Vasishta

“My stalker came by the store again.” “Miguel, we can’t have you nervous on the job. It’s bad for productivity. Why don’t you sort the damaged goods in the back. We have to keep the numbers up,” Kenny said, smiling. His eyes squinted just enough that they hid from Miguel. Kenny’s perfect white teeth glistened in the fluorescent Publix light. Miguel hated him. Miguel nodded. He walked past the registers defending corporate interests, the ads showing how much you can save by buying BOGO frozen slop, and dyed meat. Customers looked away as Miguel passed as if he was soliciting for money. Miguel was wading through a field of corpses, decaying, unmoving, and unfeeling. Double doors into the back hallway protected all the workers from the customers' eyes. The pallets lorded over him. Each side of the aisle bearing down on him. Heinz, Kraft, and General Mills all laughed while he dug through the perfectly good food that was deemed damaged. A slight dent in packaging or a mislabel, it was all the same to the company. If not perfect then worthless. Co-workers passed him, unblinking. The loading dock was empty. He put a carton of eggs on the throwaway pile, only one egg was cracked. Thomas, a grocery clerk, stopped and let out a sigh. His greasy blonde hair stuck to the sides of his face. “That guy left by the way. But man, he keeps coming back. He’s like obsessed or something.” Miguel put his hands in his apron, and fidgeted with a boxcutter, “Yeah, it’s kinda weird.” Miguel looked up and down the hall for managers. “I was just doing my job. I can’t refund things from other stores. It pisses me off that he’s mad at me. It’s the store’s policy, not mine. Aren’t the managers supposed to take responsibility?” He looked down at his peeling rubber work shoes, “What else was I supposed to do?” Miguel took a deep breath and threw a one-day-past-expiration can of beans into the pile with a thunk. Thomas inhaled like he was going to speak, but he just shrugged. They both acknowledge that nothing more could be said without being deemed unproductive, so they went back to work. Miguel picked up an empty crate and pushed through the wide double doors to the loading dock. It was the easiest way to look busy and get outside. The raised concrete slab had stalagmites of plastic crates waiting to be used. The Florida sun peeled off the mechanical cold of Publix. He set down his crate pretending to be busy, and he looked out to the forest behind the store. An endless tangle of deep south growth, part swamp, part oak. The forest was always trying to take back its territory from the pavement, but was blocked by the fence. The forest could never reach past the links. The forest would always die on the pavement like a worm writhing in the sun. A few twigs snapped; someone was walking into the forest behind the store. Miguel looked around, shifted his hands in his apron pocket, and grabbed the box cutter. The chain link fence was his only protection, the only barrier between him and whoever was out in the forest. He turned around, walked back up to the double doors, and poked his head into the back runway of the store. No one was around. Miguel quickly scuttled back outside, up to the chain link fence, and searched the fingers of vines and branch. There he was, a black beanie, black zip-up, and a gaunt ghoulish face. The stalker. Miguel could suddenly feel his tongue press against the roof of his mouth, and the summer sun on his neck. His hands gripped the fence. The man was looking for something, scanning the ground back and forth. Miguel wanted to yell at him. “Hey Miguel,” someone shouted from the dock. Miguel jumped and looked over his shoulder. It was Thomas. Miguel turned back to the woods and his stalker was gone. Even though it was the middle of the day, the canopy protected the ground from sunlight. Nothing but a dark green void. He wiped his forehead. “They called you on the intercom. The lunch rush just started, you’re on register 9,” Thomas continued. “Always the express lane.” Scan, click, tap, have a good day were repeated over and over. An inhumane cycle of disingenuous joy. Miguel focused on his first encounter with the stalker in between sliding food down to the bagger. Cans of soup were BOGO just like that Thursday a few weeks ago when the stalker walked into the store for the first time. It was a couple hours before closing. The store was empty besides stoned teenagers buying Oreo’s and night shift workers getting breakfast. Miguel defended the front desk and lotto machine. He paced up and down beneath Publix’ proud motto, Where Shopping is a Pleasure, trying to get warm despite AC. Someone knocked on the automatic doors. Miguel walked across the ocean of white terrazzo flooring and turned the doors back on. Jamie didn’t turn them back on after he vacuumed the carpet. A tall skinny man with a black beanie, and black zip up towered over Miguel before thanking him. The man walked straight to the pharmacy. The heavy stench of cigarettes lingered after the man left the front. Miguel doodled a self portrait with an imaginary family on the Publix branded paper with the Publix branded pen. The man in the black beanie approached the counter. “I need to return this,” he said. His eyes frantically looked down at the batteries on the counter, up to Miguel, and back down again. He was shaking. “Do you have a receipt?” Miguel said. “No.” “Well then I can’t give you a refund for it.” Beanie man smacked his hand on the lotto counter and pointed behind Miguel, “The Publix Guarantee, you have to give me a refund!” Beanie man said. He was breathing heavily through his nose. “Sir, the Publix-” “Sir, the Publix nothing! Why won’t you do this for me? What did I ever do to you?” he said, leaning closer and closer. His damp breath coated Miguel’s face. Miguel took a step back. He didn’t know what to do. No one had ever fought this hard for eight dollars worth of batteries. Miguel stood his ground, “Sorry sir, you can’t return this.” Beanie man looked down at Miguel’s name tag, “Miguel huh, I bet there aren't that many Miguels as white as you here in Tallahassee. I’ll find you.” He paused, licking his chapped lips, “And I’ll kill you.” Miguel pressed his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth figuring out what to say to not get fired. “No, need for that sir. It’s just our policy-” “I