The Token (#10): Shepard by Marata Eros

Author:Marata Eros [Eros, Marata]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamara Rose Blodgett
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

*

Late afternoon sunlight slants off dirty and smeared mid-century architecture. The lackluster, slightly cantilevered windows glare back at me, and my exhale sounds defeated, even to my own ears.

I have never enjoyed anything ugly. And this building is no exception. But in a town the size of Spearfish Canyon, I do not possess the luxury of choice. This is their solitary market.

Marissa is hungry, and for the first time as an adult, I feel a sense of pride. I will feed this female I've come to care so much for in so little time.

Making my way toward the miserable view, I take a deep inhale of the pine, like a swimmer before they sink beneath the surface of the water. I cross the pockmarked asphalt parking lot, lifting my fob for the Audi and hitting the icon for lock.

The muted sounds of the woods—and the few customers who loiter at the facade of the building—are heavy in the otherwise silent space.

My hard-soled Italian shoes click as I walk to the front of the store, and I belatedly realize how out of place my wardrobe choice is.

Two old men lounge on folding chairs, staring as I make my way past them.

“Hello,” one of them greets me just as I place my hand on the metal bar of the store entrance. He gazes up at me from underneath a hat that reads Mt. Rushmore's Pride. Disembodied American presidential heads float on top of the hazard-orange brim that is fingered with grime from a thousand mounts atop a head not often washed.

“Hello,” I return easily. Courtesy was the cornerstone of la famille and not easily shed. Ill-tempered people are easily remembered.

His eyes sharpen on me, quickly running down my body.

“Not from around here?” he asks.

I know when I cannot win. The man is without intellectual acumen. And I have been tasked to survive the encounter.

At that exact moment, my stomach growls as he spits tobacco in a practiced stream about five feet from where we stand. My eyes tag the disgusting move and note the stain from many times of the same treatment in the parking area.

“No, I'm not from the area.” I smile politely, the expression stretching in a tight slash across my face.

All pretense of courtesy leaves him. “We don't like foreigners here.” His upper lip turns up.

Really. “I am only buying groceries.” I shrug casually.

“Looks pretty determined, Ralph,” his companion says.

Imbeciles.

“What are ya?” the man who is not Ralph asks.

“A man.” I raise my eyebrows, a clear signal that the conversation is over.

Ralph jabs another giant wad of tobacco inside his lip, and it bulges obscenely where he stuffed it.

“A smart-ass one.”

I turn away from them and open the door to the store. Chilly air-conditioning blasts me, and I shed the distaste of the pair of disasters at the door. They are not worthy of my wasting time. Bigoted without knowing the reason. All I needed to be was different. That is enough.

I grab a cart before scanning the aisles and making slow progress through each one.

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