Her

 [Her]

 

She was young, lost, doped up, and too far gone. At least that’s what everyone said. I had paid little attention to her when she first set foot in my store. She was not particularly attractive, hair, red in color and greasy in texture, eyes, dark circled, saggy, bloodshot, and an incessant fake smile with the propensity to shatter her entire face. Skin, pale and blotchy, littered with tiny brown freckles, was that of one who had been significantly drained by some source of physical illness. Body small and belly big, her clothes never fit the right way, too loose or too tight. Her personality was one marked by that of mania and instability, endlessly sputtering about some situation of struggle that I myself could not empathize with. She was needless to say an annoyance to my every day routine and I could not stand her.

            She began about a month ago, well working for my store I mean. Her punctuality was next to null and it seemed as though each one of her shifts was characterized by some great drama, that inevitably, but predictably ended with her red face scrunching, squeezing out a storm of tears, and running outside. It was quite the ordeal to share a shift with her she would carry her mania with her wherever she went and inject it into the work place. Personally, I stuck with the established notion of management she was bad news, a poor worker, and not the right fit. Her days were numbered.

            Approximately, three weeks into her stay with us, I began to hear rumors. Rumors that I had held empty, until the evidence was too much to ignore. She, with some of my other coworkers, buddies would be a far-reaching term began to have a little party on Saturday nights in the back of the store. The festivities were usually characterized by cocaine, liquor, and loud laughs. Against the law and against policy, but still a good time. I couldn’t care less about her antics. I wasn’t there when they went on and I’m not the type of fellow to “rat” on anyone. My thought process was, eventually they’d be caught and the people that actually did some work around here would receive some vindication.

            Weeks went on, until they accumulated into months by that point she was becoming a real thorn in my side. The drama had risen to a point of unprecedented levels, the tears were raining harder than ever, and the irritating tales of her lifeless escapades became progressively more convoluted. She had to go, but I still couldn’t bring myself to say anything. She had never said a nasty word to me.

            One day the tears flooded the store, while the crying polluted the air. Her stepfather had died. She was destroyed. I couldn’t help but ignore the whole thing. There was nothing I could do and work that had to be done. It wasn’t me, I thought and I couldn’t empathize. I barely knew her. I had not exchanged more than just a few short callus words with her. I viewed her as a f**k up, someone who was lazy, someone that deserved no sympathy, and someone that didn’t need to catch a break because they had used up too many. I believed she had chosen all this of her own accord and that’s just the way it was.

            Sunday morning. I dragged my feet into work. Good Christ six in the morning, what an ungodly hour for a human to be awake, but I was. Groggy and lethargic, I jerked open the heavy glass door and stepped inside, only to be greeted by a fury of fluorescent beams of light that reassured me that I was indeed here to stay. I moseyed my way behind the counter to check the schedule to see who I was working with. Looking at the schedule, I noticed she was working. “Ahhhh, f****n A.” I said, turning to my coworker as she agreed with a half assed grin. My rant began, downing the poor girl here and there. Saying how lazy she was, what a problem she would be, and all the rest. Not thinking for even a split second what she would say if she stood right in front me. 10:00am a call came through. It was her. The call was short and to the point. She had quit. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

            A few weeks went right on by the store was quiet, the crying had stopped, the drama was over and all was well. Tranquility had been restored. I rested on the counter attending to my daily duties, checking cigarette stocks, rereading the cleaning list, when I heard a bell. My head titled up to see who it was, it was her. She walked in swiftly, with a look of distress. She went straight to the ATM. As each button was punched an associated beep could be heard with each blow. Until the concluding sound of three rings rang out to signal that the user could collect their money and be on their way. She took what she needed and strode off.

            It was a Monday. I strolled in for my 1:30 afternoon shift. The store was suspiciously quiet. I fired off some jokes, but no one laughed.  Consumed by complete confusion, I fired a question. “Holly, what’s up? Why is everyone so dead today?” Uncharacteristically with a solemn look on her face, she explained to me what had happened. The girl, that I had so much despised, was now gone. Gone forever. No more drama, no more stories, no more tears, and no more her.

            Turns out her family was a bunch of heroin addicts. Her mother got her hooked young and even administered the poison into her own daughter’s veins. I was horrified. I had, had no idea. My buddy Brenden, fidgeting with his phone, looking down said, “I heard she was trying to get clean too, but she couldn’t get away from that damn mom. F****n shame man, f****n shame.” My hate was unwarranted, my assumptions untrue. I was ashamed. She was young and she died, but what chance did she have? Her mother had her hooked. That day I realized how naïve I was, how ignorant I had been. I had never lived a life such as hers and I had no way of knowing that all the “antics”, all the “drama”, and all the “bullshit” were real, maybe I couldn’t imagine that something like this could be real or happen near me, under my watch. You hear about s**t like this on the news, but you never feel it in your own life.  I am shaken, ashamed, and confused. My feelings resemble grief, but how can I grieve for someone I did not know.