Jinx'ing Your Future

by Bo Reid

  "Here's your receipt and your change, fourteen ninety. We had a huge line of pay-it-forwards this morning, and the last car asked if we would save ten dollars for whoever ordered next. That's you." I smile at her.

  "Oh, wow, that’s amazing! Here, honey, you keep the change. Keep half for your tip and use half for the next customer," she says, handing me back the money.

  "Really, you don't have to do that," I tell her.

  "Let's keep this thing going. I love it when people pay it forward, and I don't want to be the one who ends it," she tells me with a smile.

  "We need more people like you in the world," I tell her as Karma passes me her bag.

  "Here's your wrap, and here’s your drink. Have a great day!"

  "You too."

  We should try to see how long we can keep this pay-it-forward line going. Wouldn't that be something? If it just never ended? And it all started with a single person wanting to do something good for a stranger. What people don't seem to realize is a single act can change so much for a lot of people.

  It's a ripple effect. Toss a stone into a pond, and the water ripples out and out and out, until it touches the shoreline. It doesn't have to be the largest or the heaviest stone. Even small stones can make a huge impact.

  Be a small stone; make an impact.

  Tuesday the 10th

  "Thanks, Karma!" I call to my cousin through the open passenger window as she pulls away from the curb.

  What a fucking day, man.

  I ended up staying until closing time again today, helping Karma clean up and close down the shop. I need to open Thursday, and Karma isn't coming in until later, which means I need to figure out how the hell I'm going to get there in time. She took me home Monday, picked me up, and dropped me off today as well. But she has a doctor's appointment early on the other side of town and isn't going to be able to give me a lift.

  She's advised me not to accept any more rides from handsome Harley driving strangers as well, as if I needed to be told.

  I can technically walk, or ride my old bike if I can get it out of my fucking apartment. I can also check the public transportation routes and see if I can take the bus. Obviously Uber is out like a fat kid in dodge ball. I also need to figure out how I'm going to feed myself for the rest of the week, I can only get so much from the coffee shop, and tomorrow I'm not going to be working there at all.

  I sigh and head upstairs to my apartment; maybe I can find a few quarters in my sofa cushions and buy some ramen at the corner store.

  It has been the weirdest week at the coffee shop, and it's only Tuesday; like weird in a good way. The pay-it-forward chain has continued from Monday, and the tips keep getting bigger. Karma clears the tips each day and tallies them up per shift, but we don't get them until Friday’s when we pick up our checks; which is why I'm still broke as fuck.

  To be fair, if I told Karma just how fucked I am right now, she would bend the rules and give me my tips, or she would advance my paycheck a few dollars to get me by, even give me money out of her pocket to help me; all things I do not want. I don't want her to show me any favoritism because I'm family, it's just not right, and that's not how the real world works.

  Dad always said if I were one of the seven deadly sins I would be pride because my inability to accept help will kill me one day; he might be right about that. Pushing my way into my shoebox apartment, I hit the switch by the door and sigh in relief when the lights come on; you just never know. Walking over to the sink I flip on the faucet, it grinds and sputters, and nothing but a few drops come out. I hit it, and still, nothing comes out, and my water is off. Next, I try the stove, the pilot clicks a few times, and a flame appears. At least I have power and propane.

  So a shower is out of the question, but if I can find enough change I can get a package of ramen and a thing of water to cook it in and drink; the corner store has gallon jugs for two seventy-five, and ramen is thirty-seven cents. Does it seem like I have done this before? Cause I have.

  First, I dump my purse out onto the counter; there are a few pennies and even two dimes that fall out of the bottom. Emptying my change pouch, I manage to find two nickles and a few more pennies.

  $0.37

  Well, there's my ramen.

  I move over to the couch and start pulling out the cushions. Jackpot.

  It's like a gold mine under here, as long as you overlook the crumbs of food and the weird scraps of paper trash. Two dollars and fifty cents in quarters, how did I miss this before now? When was the last time I had someone over here, cause this money certainly isn't mine, I'm keeping it though after all its in my house. I need just twenty-five more cents.

