and acne.

“Fix your light,” says Colin’s face.

“Can’t. I’m dying,” I was going to ask for a drink, but as I look at Colin’s face the question gets stuck in my throat like the pill.

Colin reaches up and flicks the switch. The blinking stops. He turns around and walks away.

“Seventeen minutes and forty four seconds,” I say. I look down at my feet. The floor is boxed in by the sides of the register. When I was in school, I spent all day sitting at a square desk staring at a square sheet of paper. Now, I am standing in a smaller square staring at a square screen with a square of fluorescent light shining down on my head. Life is funny that way.

“Are you open?”

I try to lift my eyes from the ground and find it difficult. “Seventeen minutes and forty-four seconds,” I say.

“What?”

My hand moves to the left. I feel nothing. I turn my head. The long, black belt is empty. “You okay?” the voice asks.

I look up. Some kid.

“I’m dying,” I say.

“Oh,” the kid replies. He turns and walks away. I suddenly hear the sound of angry footsteps squeaking towards me, growing louder and louder with each passing second. I don’t turn around until I feel breath on my neck.

 “You know,” says Colin’s voice, “Some people actually are dying.”

I look up very slowly. “More than you’d think,” I say.

“It’s rude,” Colin’s hot breath wafts over my face. “It’s disrespectful and rude and disgusting. To the customers.”

 “That kid wasn’t going to buy anything,” I say.

“They should fire you,” Colin says. The acne on his face is illuminated by the fluorescent lights. Reality is ugly. “You don’t have to be so terrible,” Colin says.  “You’ve only got fifteen more minutes.”

I turn and look at the screen. “Sixteen minutes and forty-two seconds.”

“Look,” Colin says, “If you want to leave so bad, go. I can have Emily open up.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” I point at the window. “It’s raining outside.”

Colin shakes his head. “I don’t know what you want,” he says.

“Me, neither,” I say. Once the pill kicks in, I might know what I want. But not now. The bell rings. Colin turns and walks to the front of the store. He unlocks the case with the telephone, shoots me one final glare, then begins to speak.

“Good evening Market Basket shoppers,” he says, his voice echoing throughout the empty aisles. “This is just a friendly reminder that the time is now eight forty-five, and in just fifteen minutes, your local Westford Market Basket will be closing for the evening. As always, we would like to thank you for choosing your local Westford Market Basket, where you always get more for your dollar. Thank you, and have a great night.”

I turn my eyes towards the screen on my register. It is 20:43:37. We aren’t closing in fifteen minutes. We are closing in sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds.

“Excuse me?”

I keep my eyes on the screen.  “We’re closing,” I say. “In sixteen minutes and twenty-one seconds.”

“I’ve lost my son.”

I look up and stare at the woman in front of me. Water drips from her hair and onto her jacket. Drops of moisture pool in her eyes. I continue to stare as I reach upwards for the switch. The number one starts blinking.

It takes Colin fourteen seconds to arrive. “I swear to God, Kenneth,” he says, “If you flash that light at me one more time, I’m going to"”

“This woman can’t find her son,” I say.

It takes Colin three seconds to respond. “Oh,” he says. “How old is he?”

“Sixteen,” she says. Her wrinkled hands clutch an umbrella to her chest.

I can feel Colin’s gaze on the top of my head. “Is this a joke?” he asks.

“It isn’t very funny,” I say.

“We got into a fight,” the woman says. “He isn’t answering my calls.”

Colin clears his throat. “Look"”

“I know you have those telephones,” she says. “You just used it now, to say the store was closing. If I could just use it to speak to him"he can’t have gone very"”

“What’s his name?” Colin asks. “I can say his name over the"”

“He won’t answer,” the woman says. “He needs to hear my voice. If he hears my voice, I know he’ll come back.” The veins in her hands bulge as her grip on the umbrella grows tighter.

Colin stares at her uselessly. “Are you sure he’s still in the store?”

“He can’t have gone far,” the woman says.

A memory tugs at the back of my mind. “There was a kid here,” I say, “A few minutes ago.”

She grasps the counter and leans forward. She smells like lipstick and rain. “What did he look like?” she asks. Droplets of water fall from her hair and land on the shiny metal of the register.

I ponder an image of blankness. “I don’t know,” I say. All I can remember is my own reflection staring back at me from the doors.

            Her lips quiver pathetically as she searches for words. “He can’t have gone far,” she repeats.

