“It’s okay, Violet. Breathe.”
At last, she inhales, and I kneel beside her wheelchair, watching as the color slowly returns to her face.
“Remember what Michelle said. Take in slow breaths. Slow. Like this.” I imitate for her.
“Stop talkin’!” He points the gun at us. “Hurry up!”
Violet’s entire body is trembling as I help her slide out of the wheelchair. Once we’re situated on the cold, scratchy laminate, I wrap my arm around her so we can huddle as close together as possible, hoping my cast doesn’t feel too heavy on her thin and frail frame, resisting the urge to cry out in pain as my shoulder throbs from the movement. My eyes focus on the gun and a lump forms in my throat. The last time I thought of dying it was at my own hand. Now, with my life in the hands of someone else, I can’t help but think how foolish I was. I wanted the right to take my own life. Now I want the right to live.
The man turns the gun on the cashier. “Old man. Get up. I want all the money!”
The cashier stands as slowly as he speaks. “We don’t really got no money.”
“What?” The rifle jiggles in the man’s trembling hands. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” the cashier starts with his hands raised. “Everybody usin’ that chip thing. State made us switch over last month. We don’t got much cash, but you’re welcome to what we do got.”
“Give it to me, then!”
The cashier lowers his hands to open the register. Removes a small stack of bills and some change. “Here’s the lot of it.”
The man keeps the gun pointed outward as he shuffles to the counter and takes the money with his free hand. He counts it. “This is forty-one dollars!”
“And some cents, too.” The cashier nods. “Don’t forget the cents.”
“There’s a safe! I know you got a safe where you keep all the money.” He stuffs the small amount of cash into his coat pocket.
“No, sir. No safe. Like I said...everybody usin’ those chip cards. No cash to keep.”
“I want wallets and purses! Take them out!”
I watch Dad extract his wallet out of his back pocket and toss it forward. Drew does the same. Alfred tosses his wallet forward as well, though I don’t know why, since I’m sure there’s no money in it. Michelle pushes her purse forward.
He turns the gun back on Violet and me. “Gimme the camera. Now!”
I pull the strap from around my neck. My Canon is a three-thousand-dollar piece of equipment, though Mom and Dad got it for half-off on Black Friday. Still, it’s not to be slid across dirty laminate tile. If it’s going to be on the Urlington black market Craigslist, it shouldn’t have scratches on it. I gently place the camera in front of me, lens facing up.
“What’s that on her back!” the man asks.
“Oxygen,” Dad calls out. “She’s my daughter. She needs it to breathe.”
The man eyes the pack on Violet’s back. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s nothing but oxygen,” I repeat.
“I said I don’t like it. Take it off!” he orders.
Dad shoots daggers at me, his eyes saying the words his mouth can’t speak. Be quiet, Indigo. Do what he says, so nobody gets hurt!
Surprisingly, Violet is calm as she sits up and begins to remove the canvas backpack that holds her oxygen. Though I can’t say the same for Michelle. She’s a mess, tears streaming down her face, sobbing uncontrollably. It’s so loud and obnoxious that even the gunman is exasperated.
“I can’t even think, you’re so damn loud,” he says to her. “Shut up!”
“I’m sorry. I apologize.” Michelle cries frenetically. And it’s that pathetic, sniveling, snot-faced cry. I feel like screaming at her to get a spine the way she screamed at Drew. She always acts so dang tough. Now it’s time to be tough. Or at least pretend. And what’s she doing? Whimpering like she’s the one with the damn kidney stones. Which reminds me. Where is Pastor Jed?
“Voice?” I whisper.
“Yup. Here.”
“We’re being robbed!”
“I know. Ca-razy.”
“Help us!”
“I told you, I don’t do stuff like interfere. It’s not really my style, yo.”
“You could’ve at least told us not to come here!”
The man points his gun toward me. “Who the hell are you talking to?”
“She’s talking to God.” Jedidiah has appeared, scooting down the aisle toward the gunman, still bent over. “You know, the One Infinite Creator of the Universe?”
