Fluke by David Elliott

Author:David Elliott
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 2012-04-25T23:00:00+00:00

11.

I was startled awake by the phone ringing. Sharp pain shot through my head. My first conscious thought was that I was in for an incredible hangover and that I might break down and cry from the awful, shrill, piercing racket that the phone was making. Rubbing my eyes, holding my head, I grabbed at the phone and picked it up. Sara was still sound asleep as I brought it to my face and grunted “Yeah?”

“Hello. Is this Adam Fluke?” A vaguely familiar-sounding female voice. “Yeah?” I said again.

“It’s Jennifer,” she paused. “Jennifer from school. Jennifer from the bookstore,” she added emphasis to bookstore, and I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.

8 a.m. Shit. I was supposed to open the bookstore today.

“Oh, Jennifer…I’m really, really sorry. I had some problems…” I began. I tried to quickly think of an excuse for not showing up to work, but my brain just wasn’t functioning.

“Rough night?” Jennifer asked. I thought about how she had started wearing sweats to work every day, and had talked profusely about her love for track. It made me wonder why a person so into running would choose a school with no track team. Sometimes I didn’t understand anything.

“You could say that, yeah.” I rubbed my tongue along the roof of my mouth and felt what seemed to be a slimy, bitter film lining it.

“Sounds like it. I noticed the store wasn’t opened while I was out jogging and stopped to check it out.”

“Oh.” My mouth tasted like I had been licking mustard out of a dirty ashtray all night.

“Yeah. I can cover for you, if you need me to.” She was a pretty nice girl, with two loves in life: running the track and running the college bookstore.

“Thank you, Jen. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I just...can’t even move right now. I owe you.”

“Yep, yep, yep…and we’re closed next week for Thanksgiving…did you remember that?” she chided me. Why was I always the unreliable one?

“Well, no. The week after that…I promise…I’ll hook you up.” I glanced at Sara, who was now snoring lightly. “Promise.”

“Okay, Fluke. I won’t forget this one. Have fun on your day off.”

“Thanks, Jen. Really.”

“Bye,” she said. I heard the quiet beeping of the cash register as she tapped the buttons. She was ringing someone up.

“Bye.” I shut the phone off and set it aside. The glowing red numbers on the digital alarm clock read 8:08 a.m. “Fuck classes,” I said, under my putrid breath, and promptly went back to sleep.

“Fuhhhck,” I groaned, looking at the clock again…8:45 a.m. The phone shrilled through the house. Sara still snored, far removed from the noisy waking world around her. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Adam!” It was my mom, famous for her calls at inappropriate times. She was well aware that I avoided rising before nine a.m. at the earliest, yet she consistently called me at the crack of dawn.

“Hi, mom.” Little fingers of guilt slowly started grabbing at my mind, reminding me that I hadn’t actually spoken to mom since I had met Sara.

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