Remembering the
steamy moment in his living room brought a rush of heat to my cheeks. “Why?” I
asked and scanned the front end. It suddenly struck me that I didn’t want to
introduce Jason and Ash to each other – could get awkward in a hurry.
Giving me a hard
look, he said, “Just be ready.” In a saucy tone he added, “Motorcycles,
picnics, and sunsets – ring any bells?”
He turned
slightly and threw a flashy smile Kendra’s way. Standing in the check stand
next to mine, she’d been ogling him with her big brown eyes. Rather pallid and
plain looking, I imagined she wasn’t used to a lot of male attention, because
after he smiled at her, she turned beet red and almost keeled over.
With a wink, Ash
turned on his heel and called, “See ya ladies.” He strutted out the door in his
Diesel jeans.
A couple minutes
later, when we were in between customers, Kendra said excitedly, “Wow, your
boyfriend is a hottie! And how romantic – a motorcycle, a picnic, and a sunset.
You are sooooo lucky.”
“Wait a minute,”
I interjected. “He is not my boyfriend.”
“Who’s not your
boyfriend?” asked a deep voice from behind, and I whipped my head around to
find Jason gazing at me with a puzzled expression.
Beating me to
the punch, Kendra burst into an overzealous, detailed account of Ash’s visit.
Listening to her, anyone would have thought Ash and I were seriously involved,
and that he was the most romantic guy on earth. As she sprayed orange-scented
sanitizer all over the conveyer belt, she gushed over Ash’s physical
attributes. She stopped cleaning, held the bottle in midair, and asked
dreamily, “Where did you find him?”
Luckily, a
squeaky cart rolled into her check stand, and I was spared a response. “You’ll
have to give me all the details later,” she whispered.
Shaking my head
with disbelief, I glanced at Jason who was now banging his pencil against the
front end clipboard. Looking extremely agitated, he demanded, “So how about I
ask you a couple questions?”
Lightly tugging
on my silver drop earring, I responded with a weak, “Okay.”
“Are you dating
this Ash guy?”
“No,” I said
slowly. “He’s a friend, who…”
“Who wants to be
more than a friend?” Jason supplied, looking at me crossways.
“Probably,” I
said, as he looked at me skeptically and grunted. “Okay, I would say yes, but
he knows I’m not ready for a relationship just yet.”
“Mmm-hmm, and
what do you mean by
just yet
?”
“Just that,” I
countered with a pretentious smile.
“Are you
interested in him?”
“As a friend,
yes. More than that, I don’t know. My interests might lie elsewhere.” I bit my
tongue at that confession, but he still didn’t seem satisfied. Hurriedly, I
said, “Aren’t I due for a ten minute break?”
“Alex.”
“Well, aren’t
I?” I persisted, and he nodded. “Great!” I gave him a triumphant smile and
logged off my computer.
“But Alex…” he
said, and I thought I could hear his teeth grinding.
“Hmm?” I mumbled
as I grabbed my water bottle.
With a very
solemn expression, he said, “This discussion is not over by a long shot. I
don’t like being in the dark.”
I let out a
derisive snort. “Ha! Welcome to my world.” Turning on my heels, I headed for the
break room. Abruptly, I stopped mid-stride, turned back, and added, “Of course,
you’ll only be in the dark for another week. By then my feelings might be
clearer, and maybe I’ll even share them with you.” I spun around and sped off,
but I thought I heard him muttering something about motorcycles being heavily
overrated.
Thursday morning
I was deep in the middle of an order when my customer ran back to grab a bottle
of dish soap. Monotonously scanning items, I tuned out the repetitive beeps and
worried about Ash’s strange behavior the night before. He’d seemed extremely
preoccupied during our picnic dinner. Not only had he kept his distance, he’d
also had a hard time finishing his sentences or talking coherently. When I’d
called him on it, he’d apologized and explained he was having trouble sleeping
at night and wasn’t feeling “physically right.” Another word he’d used was
“stifled.” When I’d suggested a visit to the doctor, he’d rejected that idea
immediately. He’d taken me by surprise when he’d said he was leaving town to
take care of some financial matters. He’d also said I wouldn’t see him for a
couple weeks, because he was going camping with some friends after his trip.