know your policy!” he said, pacing in front of the counter. “You hate me, that’s why you won’t give me a refund. It’s only eight dollars. Publix can afford it.” “Sir, there is no reason to get upset. I can get my-” “I don’t want your manager, but I’ll be back for you, you’ll see.” Miguel took a step back and looked into this man’s eyes. Black with no distinction between pupil and iris, and everything else that was supposed to be white was a sickly yellow. Kenny walked out of his office, and Beanie man rushed out the door like he was being chased. Kenny took a slight pause, analyzing the scene. “Did you just lose us a customer?” Miguel scrunched his brow, “I guess, but-” “Let's talk in my office. I’ll get Jamie to cover you.” The office was filled with pictures of Kenny with various Publix reps and his awards for working with the company for his entire adult life. All of the pictures stared at Miguel. Each eye judging him for not performing as well as he could have, for not putting the customer above himself. Miguel sat on the tiny office chair in front of the cramped desk filled with knick knacks. “So, why did you lose this customer? You know our policies Miguel. That's why I put you up front.” “Well, he threatened to find and kill me.” “Well what did you do to provoke him?” Kenny said, swiveling in his chair to look at the cameras. “Nothing, he wanted to refund batteries that he obviously got from a different store.” Kenny let out a big sigh, “Let me explain something to you, the customer is always right. Here at Publix it doesn’t matter what the customer wants me to get. I’ll get it. Got it? It’s how the world works. You do what they say, you get paid. You don’t, and well.” He looked back at Miguel, “You’re removed from the front desk. You’re a cashier now, your pay will adjust for the change.” Miguel looked down, “Yes sir.” “I expected more from you. If he comes in the store again I’ll move you to the back, so you don’t get distracted. Maybe if you keep your SPM up on the register I might give you a ten cent raise next year,” Kenny said. He laid back in his chair, hands behind his head. Miguel sat there for a moment. Not moving, not blinking, the cold AC scraped down his neck like a rake of ice. Kenny pointed to the slogan on the wall, Where Shopping is a Pleasure. “Now that this is over with, can you cover tomorrow morning? Caleb called out.” “Sure.” “Perfect, see you tomorrow!” Miguel walked out of the office. He crumpled up his doodle and threw it in the trash. Miguel parked his 2007 Toyota Camry. Someone was holding a party in Miguel’s complex. The bass reverberated through his bones, as he opened the door to his apartment. The cramped apartment had beer cans and boxes guarding the tables and dirty dishes fortifying the sink. He walked upstairs to his room. It was dirty. A pile of clothes on either side of the bed, one clean, one dirty. The piles battled to see who was taller. His desk was cluttered with textbooks and papers. He threw his work clothes on the dirty pile, it was winning. He took a scorching shower. The water burned his skin so much it felt good. It numbed his skin and wrapped him in a suit of warmth. When he got out he wiped the steam from the mirror. His full mustache dripped with water. He rubbed his light brown skin. Miguel thought about where the stalker was. In the woods. Alone. Free. He will visit him. The drive back to Publix was quick. The traffic had subsided, and the Sun’s fingers clawed against the sky. Miguel parked his car, grabbed the boxcutter in his apron, and basked in the lights of the parking lot like a lizard trapped in a cage. It was hot. Miguel avoided the bright Publix entrance and walked around back. It was empty. He stood in front of the fence for a moment and placed his hands on the cool metal before jumping over. It was dark. The oaks and vines and brush blocked all light from the plaza. He took out his phone, turned on the flashlight, and went in. The humidity made him swim in the forest. Sweat spilled into his eyes and mouth while twigs snapped and snagged on his clothes. His phone, only able to get what is in front of him. Everything was the same. Green vine, brown branch, it grasped at his vision concealing everything behind it. Shuffles and slithers of something whispered to him as he walked. His foot hit something with a thud. Miguel looked down at a suitcase. It was faded red. He bent down to open it. It had socks, underwear, and drawings. The doodles were stick figures of someone at home with their family. One person had a name, David. Miguel heard a crunch and spun his phone around, nothing. Crunch, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from in the forest. Crunch, it must be him. Miguel spun himself dizzy before he could see a lanky man standing across the flashlight. Black hoodie, black beanie, gaunt in the face like a zombie. It was him. The man broke into a sprint and slammed into Miguel and they fell. Miguel’s breath left his lungs as if he was drowning. He flailed and tried to push the man off of him but he couldn’t. The man's long fingers dug into Miguel’s face. Scraping skin from cheek, he bled. “David stop!” Miguel yelled. David stopped for a moment allowing Miguel to get up and run. Without his phone Miguel stumbled over every rock, stick, and bush. He put his hand to his face and it was wet with blood. Miguel jumped the fence and fell wrist first into the pavement. His wrist snapped and he screamed. David was close behind him. Miguel got up and kept running. He turned into the Publix with David trailing behind him. He could feel David ’s breath. Miguel crashed through the automatic doors before they could open and slipped. David jumped on top of him and started to claw at his eyes. “I’ll kill you like I said I would.” The closing employees and spare customers stopped and stared. Some even looked away or hid in an aisle, but no one helped. Miguel fumbled for his box cutter in his pocket, flicked it on, and David dug his thumb into Miguel’s right eye. Miguel pulled the box cutter out and stabbed David in the throat over and over like a machine. Blood showered over Miguel before David ’s body fell on him. Miguel stood. “You killed him,” a lady said. Miguel dropped the box cutter and ran out the door like someone was chasing him. He went around the back and jumped the fence. The forest ate Miguel.