I smile. Opportunities for escape don’t come often, but I’ve learned to take advantage of them when they do. I squeeze past Colin and step out from behind the register. “Come on,” I say. I grasp the woman’s arm and guide her towards the front of the store.

“Hey!” says Colin’s voice. “You can’t just leave your register! What if there’s a customer?”

I wink at him over my shoulder as I walk. “You’ve got it,” I say. He stares back at me with a comical, confused sort of anger. We arrive at the front desk. Colin has left everything unlocked. “Not sure how this works,” I say, as I reach for the phone. “I’m not allowed to use it. Store policy.” I press a button with a picture of a speakerphone. “F*****g corporate a******s.” The last statement rings throughout the store. I can hear Colin shouting at me, but I know he won’t leave the register unattended. “Well, there you are,” I say. I hand the woman the phone. Her wide eyes stare back at me for a moment, still brimming with liquid. I can almost see my reflection in them.

Then she turns her eyes to the phone and begins to speak. “Johnny,” she says, “This is your mother.” She stops speaking and the store is filled with a ringing silence. I drum my fingers against the wall, waiting for the woman to speak again. I wonder what the time is, and I glance towards the register. When Colin sees me looking, he draws a single finger horizontally across his neck. I turn my gaze back to the woman. She is staring at the phone with her mouth open.

“Finished?” I ask. She looks up at me. The moisture in her eyes begins to overflow, and droplets of water drip past her nose and onto to her chin. When I look down, I notice that her hand is shaking. “You okay?”

The phone falls from her hand and dangles, lifeless, from the cord. “He can’t have gone far,” she says. A drop of moisture slides past her nose and falls onto the ground, inches from my feet. I take a step backwards.

“Kenneth? What’s going on?”

I turn around quickly. A face painted with makeup stares down at me from six inch heels. Emily. “This woman lost her son,” I say. Stupid, meddling Emily.

            “What did you do to Colin?” she asks. By this point, Colin is bent in half over the register, arms extended, trying to wave Emily over.

            I look away from him. “Nothing,” I say.

            She looks the woman up and down. “You lost your son?” she asks. “Teenager? Skinny? Red shoes?”

            The woman stares at Emily without speaking.

            “His name is Johnny,” I say, to fill the silence.

            “Well,” Emily says, “Johnny was stealing vinegar from the baking aisle.”

            I glance sideways at Emily to see if she’s joking. “Vinegar?” I ask.

            “Vinegar,” Emily says. She brushes her pigtails off her shoulders and places her hand on her hip. “I’m the one who caught him. I said if he cleaned the bathroom we’d be all squared away.”

            I grasp Emily’s arm hopefully. “The bathroom’s clean?”

            She purses her lips. “Wouldn’t do it,” she says. “Just sat on the floor and asked to be arrested.”

“Oh,” I let go of her arm.

“Then I heard you over the speaker and thought I’d come down here,” Emily nods at the woman. “Want to come get him?”

The woman begins to shake her head; the movement is so small, at first, that I think she might be trembling. Then the side to side motion grows faster and faster; raindrops fly from her hair and land on the front of my uniform, staining the red fabric dark. I take another step backwards just as Emily moves towards her. “You alright, ma’am?” she asks. A large, manicured hand reaches out for the woman.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, recoiling from the hand. “He must have left.” She turns abruptly and heads for the doors. She steps out into the rain without opening her umbrella and walks down the sidewalk clutching it to her chest.

“It’s like I always tell you, Kenneth,” Emily says. “All the freaks come out after eight.” Her gaze travels to the back of the store. “How much you want to bet that kid’s gone when I get back?”

I shrug.  “At least they get to leave.”

Emily’s painted face leans in towards mine. “You could leave, Kenneth,” she says.  “If you really want to so badly.”

I point at the window. “It’s raining,” I say. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Emily pulls her head back. “Look,” she says. “My cousin’s having a barbecue Saturday. Come along and be my date.”

I laugh. Emily always takes things literally. “No one would believe it,” I say.

The dark red smile turns to a frown. “Then just come along anyways.”

“Can’t,” I say. I stare out at the rain.

“Why not?”

“Funeral.”

“For who?”

“Dead guy.”

Emily punches my shoulder. It hurts more than it should. “Jackass,” she says. “Get back to work.”

“No,” I pick up the phone and hit the speaker button. “Good evening Market Basket shoppers,” I say. “This just a friendly reminder that the time is now eight fifty-five, and in just five minutes, your local Westford Market Basket will be closing indefinitely on account of the rain. Anyone found shopping after nine o’clock will be forced to clean the bathroom. Thank you, and have a great night,” I hang up the phone.