Without any romantic advances other than a hug that lasted several minutes,
he’d made me promise to take care of myself and told me he’d call me when he
got back. Speechless and dismayed, I’d watched him ride away.
Of course, I
didn’t have much time to worry about Ash. In between work and concentrating on
finding my own Essence, I was busy devoting my thoughts to Jason and his
mysteries. During our intermittent conversations, I’d learned a lot about him.
Besides being an avid reader and hiker, he enjoyed boating, and he played on a
soccer team. I was most impressed to learn he’d been training in the martial
arts for 13 years and was a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Apparently, that
was only one step away from black belt. He said it normally took 16 years to
reach that stage. Adventurous and accomplished, it sounded like he lived a very
full life.
He riddled me
with questions until he found out that I’d been on the swim team in high school
and that I enjoyed woodworking. He was surprised I’d been a red belt in Tae
Kwon Do but had chosen to quit.
“You should
really consider starting up again. The benefits are phenomenal,” he said, as we
restocked the standing cashew displays at the ends of our check stands.
“Self-defense, mental clarity, and physical fitness just to name a few,” he
said with a show of three fingers.
“Great,” I said
and shoved several bags onto the bottom rack. “Are you saying I need to get in
shape?”
“Of course not.”
He frowned. “You look…” His eyes caught mine. “You look…I just meant…” He
stuttered, all tongue-tied.
Chuckling, I
said, “Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant.”
“Oh, okay. Well
good,” he said uncertainly.
“One thing’s for
sure. I’m a master black belt at burning toast,” I admitted.
He laughed. “You
don’t cook?”
“You wouldn’t
want me to,” I said honestly.
“Well, I’m a
great cook,” he said proudly.
“Why am I not
surprised?”
A short time
later, he blocked off my check stand with the Sorry this Lane is Closed sign
and told me to take my 10 minute break. I stepped outside for some fresh air
where forget-me-not blue skies and scattered cotton ball clouds greeted me.
Rays of sun soaked into my skin as I readjusted my hair clip. When I turned to
walk back inside the store, I was struck with a sudden wave of dizziness and a
pain in my head. I closed my eyes as I felt the snapshots coming on strong. A
swirling of colors appeared behind my eyelids, colors forming into images:
two shady
looking men wearing baseball caps
a gun in the
hands of the man with the green baseball cap
a crying
child in a blue shirt
the gun
pointed at the child in the blue shirt
the Credit
Union sign above the bank inside the store
Panic seized my
heart. An armed robbery was going down in the bank, and a child was going to be
in the line of fire. I dashed through the front door and charged towards the
bank. Fortunately, I still had time. There were three customers awaiting
service but no children or men with baseball caps were in sight. Heaving a sigh
of relief, I played with the possibility of telling Jason about my premonition.
Maybe he’d believe me. Why not? He already thought I was an Amethyst, and that
seemed more implausible than an ability to see the future.
As I turned to
leave, a lady carrying a screaming toddler, who was having a full blown
tantrum, entered the bank behind me. My mouth dropped in alarm, because the
blue-shirted toddler was the one from my snapshots. I must have looked
sympathetic, because the mother walked up behind me and started rambling on
about the terrible twos. While listening to her, I started playing peek-a-boo
with the little boy, and he stopped screaming. Meanwhile, in my head, I was
trying to formulate a plan. The little boy seemed to be enjoying sticking his
tongue out at me, and I contemplated how I was going to get them out of the
bank.
Thankfully, the
little guy solved that problem for me when a minor blast exploded in his pants.
Instantly, it was like a stink bomb had gone off in the bank. Exasperated, the
mother asked, “Do you know if the store has a changing station?”
“Sure does,” I
replied with relief and gave her directions to the bathroom. “You might stop by
the bakery afterwards, and they’ll give your little boy a free cookie,” I
suggested.
Her nose
crinkled, and she waved her hand in front of her face. “Thank you so much,” she
said and hurried out of the bank.
Happy to have
them out of harm’s way, I plopped down on a soft, red chair and buried my face
in my hands. A couple minutes later, my head popped up, and I carefully studied
my surroundings. By normal standards, the bank was small. The waiting area was
only about 16 feet across by 12 feet deep. One blonde teller was working the
desk, and her line held two customers besides the one she was waiting on.
