Don't chase the rabbit
Your back hurts and there’s another ache beginning somewhere around the place where your shins and knees meet, but you stoop, lift another box of canned goods, and continue stocking the shelves, not even looking as you let the can in your hand smack onto the shelf with a flick of your wrist. It’s still mostly dark outside, and the florescent lights of the store cast everything in a yellowish glow, including the cold tiles that it’s your job to sweep, and the shelves that you’re stocking. You checked into work at 4 am this morning- your brother never came home the last night, but you’re not going to take any chances. You parked the car in the back alley, where only the employees are allowed to park. Susie is sleeping in the backseat of the car, doors unlocked and windows cracked. It’s not the best, but it’s better than leaving her at home alone. You’re technically too young to be employed- fifteen is too young, but old Mr. Ralph doesn’t seem to care, and the general store is small enough that your job there doesn’t attract much attention. It’s half past six, and the store has just opened for business, bringing a modest crowd of housewives and older kids picking up groceries for their mothers. You keep stocking the canned items section, and you’re about to finish when you notice an older boy, a guy you don’t recognize, leaning against the shelf opposite you. His clothes look almost dusty. He takes a can of beans from the shelf, slides them into an inner pocket. He looks up, and your eyes meet. He takes in the bruises on your face. Your hands keep working, mechanically. His face holds no expression. Maybe he’s scared but you can’t tell. You don’t say anything, and he walks out of the store.