“Hey!” Colin shouts from across the store. The bright red color of his face clashes with his orange hair. “That isn’t a toy!” I know what’s really bothering him. The screen on the register shows the exact time. He knows it’s not eight fifty-five. It is eight-fifty four or eight fifty-six and it’s just driving him mad. “I’ll write you up for this, Kenneth!” he shouts.  “I will write you up!”

I turn to Emily. “Hear that?” I ask. “I think he’s trash talking me.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “You are a jackass,” she says. She turns away.

“Where are you going?” I already know where she’s going.

“To open up my register before Colin’s head explodes,” she says. Her pigtails bounce up and down and she walks away. Emily is much too old for pigtails. Emily is much too old to be Emily.

With one last glance at Colin, I hurry down the baking aisle and arrive at the maintenance closet at the back of the store. I take the mop and bucket out of the closet and roll them towards the bathroom, whistling as I do so. I push open the bathroom door.

Johnny the vinegar thief sits in the middle of the room, his legs folded Indian style and his head turned downwards. He ignores me as I enter. I lift the empty bucket and carry it over to the sink. “So Johnny,” I say, over the sound of running water, “I hear you’re cleaning the bathroom tonight.”

Johnny doesn’t move.

“Oh, that’s right,” I continue, “You’d rather be arrested. Now I don’t like cleaning either, Johnny, but there’s no need to resort to extreme measures.”

Johnny raises his head and peers at me over his shoulder. “You’re the guy that’s dying,” he says.

            I drop the bucket onto the ground. Half the water sloshes onto the floor. “So I am,” I say.

            “What’s killing you?” Johnny asks. The spilled water inches closer and closer towards him, but he doesn’t move.

            I shrug. “Life. Rain. Whatever.” I lift the bucket and pour the remainder of the water onto the floor. Johnny sits and stares at it as it approaches him.

            “I’ve only known one other person who was dying,” Johnny says.

            I set the empty bucket down on the floor. “I don’t believe you,” I say.

            “My grandmother,” he says. “She died in a hospital. The last time we visited, I watched a movie on my Gameboy while my mom fed her mashed potatoes. When we went to say goodbye, her skin was all reddish-blue and everything smelled like piss.”

            “This is fascinating,” I say, “But somebody needs to clean the bathroom.”

            The water creeps closer and encircles him. The interrupted stream of water stains his jeans dark blue. “Dying isn’t funny,” Johnny says.  “Or even all that scary. It’s mostly just depressing, and also pretty gross.”

            I drop the mop into the bucket. “Do you know what time it is?” I ask.

            He runs his hand over the surface of the water pooling in the crevices of the tiles. “About nine, I think,” he says.

            I sigh. “A minute after?” I ask. “Two minutes before?”

 “Who cares?” he asks.

            “You do,” I say. “You’re going to have to clean the bathroom.”

            He digs his finger into a crevice and traces the line of cement forward across the floor.  “No.”

            I roll the bucket closer to him. “By the way,” I say, “Your mother left without you.”

            Johnny’s hand dances back and forth across the surface of the water. Little waves ripple outwards from his fingertips. “Good,” he says.

            “That isn’t very nice,” I say. “You’ve got her worried sick.”

            Johnny lifts his arm and places his hand over his chest. “She’s always worried sick,” he says. He lowers his arm. A large, wet handprint darkens the front of his blue shirt. “So she really left this time?” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a pocketknife. “I can’t believe it.” He flips it open and digs it into the crevices of the floor, loosening little bits of crumbling cement as he does so.“I just can’t believe it.”

            I decide to ignore the blatant destruction of company property. I have more important things to worry about. “Do you have a phone?” I ask. “Cell phones always show the right time.”

            Johnny has the audacity to keep playing with water. “What’s the difference?” he asks.

            I can feel the restlessness building up inside me. I need the pill to start working now. “Nobody has any respect for time anymore,” I say.

“That so?” Johnny asks. I can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yes,” I say. “Don’t you see the clocks everywhere? We’re desensitized. Complacent.”

Johnny laughs, but doesn’t look up. “So it’s a conspiracy, is it?” he asks.