  Shit and tax, okay fifty more cents should cover it all.

  Moving to my chair, I pull the cushion up and bam, dimes, pennies, and nickles. Three dimes, four nickels, and six pennies!

  $3.43, bitch, I'm rich — well rich enough to eat dinner and have water to drink tonight, not rich enough to take a shower, but that is beside the point here.

  I shove my change into my pocket and walk over to the door, grab my keys, and head towards the corner store. See life isn't so bad, some people can't scrounge under couch cushions during the hard times because they don't even have a couch.

  The walk to the corner store is short, and it's pretty quiet inside since it’s only a Tuesday evening. It's funny how everything livens up during the weekend, even the corner store. I grab a package of chicken flavored ramen noodles, knowing full well the amount of sodium in one package is enough for like four days. Then I walk over to the back cooler unit and grab a gallon jug of water. Taking my treasures to the front counter and feeling halfway decent about my night — I will be fine.

  There is a small banner behind the front counter-advertising Friday the 13th, I'm surprised more stores on our block don't already have their signs up. I'm not sure what it is about this neighborhood, but everyone seems to love that fucking day. Don't get me wrong, I love a good spooky not-holiday-holiday, but this block goes all out man. Two years ago they even shut down a few side streets to do a Friday the 13th themed block party. It was fun to attend, the only issue I have is well my last name; Jinx. Yeah, it kind of screams Friday the 13th and other spooky non-traditions. When a bunch of drunk people start screaming about your name to the whole block, the party suddenly wasn't so much fun anymore.

  "Four oh two," the clerk says, and my face instantly drops.

  "Uhh sorry, are you sure? It's normally a bit less," I try to tell him.

  "I know, we had to raise the price on the waters," he explains with a shrug, and I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and try not to cry.

  "Is there a smaller one that is less? I just only brought like exact change," I tell him trying to get my voice not to crack as my good mood dissipates.

  "Sorry no, the gallons are the cheapest ones," he explains, and I nod, I knew that.

  More items are set on the counter with my stuff, and I start to apologize and grab my two pitiful items to put them back. Scrapping my change off the counter and into my pocket and keeping my head down, ashamed that I can't even buy food and water. I could buy the water and put the ramen back. Or I think there is a drinking fountain somewhere on the block if I can find a water bottle I can fill it from the fountain and use that.

  Or I'll have to find some more change around the apartment and come back in the morning. I ate a wrap at lunchtime, so it's not like I'm starving.

  "Ring it up together, hers too," a deep male voice says from behind me, vibrating over my sensitive skin and setting it on fire.

  "Here, keep the change," as a leather jacket covered arm extends a twenty-dollar bill over to the clerk.

  He takes it and starts to count out the change and puts it in his tip jar. Then he moves to bag up the items, putting my ramen into the bag with whatever Not-Floyd-Mayweather just bought. Because of course, he’s here right now, why wouldn't the sexy as sin, Harley riding stranger be here to see me not be able to afford a package of ramen and wa
ter.

  "Thanks, have a good one," the clerk says as he hands over the bag and my water, Malcolm takes both; I guess I could use his first name more often, but Not-Floyd-Mayweather has a much better ring to it. He would probably disagree.

  Silently we walk out of the small corner store and turn down the sidewalk towards my apartment, which I'm starting to think he probably also lives in my building. Which begs the question of how have I only started seeing him this week? I have lived here for two years; maybe he's new. And why is he so fucking friendly? Seriously you can live in the same apartment building your whole life and never meet your neighbors, but this guy gives me a ride, and now also buys my awful dinner?

  I'm starting to think he has some angle here; I don't know what the fuck it is.

  "You didn't have to do that," I mumble half under my breath.

  "Wasn’t a problem," he says as we turn down the side street to walk into the back entrance of the building.