Now the gun is turned toward Jedidiah. “Stop right there!”
Only Jedidiah doesn’t stop. He takes another step forward. “I’m unarmed and unable to even stand due to hard deposits of minerals and acid salts sticking together in my concentrated urine.”
“What?” the man yells.
“I am no harm to you. I only ask that you put the gun down and stop scaring these good people.”
“I’ll shoot you first, if you don’t get down.”
“See, that’s where we have a problem,” Jedidiah explains. “I can’t get down on the floor. In too much pain. Kidney stones. Can you believe it? Of all the distorted fields of energy to walk into.”
“I don’t care if you got rabies. Get down!”
“Suppose I had one hundred sheep and lost one of them?” Jedidiah asks.
“Wh-what?” the man stutters, seemingly thrown off by Jedidiah’s lack of compliance.
“Doesn’t seem like it would make a whole lot of sense to leave the ninety-nine and go after one sheep. Who cares, right? One sheep is...no big deal.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you don’t shut your mouth I’ll shut it for you.”
“Wanna know what I would do?” Jedidiah appears completely unfazed by this entire ordeal, continuing to move toward the gunman peacefully. “I’d go after that one sheep. That one sheep means as much to me as the whole ninety-nine. Perhaps even more.”
Everyone watches with trepidation as Jedidiah takes a final step. The rifle is now resting on top of his head. I close my eyes and imagine Jedidiah’s head exploding like the soldiers in Drew’s newest WWII game.
“I don’t want to kill you,” the man articulates. “But I will.”
“I don’t believe in death,” Jedidiah explains. “I’ll simply travel into a new dimension. Take a new form. But know this. I will spend the rest of your life guiding you to make better choices. Whether in this dimension or another. Whether by your side in physical or spiritual form. I pledge to be with you. I’m on your side either way, my friend.”
“I will kill you, man. I swear to God, I will.”
“Even then you can’t get rid of me.” Jedidiah’s speaking so softly, but it’s deathly quiet in the store, so we all can hear. “You’re my one sheep. You matter more to me than the whole lot. I promise you do.”
And then something stranger than a voice piercing through the dead of night, to speak to me on top of an under-construction building, occurs. The man lowers his gun and begins to cry.
Everyone is startled for a moment, but Dad quickly seizes the opportunity, rushes forward and carefully extracts the weapon from the man’s hands just as the crying turns to Michelle-style uncontrollable sobs.
“Get rid of it, Isaiah!” Mom cries out.
Dad studies the weapon. “It’s...”
“A paintball gun!” the man wails. “It’s not even real.”
“I’ll be,” Dad declares. “It is a paintball gun.”
Mom breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”
I grab my Canon from off the floor and hold it tight. Violet secures her pack tightly on her back.
“He oughta still be locked up!” Pink Roller Lady screeches, still lying facedown.
Drew rushes to Brandon and Nam, who a
re sniffing and wiping tears, but they still held up better than Michelle, who has yet to recover. Still frozen in her spot on the floor, wailing like somebody died from a rapid-fire paintball to the forehead.
“I’m so sorry.” The man hands the forty-one dollars and cents back to the cashier.
“No need for apologies.” The cashier takes it and sets it on the counter, slowly counts it.
Pastor Jedidiah calls out to me. “Indigo?”
“Uh, yes, Pastor?”
“Be a dear and reach into my pocket. Grab me my wallet.”
I sling the camera strap around my shoulder so it dangles safely at my side, rush to Jedidiah and extract a brown leather wallet from his back pocket.
“Open it.”
I do.
“Give our friend here all the cash that’s inside.”
“Seriously?” I say.
“Seriously?” Pink Roller Lady calls out.
“Seriously,” Jedidiah replies.
I take the cash, which could easily be a few hundred bucks, and hand it to the man. Up close he doesn’t look like a man. He looks...like a kid. Maybe because I was looking at him through the lens of my camera, I didn’t really notice at first.