My fists are clenched.  I can feel the irritation rising steadily like the water.  “Just listen,” I say. “We break down the days into hours and the hours into minutes and the minutes into seconds, every moment of time cut into even pieces, into perfect little squares that are easy to swallow, like tiny bits of water or raindrop-sized pills, so you wish them away as they’re coming and don’t miss them after they’re gone.  And when you look back on the little squares of time that all seemed so neat and orderly then, you realize it was all just shapeless. Meaningless. That awareness creeps up on you as you get older, always getting closer and closer, and eventually you see the shapelessness everywhere you look, in the past and the present and worst of all, in the future…” I stop speaking because I need to take a breath. Johnny is finally looking at me, staring with his mouth-half open like a fish. “You think you know what death is,” I say.

            Johnny flicks the pocketknife shut and stares at me. The dampness has begun to soak through my sneakers and into my socks. “I don’t get it,” Johnny says eventually. “Raindrops and pills aren’t square.”

            I throw up my arms and storm across the room, my feet kicking up water as I go. “Have a great night, kid,” I say. I shut off the light and slam the door behind me. The rubber soles of my shoes squeak loudly as I walk through the empty aisles.

            “Good evening Market Basket shoppers,” Colin’s voice echoes across the store, drowning out the sound of my shoes. “This is just a friendly reminder that the time is now nine o’clock, and your local Westford Market Basket is now closed for the evening. Kindly bring all remaining items to the checkout area, as our last registers will soon be closing. As always, we’d like to thank you for shopping at your local Westford Market Basket, where you always get more for you dollar. Thank you, and have a great night.”

There are eleven minutes and twenty-six seconds until the next pill kicks in. Then again, maybe not. Colin is unreliable, and I need to know the time. My shoes squeak louder as my feet move faster. As I approach the end of the aisle, I almost crash into Emily.

“I counted your drawer for you,” Emily says.

            “What time is it?” I ask.

            “You’re welcome, Kenneth,” she says, placing her hands on her hips, “Anything for a friend.”

            “If he had to count for two finals, I bet that delayed the announcement,” I say. “It’s later than nine o’clock. Isn’t it?”

            I feel Emily’s hands grasping both of my shoulders. The layers of her makeup are bright and garish under the fluorescent lights. “You’re such a strange person, Kenneth,” she says. “Buy a damn watch if it makes you so anxious.”

 I look away from the face. “Watches are inaccurate,” I say.

“Get a cellphone, then!”

I shake my head. “People might call me.”

 “You’re impossible,” she says. She lets go of my shoulders and takes a step back.

The loss of pressure causes me to look up. As I stare at her face, I realize suddenly that I can’t stand to be away from her. I lunge forward and grab onto her shirt. “We should get married,” I say. I don’t know why I’m talking like this. I need the pill to start working.

Emily laughs. “Why would we do that?”

She’s wearing too much makeup. It’s easy to tell, from up close. Still, I grasp her shirt tighter. “We’ve got nothing better to do,” I say. I’m losing control. I need to know the time.  “Look outside, Emily! It’s raining!”

Emily pushes me away with ease. I stumble backwards. “Now listen here, Kenneth,” she says, looking down at me from her heels. “I refuse to marry someone who doesn’t have a cellphone.”

“I don’t want a cellphone,” I repeat dumbly. “People might call me.”

Emily turns away from me. “It’s just as well,” she calls over her shoulder. The sound of her high-heels echoes off the walls as she walks. “I am much too young for you.” I stare after her sadly. I think Emily might actually be older than me, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

As I continue to the front of the store, I realize my hands have begun to shake slightly. Colin appears suddenly and throws a long string of words at me, but I navigate past him easily and I am suddenly staring at my reflection in the door. My hair is a disaster, thanks to Emily, and my red uniform is speckled with dots of water. I try to look at my reflection without meeting my eyes and I find it impossible. Reality is ugly. I push the door open and step out into the rain.

The droplets fall onto my face and into my eyes.  I turn my nose to the air and close my eyes and stand that way. I want the rain to drench every part of me, although I know I’ll regret it later. I raise my hands above my head so that the rain can make its way down my sleeves. My hair clings to the back of my neck and the water trickles past my collar.

I hear a sneeze from somewhere behind me. I lower my arms and turn around. The woman sits on the bench, her purse and umbrella in her lap and her legs crossed, very ladylike. Her dark auburn hair is wet and plastered to her face, further exposing her gray roots. Two lines of black makeup trace the wrinkles in her face downwards. Reality is ugly.

“What time is it?” I ask. The question brings with it a sort of agitated boredom, like the sound of an advertisement heard too many times.

