A Hot Night In Reality

*warning: if you are easily offended by language and crude humor, i would advise you to not continue reading. this is a short story i wrote for a class last quarter. if has been revised and rewritten a few times and i think is finally where i kinda like it. it is written like this because our teacher really wanted us to write like our character would talk, so this is how i felt my character would talk and interact. enjoy, or don't.


A Hot Night in Reality

Damn it’s hot, I thought as I sat alone in the deserted Third Avenue 7-11 convenience store, happy for the air conditioning that flooded my already greasy, sweaty face. This night, or should I say early morning considering it’s almost 3 a.m., is a particularly hot summer day in the city of Spokane. You know those mornings when you walk outside and see the dew sitting on the grass and feel the crisp, cool air brush across your face, giving you an energy and good outlook on life. Well, today is not that day and hasn’t been for sometime. Right now as stare out the window, I am graced with the thick, hot smell of sweat. Right now, I hate life.

Here I sit wasting my life, working five days a week during the middle of the night through to the early morning for a little above minimum wage and meager medical benefits that won’t even pay for my replacement arches in my shoes so my feet don’t give out on me. This damn job ruined my arches and causes my back to ache day after day. You’d think they would be able to pay for some shoe support for my flat feet. But no, pretty much if you get sick with a deathly illness, you might as well die because it would be the only thing you don’t have to give an arm and a leg for as co-payment. Death is a better choice then getting sick, in these situations, because then your family is the one screwed over and has to pay that damn medical bill.
I hate this job. It’s a joke. Me, a “shift manager,” is a nice title that tries to make me feel better because I got suckered into and got screwed over to work this damn graveyard shift. “Manager” of course I’m the manager of this shift, I’m the only one who works this god forsaken store during the middle of the night, fearing who is going to step through those doors and bust a bullet through my head. I am the manager to myself risking my life night after night serving slushies and cigarettes to addicts waiting for someone to hold me up at gun point demanding all the money I have in the tills. Every person who walks through those doors makes me nervous. I just wait for the feeling of burning flesh as a bullet courses through my body. To be honest, I actually don’t know what it feels like to be shot, but maybe it does feel like burning flesh, and then the inevitable blood flows out.


As my imagination drifts off to see my body lying on the ground in a pool of blood behind the till, I get my fifth customer of the night and at the sight of him my senses heighten. As he walks in, I greet him with a hello and the customary “how you doing?” even though I really don’t give a damn how he’s doing or what he wants. What I really want is for him to get the hell out of here. I’m not sure I trust him. I stop to look him over and try to get a drawing in my head of what he looks like so that I can describe him to the police later on if things go bad. He is a tall Native American, most likely from the Reservation a few miles away. He’s got long black hair tied into a loose pony tail that lies across his gray tank top and goes down almost to his cut off jeans shorts. He looks like most of the Spokane Natives, and yet there is something different about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the basketball shoes he’s wearing which are surprisingly very white and clean.

As I look him over, I notice him doing the same thing to me. He first notices my name, Logan,on the damn stupid name tag. What’s he got to know what I look like for? Is he trying to size me up to know whether he can take me? Can my 5’11”, medium frame take him? He stares at my face, taking in my black rimed glasses that cover my dark brown eyes. My hair, needing to be cut, is dark and curly. His eyes then move down to the tattoos that peak out from under my sleeves. By looking at my tattoos, I’m sure he begins to size me up. My tattoos aren’t the hardcore, punk, or rocker kind. They are lyrics to songs and famous quotes. He recognizes that I’m no listener of death metal, but rather of Death Cab For Cutie. I’m the type that sits at home and reads, listening to music and wishing to be out of this god forsaken shit hole of a place.

“Can I help you with anything, Chief?” I ask so as to break his stare of me.

“Chief, huh?” The Native glares at me. Fuck! Did I just say Chief out loud? Shit!

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But you should feel lucky I didn’t bring my 9mm with me.” He says smugly. “What you scared? I’m just playin with ya!” He laughs. I’m not amused.

“Yeh,…well, what can I help you with?” Is the only response that comes to mind.

“Yeh, I’m lookin for something cold in this fuckin heat! What ya got?”

“Check the freezer.”

“Lot of help you are. Duh! Something frozen would be in the freezer. I’m Native, not retarded. You really suck as a sales person, ya know. Can’t you even pretend to care and help out a lost and lonely customer find a frozen delight in this deathly heat?”

“Damn!” He starts again. “I hate that I forgot my 9mm. It’s these jean shorts, ya see. They are way too tight to hold this beautiful package,” He points to his balls, “and a gun. They don’t allow me to pack that much heat. These babies alone back a lot of heat, and a gun…watch out! You are one lucky son of a bitch. You should be glad I chose looks over killin.”

“Haha.” I give a sympathy laugh, hoping he’s just joking.


The Native doesn’t stick around to long. After a little bit of wandering around by the freezers and giving me shit, he buys a Creamsicle and leaves. I guess tonight might not be my night to die. He thinks he’s damn funny though, trying to mess with my head or something. Making me think he was going to kill me when my back was turned. I hate these types. Don’t they know that one of the highest death rates in America at the work place is convenience stores? Clerks at convenience stores all over the country are dying every night. I guess I’m just waiting for my turn. I hate this damn job. I ended up giving him the Creamsicle for free just to get him outta here. Peace and quiet again. Only two more hours to go, and then home.
Home. Not quite home. I don’t really have a home. I’ve been staying with my girl friend for the past couple months and that is definitely not a home. It’s more like, I have no where else to go and need some place to stay. I don’t even have a key to her place. If she’s not there I get to just wait on her steps until she gets home. I don’t think she trusts me. It’s ok though, because I don’t really trust her. I don’t really trust anyone. I have been screwed over to many times and seen some crazy shit go down. What’s there to trust in anyways? Everyone always lets you down.