He wipes his nose, still blubbering like a fool. “No way. I can’t take this.”
“How old are you?” Dad asks.
“Fourteen years old, sir.” The boy sniffs.
“Fourteen.” Mom repeats it in shock. “Where on Earth are your parents?”
“He can still be tried as an adult at that age!” Pink Roller Lady hollers.
Drew swoops up Brandon, who wraps his legs around his dad’s waist and lays his head on his shoulder.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Willy.” He sniffs. “The kids at school call me Willy Wonka. They make fun of me ’cuz of the way I dress and ’cuz I...smell.”
“I don’t smell you.” Alfred stands, brushes off his jersey.
“I sweat a lot.” Willy wipes his snotty nose. “Even when it’s cold outside. Nothing I do works. I wanted money so I could move away from here. Just wanna go somewhere far away where nobody can smell me. Maybe I’ll be better then.”
“Where are your parents?” Dad asks.
“Don’t got a mom. Jefferson May’s my dad.”
“Jefferson May? That good-for-nothing!” Pink Roller Lady yelps. “No wonder you turned out so bad.”
“Lady, you’re not helping the situation,” Michelle says, finally dialing down her blubbering and picking herself up off the floor.
“Are you planted in a church, William?” Jedidiah asks.
The boy shakes his head. “No, sir.”
“How would you feel...?” Jedidiah pauses to moan in agony.
“You okay, Pastor?” Dad steps forward.
“Right as rain.” Jedidiah grunts. “William, how...would you feel about a long bus ride on Sundays? We could send the bus down to Urlington. Maybe your dad could join us, too?”
“You’ll find him at the local tavern on Twelfth and Main.” Pink Roller Lady slides a Christmas reindeer tote bag over her shoulder. “Where he practically lives. The bum.”
The boy wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “He never been to church before neither.”
Jedidiah claps his hands together. “Aren’t you both in for a treat! I want to make sure you’re making better choices in life. Getting planted in a church is a good start. Why not the New Faith International Church of Love and Light, Seattle?”
“Is he gonna get arrested, Mom?” Brandon asks.
“Oh, police ain’t comin’,” the cashier says calmly. “Urlington police is clear on the other side a town. Teamsters is on strike at the Omni plant. It’s a mess over there. No point in even callin’ ’em.”
“Well, there you go,” Jedidiah says. “The Universe always provides.”
Willy turns to Dad. “Can I have my paintball gun back? It’s my pop’s. He’ll be mad at me if something happens to it.”
“No.” Dad grips the paintball gun tightly with both hands. “Doesn’t sound like you or your dad need any kind of gun.”
“Yeah.” The boy nods. “You’re probably right, sir.”
“My good friend Michelle.” Pastor points to Michelle. “She’s a nurse practitioner. She can examine you when you’re in Seattle next and we get to the bottom of this smelly and sweaty situation. Right, Michelle?”
“Absolutely, Pastor.” Michelle gives Willy a sympathetic head tilt. “Sounds like maybe you have hyperhidrosis, Willy. We see patients with that condition all the time.”
“It has a name?” Willy replies in awe.
“Everything has a name,” Michelle replies.
As Willy and Pastor exchange numbers, I turn to Violet.
“You okay, sis?”
She nods. “I knew he was sad, Indigo. I knew it.”
Of course she knew. I judged him. Thought because of his greasy hair and shifty eyes he was here to wreak havoc. But Violet saw straight through to the heart. It’s what she always does. God, I should be the one in that chair with the failing lungs. Maybe I shouldn’t have been climbing that building. But I’d give anything to trade places with her.
“Indigo, stop. I swear to me, you are driving me nuts with the self-loathing.”
“You’re driving me nuts, too!” I whisper. “So there!”
