Free Suckers by Z. Rider Page B

said. “Did I get you?”
    “No. I’m just…I’m gonna go,” Dan said.
    “Let me get you another coffee. A doughnut too, if you want it. On the house, because I am so sorry about this.”
    “No, it’s okay. I’m just gonna…” He took another step back, his thumb pointing behind him, to the doors.
    “Grab a fresh pack of ground off the shelf at least. You paid for it. Grab two. Please. I feel wicked bad about this.”
    “It wasn’t your fault.”
    “Oh!” Her eyebrows popped up. “I got it! You went to Central, didn’t you?”
    Road noise got loud behind him as someone opened the front door. More people, just what he needed. His heart slammed in his chest. He turned and lurched through the vestibule, swinging a wide berth around the truck driver coming in.
    He dug in his pocket for his keys. When he got in the car, he dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.
    He wanted those sleeping pills a whole lot more than he had twenty minutes ago. If it weren’t for those, he’d drive right back up the two blocks to his apartment building and lock himself in. But he didn’t want to do that and sit there, wide-awake.
    Just give me the chance to knock myself out again for a while.
    A rap on his window brought his head up, fast.
    The girl from the shop had two bags of coffee. As he rolled his window down, she fed them through, her apron soaked with the coffee he’d spilled.
    “Thanks.” He held them by the bottoms, careful not to make contact with her.
    “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m okay. And yeah, I went to Central.”
    “Class of 2003?”
    “’02.”
    “Ah. I was a year behind you. I knew you looked familiar. You hung out with Ray Ford, didn’t you?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I had a wicked crush on him. Not that I ever got up the courage to say more than two words to his face. Do you ever hear from him?”
    “Yeah,” he said, detached from himself. Trapped by the need to be polite to someone who’d cleaned up after him. “We still hang out.”
    “Gosh. I’d ask you to say hi, but there’s no way he’d remember who I was.”
    “Hey, you never know.”
    She started to open her mouth. “No, no, never mind. I’ve gotta get back in before George has a shit fit. Take care of yourself, okay?”
    “You too.”
    As she hurried to the front doors, he put the car in drive. Wal-Mart was the closest everything-store he could think of. He hoped he didn’t run into any more old classmates.
    The place was more crowded than Dunkin’ Donuts. Older folks mostly, pushing carts up the aisles. He skipped the socks, which were in the middle of the store, and headed straight to the pharmacy section, right past the registers. Cold and flu, allergy, motion sickness. NoDoz. Where were the fucking— a-ha . He grabbed three packs off the shelf and headed for the checkout. The nicest thing about Wal-Mart was its self-checkout. No human contact. He scanned his ZzzQuil, dropped it in the plastic bag, pressed the pay button.
    A cart with a sticking wheel bumped toward him.
    He slid his card through the reader.
    The old man with the cart started unloading stuff onto the shelf at the side of the checkout.
    Dan tapped his foot, waiting for the card to process. Waiting for the go-ahead to grab his shopping bag and get the fuck out of there.
    The man dipped into the cart, struggled to heave up a case of canned dog food.
    The receipt finally printed. Dan yanked the bag off the carousel.
    And as the man turned with the case of dog food, he bumped Dan in the arm.
    Dan barely heard the “Excuse me” over the roar of bees. Like a jet taking off in his head.
    He jerked aside, his arm up, saying, “God fucking damn it.”
    The old man stepped back, blinking. “I said excuse me.”
    “Sorry. I’m sorry. Just…it’s a bad day.” He sidestepped past the cashier stand and fast-walked it out of the store with his head down, the bees staying with him, crawling all over each other at the top of