  "Here," he stops just inside the building and hands me my gallon of water, then rummages in his bag pulling out my ramen package.

  "Thanks," I tell him taking my items.

  "You know that shit will kill you," he says nodding to my package of ramen.

  "So will not eating," I grumble and instantly regret the words that just left my mouth.

  When I look up, he has one eyebrow raised in question and he is studying me.

  "Okay, well thanks, I'll pay you back," I say and turn down the hallway towards the stairs, trying not to run away like a fucking coward.

  "Hey Jinx," he calls as I reach the bottom step, I pause and turn my head to look over my shoulder at him.

  He casually walks over to me, as if he has all the confidence in the world. If I were him, I would too. I lock eyes with him as he reaches me, even with me standing on the bottom step and him on the floor, I have to tilt my head to meet his gaze. He presses something into my hand, but I don't look down to see what it is.

  "If you ever want a half-decent meal, apartment thirteen, dinner's at six, seven days a week, standing invitation," he says, and I swear his voice dropped an octave or two and just became even deeper. I fight the shiver that wants to race through my body as he drops my hand and walks up to the stairs. I can't move, my feet are rooted in place.

  I look down and see a Hershey's bar in my hand, and I almost lose it right there on the fucking stairs to my apartment building.

  I slump against the railing and wait until I can no longer hear his heavy booted footsteps before taking the stairs to my apartment. I reach the first landing and glance down the hallway, my eyes lock on his door; number thirteen.

  I take a deep breath and race up the final flight of stairs, then sprint down the hallway to my apartment door, as if he is going to appear out of nowhere.

  I slam the door to my apartment shut and lock it, slumping against it and sliding down to the floor.

  My apartment.

  Number twenty-three.

  The one just above his.

  Not-Floyd-Mayweather just got a lot harder to avoid, the kicker though? I don't think I want to avoid him, not even a little. No, I think I want to be as close to him as possible.

  Wednesday the 11th

  Okay, today is the day, I am going to figure all this shit out. I already checked the local job ad listings last night and sent inquiries to people last night, so hopefully, I will have a few jobs to do today. Trust me; I do not have too much pride to walk some old lady's dog, or run errands. I don't know how I'm going to run those errands, but I will figure that out too.

  I grab my phone and scroll through the facebook message replies, and I have four dogs to walk today, at fifty dollars each. That will get me a third of my rent. It won't turn my water back on, but I'll figure that out later. Getting out of bed, I grab my toothbrush, pour a little of the bottled water over it, and brush my teeth; at least I'll be minty fresh. Searching under the sink, I find a package of baby wipes — don't ask; I honestly don't know why I have them — I pull a few out and use them to clean up my pit sweat and underboob sweat from yesterday, then apply deodorant. This isn't a long-term solution, but at least it will help me out a little bit. Nothing like showing up to a job, even if it is walking a dog, smelling like yesterday's B.O.

  I tried to pull my bike into the main room last night, but my tires are completely flat, and without help, I don't know how I would get it down to the front doors of the building. And no, I am not asking Mr. Thirteen for help, last night was a minor set back in the whole avoid Not-Floyd-Mayweather thing; it won't happen again, and I'm not going to seek him out.

  So I will be walking to get these dogs, at least it will be an excellent day to get some exercise in, the weather report says sunny and sixty-five.

  I pull on a pair of running shorts, a tank top, and my sneakers then head out the door. Typing in the first address into my walking GPS, it will take ten minutes to get there at a leisurely pace. I haven't jogged in forever, and today probably isn't the day to start that, but it's not a bad thought to start. Maybe I could even keep this as a little side job; if they don't need to be walked at the same time every day I could walk them before or after I work my other responsibilities. It's a good side gig, and keeps a little cash flow in my pocket; maybe I could finally get ahead for once.

  Turning down the sidewalk, I have a little pep in my step, maybe it’s the thought of being able to afford my ramen today that changes things for a girl.

  I get to the first place in just under eight minutes, not a bad pace at all, collecting a large Boxer.

