Pain's Joke
Chapter 11
It was late May, and the school was electrified with the promise of summer. The teachers had all been frustrated at the students' lack of concentration over the past few weeks, an academically debilitating illness the faculty had termed “summer-itis”. But while the students neglected their studies to plan their summer escapades, Dolores was hard at work at the Food Lion grocery store. She had dropped out of school in order to work to help out with the bills at home. Her father had left her and her mother to fend for themselves when the news of her pregnancy, coupled with the loss of their savings in the pyramid scheme at the church, had become too much for him to bear.
She was standing near the front entrance of the store, organizing the shopping carts and baskets and gathering the loose sales fliers which the shoppers had left scattered among the carts. She placed a basket on the top of the stack and happened to glance at the newspaper rack beside it. The local newspaper had a full page write up on Lane Sherman and his scholarship to Brighton. Immediately her stomach turned and she waddled to the restrooms as quickly as her seven-months-pregnant body would allow.
“You oughta be done with that puking phase by now, Dory.” said Mary Roundtree, her coworker who was wasting time by hiding in the restroom. The store's manager called it “riding the clock by riding the can”.
“No, it's not morning sickness, I got over that a while ago. It's just something didn't smell right over by the produce.”
“I was gonna say, honey, cause I got over my morning sickness after, like, the end of the third month. After that it was smooth sailing... well, other than the backaches, the sore feet, the swelling legs, and that toxo-somethin er other.”
She meant well but Mary wasn't really helping matters much.
“I'll be fine.” Dolores sniffed, “but I'm gonna need a minute, if you could.”
After finally sensing that she was intruding, Mary turned around and left Dolores to herself. Dolores, meanwhile, wondered if the emotions of that night at the cabin would ever fade. She wasn't naive enough to think they would go away completely, or that one day she would wake up having forgotten the incident ever happened. No, she was constantly reminded of that night by the ever-growing, always kicking lump in her belly, and every now and again by a random stranger's cologne. But now, having read the name of the chief instigator of the vicious attack on her, and seeing how he was being hailed as a big time football hero, she begged God to make her forget. And while they didn't go away completely, within a few moments the memories sank just slightly under the surface, just enough for Dolores to regain her composure and concentrate on her work. She had more baskets to organize and an entire rack of magazines to sort, so she washed her face and waddled back toward the front of the store.
Later, while pricing a cereal box display, she overheard two old men talking about the article.
“I tell you, he's got great hands.” said the taller one.
“Yeah, but he's a troublemaker. He'd do better to go to a bigger school. More of a chance of them keeping him straight.” said the other.
“But a small school is where he'd be the big fish.”
“Big fish, big shmish. If he plays for them, he'll be the spoiled kid and he'll end up getting into trouble. Remember that goat of mine that he and the cop's kid stole from me? It'll be worse with all that fame going to his head. A bigger school will put him in his place, give him some perspective. Mature him a little.”
“That cop's kid, whats-his-name?”
“Skeeter's what they call him. Dunno his real name.”
“Yeah, Skeeter. He's a hell of a big boy on that line. Where's he going?”
“Oh, I dunno. Last I heard, he's planning on moving to North Carolina to work for his uncle. You remember Dave Simmons? Chief Simmons' brother. Played ball back in the 80's?”
“No, I can't place him.”
“Well that's that kids' uncle. He moved to North Carolina and started a towing company.”
“And he's not gonna be playing for a college? So he can tow cars around? What a waste. A big boy like that oughta be playing ball somewhere.”
Dolores quickly finished pricing the display items and returned to her register. She was somewhat relieved to think that both Lane and Skeeter would soon be far away.
Soon, however, wasn't soon enough. A week later, Dolores was running the cash register when Lane and Skeeter appeared at the back of the line. She hadn't seen either of them since she dropped out of school. They didn't immediately recognize her, but she instantly recognized them. When she did, she found herself suddenly immobile. Her entire body was frozen as if she were a mannequin, and she lost her grip on the jar of pickles she had just scanned. She didn't hear it hit the floor and shatter because her ears were filled with the sound of her own heart beating violently. Her vision closed in around her, and a metal taste came to her tongue. Her eyes rolled back, her knees buckled and she fell to the floor like a sack of dirty laundry. The store manager heard a commotion from the customers and saw Dolores on the floor, and he ran to her register to help.
“Give her some room! Call an ambulance!” he shouted as he squatted over her with outspread arms, even though the only person crowding her was himself. He quickly knelt beside her shoulders and bent over close to her face to check for breath. He heard her breathing and sat up to check her pulse. Her heart was still beating, and a quick examination didn't reveal any cuts from the broken jar. “Did she hit her head as she fell?” he turned to ask the old woman who was leaning over the conveyor. The look on her face seemed to suggest she was more concerned about her broken jar of pickles than the welfare of Dolores. She could only recall that it “happened so fast” the she couldn't say for sure.
The ambulance arrived in a few minutes and Dolores was still unconscious. The EMT's quickly loaded her onto a gurney and carried her to the hospital. She awoke to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the all-encompassing scent of disinfectant.
“You've been mumbling for a good twenty minutes now, I figured you'd be awake soon.” said the blurry figure whom Delores correctly assumed was a nurse. She was poking at a blurry box with blurry lights and writing on her blurry clipboard.
“Wha... what happened?” asked Dolores.
“You fainted at the grocery store, hun. You were out cold. And with you being pregnant and all, they figured they'd bring you here. You're gonna be OK, and the baby's just fine. I'll let the doctor know you're up and he'll be right in to answer any questions. Oh, and your boss called your mother, so she's on her way.”
The nurse walked out of the room before Dolores' vision had completely returned.
“Fainted,” grumbled Dolores incredulously as she placed her hand on her head. She squinted at the ceiling and blinked a few times to clear her vision. She looked around the small room at all of the equipment and government mandated signs. Her clothes were in a plastic grocery bag on a chair next to the hand sink. She slowly started recalling what had happened prior to her unconsciousness, and she became embarrassed. She wasn't embarrassed because she fainted at the sight of her attackers, but more because she felt she made a fool of herself in front of her coworkers and all of the customers. Her attackers know why her body simply could not tolerate their very existence in that spot at that moment, but as for the others, they were clueless. They would be wondering and guessing what caused it and whether she's OK. She would have to make up an excuse, and even worse, have to retell that lie for as many times as she is asked “What happened?” But to invent a lie and have to re-tell it a million times would still be easier than to admit the truth. And so Dolores reclined back into the hospital bed, waited for the doctor, and hoped he'd provide her with an excuse before her mother arrived.