The woman’s hands tighten on her umbrella. “I couldn’t leave,” she says, “Not without Johnny.”

I stare at her through the rain. “Go get him, then,” I say.

Her lips begin to tremble, like they did when she used the phone. “He isn’t there,” she says. “It isn’t Johnny.”

I sigh. All the freaks come out after eight. “How could you know?” I ask. “You didn’t even look.”

The hands don’t move from the umbrella. “Johnny doesn’t steal,” she says. I let out a long sigh, push the wet hair out of my face, and take a small step forwards.

And then I feel it.

That sudden rush of exhilarating stillness. Reality snaps into sharper focus.  I feel the rain more distinctly on my neck and under my shirt. I look past the woman and stare at my own reflection in the dark store windows. I know what time it is. It is 21:11:26. Approximately.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks.

I just laugh. Time is slower, kinder, more intimate. I feel each individual raindrop as it hits me. “Because I have met Johnny…” I say, and all of the words run together as if they are one. “I-don’t-know-if-you-have-met-Johnny…”

The woman’s eyes grow wide. Her facial features twist and the black mascara makes its way down different wrinkled counters and the paleness of her face shines somehow amid the sparkling droplets of rain. For whatever reason, I am laughing. I suppose the situation was funny all along, and I’ve only just realized it now. “Johnny is a vinegar thief,” I laugh, “And you’re sitting in the rain with your umbrella in your lap. It’s ridiculous!” I throw my arms into the air and my voice reaches the very edge of the parking lot, I’m sure of it, but then it dies and gets washed away by the rain. “Don’t be sad,” I say.  “It’s all ridiculous. Johnny told me about his grandmother’s death, you know. He said that everything smelled like piss. Reality is ugly, ma’am.”

The woman gets to her feet. She walks closer to me until I can see the individual raindrops nestled in the wrinkles on her face. “Why are you saying this to me?” the face asks.

I stare at it. “I don’t know,” I say. I really don’t. I turn away from the face and I walk back towards the door. When I look at my reflection, I am surprised to see that my expression is blank and vacant. I smile. My lips move obediently, but my eyes remain dead and unfocused. I am intrigued by this, and I lean closer to the stranger in the door. I realize that I have successfully erased myself, and I am filled with nihilistic euphoria.

My hand pushes the door open and the fluorescent dryness of the store hits me in the face. I take two steps and then something stops me. I try to move sideways, but the thing moves with me. I look up and I am confronted by acne. “I don’t have time for this, Kenneth, honestly,” says the face. “If you aren’t going to clean the bathroom, just go home already.”

“Can’t,” I say. “Still raining. I checked.”

“You’re insufferable,” says the face. “And why is that poor woman still out there in the rain?”

I look over my shoulder.  “Oh, good,” I say. “You see her, too.”

“Look,” the face says, “If you aren’t going to do your job"”

“Of course I’m going to do my job,” I say.  I am already turning away from the face. “I was never not going to do my job.” Colin’s words float aimlessly in the space behind me. Momentum pulls me forward. My shoes squeak against the ground. Emily. Where’s Emily? I think back on my outburst from earlier and heat rises to my cheeks. I have to correct it.

I find her breaking down the cereal aisle. I stand behind her and stare at the back of her head. She knows I’m there, but she still doesn’t speak. “Isn’t this my job?” I ask.

She doesn’t look up. “Oh, do you work here?” she asks. “I never would’ve guessed.”

I place my hand on the back of her neck. “You’re right,” I say. “You’re doing a better job than me.”

Emily jumps to her feet. “What the hell happened to you?” she asks, wiping water off the back of her neck. “You’re all wet.”

“Haven’t I told you?” I ask. “It’s raining outside.”

Her large, blond head turns sideways. “You tracked dirty footprints all down the aisle,” she says. “Colin just cleaned that.”

“I don’t like Colin,” I say. “He’s got terrible acne.”

Emily smacks me over the head. “Leave Colin alone, you hear me?”

 “Ow,” I clutch my forehead.

“I’m serious,” she says. “Can’t you ever be nice?”

I continue to hold my head. “Colin will leave for college eventually,” I say. “He’ll be rid of me soon enough. I have to deal with myself for the rest of my life. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Emily bursts out laughing. Her painted features twist and contort. “I can’t help it, Kenneth,” she says. “You’re such an a*s, but you crack me up.  I’m glad you’re back to your old self, at least. All that talk of time and marriage. You get into the strangest moods sometimes, and I can never tell if you’re serious or not. I guess the rain fixed you.”