They say that is what makes a relationship, trust. It’s ok though, our relationship was doomed from the beginning. Right now it’s just a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow. Hopefully, I get a place to stay before that happens though. I don’t really have anywhere else to go right now. I’m still trying to save money so that I can get out of this city and move somewhere else far away from here. I don’t really care where it is, but somewhere far far away.


The hours seem to pass by incredibly slow. I get the typical early morning regulars who are looking for their 99 cent cup of cheap shitty coffee on their way to work at their crap paying jobs. Buzz comes in right at 4:30 to get his regular breakfast that consists of a glazed donut and a cup of coffee. I don’t really know much about Buzz other than that he recently got divorced. He used to beat his wife and kids, and one day his wife couldn’t take it anymore and packed up all their things and left town. I only know this because I watched it all go down in front of the store in the parking lot. His wife and kids first stopped off over here before leaving town. I’m guessing because they needed to get some food or something. Well, anyways, as he was driving around looking for them, he must of drove past this place and saw the car. Some crazy shit went down and it ended up with her leaving and him coming in to get his usual donut and coffee. A few months later they were divorced.

Buzz was my last customer for the morning. When the next shift started, I packed up all my stuff and left to go to my girlfriends, to get some sleep and watch my day start all over again. Same shit day after day, waiting to get enough money to get out.


Fifteen minutes later, I find myself rounding the corner to my girlfriend’s house. The hot night seems to be turning into a hotter day. Sweat begins to drip down my face as I knock on the door to my temporary home. As I knock, the sun is just beginning to come up and wake everyone else in the neighborhood from their restless sleep in the heat. I hear my girlfriend’s steps approach the door. As she opened the door, she welcomed me in and as I stepped over the threshold, her little poodle bit my leg and it started to bleed. I cry out in pain and kick the dog off my leg and then watch it sail into the wall. Instantly I realize that that was a really bad move. I turn around just in time for my face to meet the hand of my girlfriend, accompanied by a loud slapping sound. Pain courses through my body from two wounds, a slap on the face and a bite to the leg. The convenience store might not kill me but the girl and her damn poodle will. I realize that this is my time to be quiet and hold my peace. There is no moving out right now. Not when I am so close to getting to where I want to be.

Where, one might ask. Anywhere, but here. I’ve grown up in this damn town. I’ve always lived in a 2 mile radius. Same damn neighborhood. I needed to get out! Fuck this neighborhood! Fuck this town! I just need to get out and see the world. I’ve been saving for sometime and I think I almost have enough to hit the road and say goodbye to everyone forever, no looking back!

My girlfriends cries bring me back to reality. And damn, is she ever without a stick of gum in her mouth? A constant chewing and smacking, its enough to drive someone mad! Every morning when she wakes up, her teeth must wake up and demand a stick of gum instantly. She’s never without her gum. I guess it’s to kick her smoking habit, but it’s damn annoying!

“Logan! What ya do that for?” cried my girlfriend.

“Hey, I’m sorry! It was just my gut reaction. When I feel pain, I try and find where it is coming
from and try and rid myself of it. Ya, know it’s like when the Doctor hits your knee with that hammer thing and your knee kicks out. That is what its like. Just a reaction to the pain. Damn, Pinky bit me hard. Look, I’m bleeding!”

“Oh, alright. I’m sorry I slapped you. Bad, Pinky!” As she said this, she turned and spanked the dog like one would spank a child.

As this initial conversation comes to a close, I begin to pat myself on my back for the nice save. The bomb could’ve exploded today, but instead I think I saved myself some time. I only have to wait till the end of summer and hopefully I will have enough money to rid myself of this town and follow my dreams. I’m just so close.

“Come here and let me look at it.” My girlfriend said as she waved me over to the couch.
We sat there for a few minutes while she examined the wound, then she stopped and looked me in the eyes. It was a look I had never seen before, a look of timidity and tears. She started,

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I promised myself that today was the day I was going to tell you. I can’t keep this to myself any longer. You have to know. You are apart of this too.”

“Apart of what?” I asked.

“You are apart of the being that is growing in my stomach. I am pregnant. And it’s your baby. It’s our baby.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m preganant.”

“How?” I said with a glazed look over my face.

“Well, you were there so I think you know how.”

“Well I get that, but…”

“Look, I don’t expect much from you. I know you are not planning on staying here long. I know
you can’t wait to get outta here, but I thought you should know. I also think you should know that I am going to keep it.”

“Keep it?!?!”

“Ya, keep it. I was set on riding myself of it, but when I went to the place, I met one of those fanatic Christian people and they showed me a picture of what my baby already looked like at three months along. I couldn’t do it. But, listen, I just thought you should know. You don’t have to stay. You are free to go whenever.”

“Keep it...” I said this more to myself than to anyone else.

“Ya, keep it. Oh and by the way. I had a key made for you. It’s over there on the counter.”

“I have a key?”

“Ya, sorry I didn’t get it sooner. Sorry you had to wait outside all that time. I’m not going to lie.
I didn’t trust you before now.” She said this honestly.

“And you trust me now?” I asked questioningly.

“Well, I thought a good place to start with this whole pregnancy thing was to start trusting the father of my baby. I don’t want it to grow up living in a home without trust. Shit, trust is what makes or breaks a relationship.”

“So, you want a relationship? A real relationship?”

“Look, I said ‘relationship’ meaning friendship or parentship. Any relationship needs trust. I don’t want my baby’s mom not even trusting its father. Remember you are free to do whatever you want to do.” She said, her eyes spoke only honesty.

“A baby?” I still couldn’t get over it.

“Ya, a baby. It’s yours. What are you going to do?” She asked me with tears streaming down
her face.

-Christine