Grasping a mustard yellow purse, the little old lady at the front of the line
tapped her walking cane against the flat weave carpet. The second customer, an
older gentleman with a big pot belly kept checking his watch. Neither one
looked like they’d be of any assistance in an armed robbery; I could only hope
they’d be gone by then.
Uncertain about
my next move, I rose from the chair and stopped to readjust my hairclip again.
Mumbling to myself, I nearly choked on my own breath when a man with a black
windbreaker and green baseball cap walked right into the bank and stood
directly behind me. Every muscle in my body went rigid. His thick, bushy
eyebrows narrowed and touched together in the center of his forehead and his
beady, black eyes sized me up. Immediately, I turned and faced forward.
Compelled to maintain a place in line, I hoped to be a buffer between the man
and the people in front of me in case he pulled out his gun.
Since I hadn’t
seen myself in the snapshots, I determined I wasn’t in danger of dying – I
hoped. With my hands clasped together, tapping incessantly against my chin, I
looked around for a possible weapon but was quickly discouraged. I didn’t think
jabbing an ink pen into Mr. Beady’s eyes or shoving deposit slips down his
throat would stop him; the gun was likely to misfire in that situation.
My whole body
jerked when an arm slid around my shoulder and a raspy voice said in my ear,
“Don’t make a sound and don’t move, or,” I felt something jab into my left
side, “this here gun is likely to go off. Do ya understand?” I nodded, and he
said roughly in my ear, “You just keep facing forward. Act normal, and follow
my directions. Any funny business and I pull the trigger. You cooperate and do
what I say, and I’ll let you walk away. Now nod your head if you understand.” I
was trembling but managed to bob my head up and down again. His rancid breath
clung to my nose, and I gag-coughed as he pushed the barrel of the gun a little
deeper into my side and said, “Good.”
Beads of sweat
dripped down the small of my back, and blood coursed through my veins. I was
trying hard to remain calm, and even though my body was totally paralyzed,
random thoughts zipped through my head a mile a minute. First, I glanced up at
the bank clock and realized my 10 minute break was over. Would Jason start
paging me to the front end when I didn’t return? Second, I wondered where the
guy with the red baseball cap was. Lastly, there was the question of whether or
not
he
also carried a weapon. The customer at the counter said good-bye
to the teller, and we moved forward one spot in line.
I heard Jason’s
voice calling me from the entrance of the bank, and I almost cried out a
warning. Tilting my head, I said in a low, wavering voice, “My boss is calling
me.”
Mr. Beady Eyes
said roughly, “Turn around and answer him, but make it good. If he comes in
here I’m taking you out first and him second.”
With a shaky
smile, I turned and made direct eye contact with Jason. As airily and as
sweetly as I could, I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Walker.” Jason’s head snapped back
a few inches, and his eyes narrowed, so I said hurriedly, “I needed to deposit
my paycheck, and I ran into my…uncle here.” I smiled and glanced up at my
captor, or rather, my would be uncle.
He gave Jason a
brief nod and a muffled, “Hi.”
Then I added, “I
shouldn’t be much longer. Can you just give me a couple more m-minutes.” My jaw
dropped open, and I stuttered, because my eyes landed on a red baseball cap. A
bearded monster of a man had just walked into the bank; he was maybe 6’ 5” or
taller. As the gun poked into my rib cage with increased pressure, my eyes
drifted back to Jason.
Perceiving my
failed attempt at a smile, Jason took one step forward like he was about to
pounce. Calmly, I pursed my lips together and shot my eyes downwards where the
gun was settled against my hip, hoping to send him a message.
Jaw set rigid,
Jason gave the barest of nods and blinked hard, twice. In a fiery but
unwavering tone, like the one he’d used on Madison when he’d been furious with
her, he said, “Lexi, you have five minutes.” He gazed at the bank’s clock and
nodded. “I’m glad you ran into your uncle, but I need you back in the check
stand ASAP. Max is off in five minutes and needs to get to his Dojo, so hurry
it up.” With that he nodded, turned on his heel, and exited the bank.