I help Violet stand. It’s not self-loathing. It’s practical thinking. If Violet lives, the world will be a better place because of it. But what am I destined to be? Like the world needs another heartless photojournalist. Taking pictures, a safe distance away from the dregs of society. Writing stories as if I care about anything more than the accolades that come with it. The Twitter followers, the Facebook likes. Violet would be the type of photojournalist who takes photos of what she sees, and reaches out to touch it as well. To her, every little thing in the world is beautiful. Even Willy May—the paintball gun bandit.
As Willy waves goodbye, I notice he has a golden glob of Trader Joe’s olive oil sliding down his forehead. “Sorry again about the scare, folks.” He looks over at Violet. “I’m real...sorry.”
And with that, Willy leaves the store.
Pink Roller Lady takes her basket to the counter. The cashier rings her items up as if nothing happened.
“You have a nice day, ma’am.” The cashier places her items in a bag and hands her a receipt.
“Well, now that the juvenile delinquent is gone, I probably will!” She pushes through the doors.
Michelle turns to Dad. “This is nuts. We just got held up at gunpoint!”
“At paintball gunpoint.” Alfred flips his cap backward.
“It doesn’t matter if it was a water gun,” Michelle goes on. “This is insane. Pastor is sick. This trip is a bust. Let’s call it what it is and go home. I don’t wanna play this game anymore. Nobody should have to play this game anymore.”
“It’s not a game,” I reply defensively.
“Indigo, please,” Michelle says. “Nobody actually believes this is real.”
“Speak for yourself,” Dad interrupts.
“I don’t want to go home,” Violet pleads. I help her back into her wheelchair.
“But, Violet, be sensible?” Michelle begs. “So far we’ve run into Troy and his new girlfriend. Indigo damaged his property with a damn fork, which Mom and Dad could potentially have to pay thousands of dollars for. Pastor has kidney stones and we got robbed!”
“Almost robbed. With a fake gun.” Alfred’s putting ChapStick on again. “My dude Willy, though. Feel sorry for him.”
“I know, right?” Violet echoes.
“Are you guys kidding me with this right now?” Michelle shakes her head in disbelief. “I feel sorry for us.”
“Look, I’m glad he almost robbed us with balls of pain
t.” I step forward. “If he hadn’t, then who knows what would’ve happened to him. Suicide maybe?”
“You an expert on suicide now, Indigo?” Michelle asks with a knowing smirk.
“No,” I state defensively. “I only mean the kid is dealing with some heavy stuff. How would you like to be sweaty and smelly all the time, Michelle?”
“The boy didn’t mean us no harm,” Dad adds with a shrug. “No harm, no foul.”
“He did mean to rob us, though,” Michelle says. “That’s foul.”
“Only to get the hell out of Urlington. Can’t say I blame him.” The pharmacist brushes off her dingy white lab coat.
Michelle turns to her. “Shouldn’t you be filling our prescription?”
“Oh, right.” The pharmacist turns and heads toward the back of the store.
“Everything doesn’t always have to make sense, Michelle,” I offer. “Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and take the damn blue pill.”
“If you talkin’ about The Matrix, it was the red pill,” Alfred declares.
“Listen, I don’t say this often,” Dad starts. “But Indigo’s right.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment, Dad?” I ask.
“Of course it is. I say we stay on course,” he replies.
“I wanna keep going, too.” Drew sets Brandon down. “Let’s take a family vote.”
Michelle turns to Drew. “You can’t be serious.”
“Aren’t you the one who told me to get a freakin’ spine?” Drew raises his hand. “Team red pill.”
“I vote we continue.” Alfred raises his hand. “Taking the red pill. Gulp. Glug.”
Although I have a feeling Alfred would do anything to avoid going home to being expelled from the tenth grade, I’m still happy to have him on my team.
“I wanna keep going, too.” Brandon raises his hand.
“I’ll take whatever pill keeps me out of school the longest.” Nam raises his hand and shrugs.
“Mom?” I ask. “What do you think we should do?”
Mom nervously wrings her hands together, gives Michelle a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, Michelle. I’m not siding with Indigo over you. I’m...going with God.”
The Voice in My Head Page 13