  "Just around the block a few times till he poops deary," the little old lady tells me as she hands over the leash and a set of poop baggies.

  "Yes, ma'am," I tell her with a tight smile. It's okay though; I can collect poop for fifty dollars, it’s not the worst thing I have ever done.

  I set off around the block with my new friend Reggy the Boxer, he smells everything and manages to pee on every square inch of the neighborhood.

  "Come on Reggy, would you just poop," I plead with him and by the third pass around the block he finally decides that's enough and does his business.

  We walk back to his house, and his owner is all too happy that it only took him three laps, which makes me wonder how many laps it typically takes poor Reggy.

  She hands me my payment, a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and I shove it in my pocket. She offers for me to come back tomorrow after work and I gratefully accept the offer. I head down the front steps of her townhouse and punch in the address to the next location, it's just three blocks away, so I head off in that direction.

  When I collect my newest furry friend, she is an English Springer named Molly, and she is very excited. She bounces, or springs, all the way down the front steps. She can hardly walk in a straight line because she is jumping more than she is walking, but damn if she isn't cute. We walk four laps around the block until she is no longer bouncing, then we make our way back to her house. Her owner passes over my money and says I'm welcome to walk her anytime; she doesn't have a schedule to keep so we can text to work around my hours. Things seem to be looking up for me finally.

  The next house is a tiny little Yorkie named Butch, and if that isn't the best name for a small dog, I don't know what is. He is an older little dude and doesn't walk nearly as fast as the other two on account of his tiny short legs, but he sure is cute. We only make it about halfway around the block before he gives up and I have to carry him home. Not too bad since he is only like ten pounds, but I hope his owner isn't upset that he didn't walk the whole way.

  "Sorry, he just wouldn't walk anymore," I tell Mr. Jackson as I pass him the small dog.

  "Oh that's fine child, he is a stubborn asshole, and when he doesn't want to walk anymore he'll just sit there," the old man huffs as he sets the dog down inside. Butch then walks off down the hallway.

  "That's why I can't walk him anymore, I just can't carry him back home without hurting myself," he sighs.

  "Well I am happy to walk
him, or carry him whenever you need," I offer and the old man smiles.

  "That would be wonderful child; I am home most every day, except Tuesdays, I go to the market at ten, you can pick him up whenever works with your schedule," he tells me as he passes me my payment for the day.

  "That works for me, see you tomorrow, Mr. Jackson," I call over my shoulder as I make my way down his front stupe.

  Pulling out my phone, I type in the last address just as my stomach starts to growl. I place my hand over my belly and try to ignore the hunger pangs telling me it’s past lunchtime.

  "We will get a nice dollar menu cheeseburger after this last dog," I say out loud as I turn down the road and head to the final dog.

  This dog is a little farther out of the way, and it takes a full thirty minutes to walk to the home, it wouldn't be an issue if I had my car, but that is an issue for another day. I'm not going to let it bring down my good mood of having more cash in my pocket right now than I have had in over a month.

  I ring the doorbell to the posh brownstone townhouse and wait for them to come to the door. When it opens, there is the most adorable little girl on the other side.

  "Hi there, is your Mommy or Daddy home? I'm here to take your dog for a walk," I tell her.

  "Yeah, hang on please," she tells me and closes the door.

  There are footsteps on the other side, and hushed voices scolding her for opening the door to a stranger. I get that, it’s probably scary for a parent to have their kid open the door all willy-nilly like. You never know who could be on the other side.

  When the door flies open again, I plaster a smile to my face as I take in the frazzled looking mother.

  "Hi, Serendipity, right?" she asks.

  "Yes, ma'am, I'm here to walk Koda," I tell her.

  "Yes, of course, thank you so much. Koda!" she yells for the dog, and I here claws scraping against hardwood floors as the dog comes barreling to the front door.

  "She can be a bit of a handful, just so you know," she informs me as a giant all-white husky, with bright blue eyes appears by her side.