 “Washed away my sins,” I say.

She laughs again. “I doubt that’s possible.”

“You’d be surprised,” I say. My hand is still clutching my head. I leave it there because I have nowhere else to put it.

“But anyways,” Emily says, “Did you ever get that kid to leave?”

I shake my head back and forth. My hand moves with it. “Tried to drown him,” I say. “Didn’t work.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Well I have to go check now, don’t I?” She starts off down the hallway. I stand there for a moment, enjoying the stationary numbness of my current position.  I squeeze my eyes shut. If I stand here forever, maybe time will stand still.

“Are you coming?” Emily’s voice comes at me from a distance. My hand lowers itself from my head and I hear the squeaking of my shoes as I follow the voice. It’s not hard to catch up; those high heels slow her down, I think. By the time Emily’s hand reaches for the bathroom door, I am standing right beside her.

We are greeted by the sound of running water and the dark smell of blood.  

The water spills out of the open door and soaks through the soles of my shoes. They were already wet, but I step back anyways. “Oh my God,” Emily reaches past me and switches on the light. There, in the middle of the floor, lies Johnny the vinegar thief, on his back with his arms above his head and red water swimming all around him.  The pocketknife is folded up neatly beside him. I watch from the doorway as Emily totters clumsily towards Johnny. Her six inch heels are reduced to three. Displaced water fans outwards in ripples. I search for my reflection in the water and see nothing. Everything is obscured by red.

“That b*****d,” I say, before I can stop myself.  “He did the exact opposite of what I asked.”

 “Oh my God,” Emily says again. The bathroom lights are stronger than I remember. She really is wearing too much makeup. I want to tell her that the red water is staining her khakis, but I feel like it isn’t the right time. She turns her face towards me. “Don’t just stand there, Kenneth!” says the face. “Call an ambulance!”

I hold up my hands. “Don’t have a phone,” I say. “Remember?”

Emily pushes herself up and stumbles over towards me. She grasps onto my shoulder. I wince. I can smell the bloody, handprint-shaped stain on my jacket. “You have to put pressure on his wrists,” she says.

I glance at the body on the floor. The large gashes are still leaking blood. “Gross,” I say.

“My phone is in my locker,” she says. “I’m going to call an ambulance.” Her hand disappears.

Emily always takes everything literally. “He’ll be fine,” I say. “He wasn’t alone for long. I only left about…” I trail off, thinking. “It was nine o’clock when I left. What time is it now?” Emily doesn’t answer. I turn around. The doorway is empty.

I hike up my pants and wade through the sea of red towards the body. I stand above him and look down at his face. “You goddamn attention-seeking little prick,” I say. “Who do you expect to clean all this up?” I wasn’t gone for ten minutes. Fifteen, at the very most. I squat down beside him. “Christ,” I mutter. “It does smell like piss in here. I guess I really did need to clean the bathroom.” I run out of things to say and all I can hear is the sound of the water.  Johnny has left every single sink running.  I am glad the pills have kicked in by this point. The feeling of the water soaking through my shoes distracts me from Johnny’s face.

“What are you doing, Kenneth?” I look up. I didn’t hear Emily come in, because she’s no longer wearing her heels. She moves much more quickly now. “I told you to put pressure on his wrists!” Her white socks are transformed to red as she splashes through the water.

I stand up. “He’ll be fine,” I say. “I wasn’t gone for very long. Could you check the time?”

“Are you insane?” Emily asks. Her frantic movements seem discordant with her face.

“No,” I say. My socks are wetter than ever. I am glad the pills have kicked in. “I said he’d be fine.”

“Go get Colin,” Emily says.

It smells absolutely terrible in the bathroom, and I am glad for the opportunity to escape. I walk across the store at a brisk pace. My shoes track watery, red footprints across the floor. The front of the store is empty, but the telephone is still unlocked. I hit the speaker button. “Colin Cary,” I say, “Please report to the south end bathroom for clean up.” As I hang up the phone, somebody behind me sneezes. I turn around.

            “Clean up for what?” the woman asks. Her eyes leave my face and move to the bloody handprint on my shirt. She has the umbrella tucked underneath her arm, and the whites of her eyes are tinged with red. Mascara is everywhere. “What happened?” she asks. I try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat like the pill. All I can hear is my own breathing and the sound of the rain on the roof. I wish I knew the time.

“I was only gone for ten minutes,” I say. “Fifteen, at the most.”