A Helping Hand

Flash Fiction = More than you bargained for

The smell of garbage flushed my nose and I could taste it on my tongue. I had seen the woman out here before, rummaging through the dumpsters, but I never talked to her. Usually, I would take my smoke breaks out front, but I didn’t want to risk small talk with any of my coworkers. Especially Kyle. Yet, here I was, in the back, by the loading docks, having a heart-to-heart with this random, ragged old lady. Why was I opening up to her like this? I’m typically not one to air my dirty laundry, but something about her way coaxed it out of me.

“You’ve complained a lot, young lady. Sounds like you could use a helping hand,” said the woman.

That’s when I realized, I had probably offended her. Jesus Christ. This woman was homeless, draped in rags, pushing a cart with all of her belongings, and here I was, rattling off my hardships as if she wasn’t infinitely worse off.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this. I’m just stressed out. Rent’s due tomorrow, and I’m behind. Life is so fucking hard sometimes.” The cherry at the end of my cigarette glowed brightly as I took a long drag and blew out a huge cloud of smoke into the air above us.

The woman bobbed her head. Her eyes were crooked. One was clear as day and dead straight. The eye of an inquisitive child locked on mine at all times. The other was waxed over with a milky white film and it pointed straight down at the floor as if it submitted to the unrelenting force of gravity long ago. “What if I could help you? Give you a whole boatload of money? Make your worries disappear?” She waved her bony, purple hand in front of my face like a wizard.

I laughed. “Oh, that would be lovely. How about a boyfriend too? Can you swing that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. She looked upset.

This was getting weird. I flicked my cigarette to the ground and squished it beneath my chucks. “My shift is about to start. Thanks for letting me vent.”

The woman waddled closer and shoved her face into my bubble, our noses nearly touching. “If you accept my gift, you’ll gain much, but others will lose something valuable to them. I assure you, though, they’ll deserve to lose it. Do you accept?”

The hot death of her breath on my face overtook the smell of the garbage, and all I could think about was that I wanted to get out of this situation immediately. “Well then, if the bastards deserve it, then, yes, m’lady, I do accept,” I said, curtseying, humoring her.

The woman backed away and smiled a crooked, black smile. She reached out her hand to my face and tapped my nose with her bony finger. “Boop.” Then she gathered her things and walked away as I headed in for work.

#

Beep

Beep

Beep

I keep scanning. Why do I keep scanning? I should get the fuck out of here. I don’t need this job. I mean, right? I’m fucking loaded!

“Paper or paper?” Kyle asked the customer before us.

The woman lent him a pitiful grin. “I brought my own,” she said, tossing her wadded square of canvas onto the conveyor belt. She was pretty. Hair pulled back tight, sporty in yoga pants and a crop top; probably just left the gym. She wasn’t amused by Kyle’s bullshit, and that pleased the hell out of me.

Kyle thought he was clever, poking fun at the new plastic bag ban. What a dick. No one thinks you’re funny Kyle. He has no idea how many baby seals are being saved thanks to all those petitions I signed.

The woman walked away, tote in hand, and I fished my phone from my back pocket. I found the banking app and tapped it open to be sure I hadn’t hallucinated earlier.

$666,043.11

Oh my god. It’s still there. The money is still in my account. How is this possible? Before my shift, I had $43.11 in my account. That woman, how did she do it? I didn’t give her my account number, my Venmo, nothing. How could she have gotten all of this money into my account?

I glanced over at Kyle, and he looked away quickly, trying to hide that he was staring at my tits. Fucking Kyle.

God damn. This is freaking me out. Maybe I should just say I’m not feeling well and get the hell out of here. As I tried to work up the nerve to leave my post, another customer approached the checkout. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. “Hi.”

The woman stared at me and placed a single jar of salsa verde on the belt. She didn’t say a word, just kept her eyes locked on mine. It was freaking me out a little bit. I glanced over at Kyle and by his perplexed facial expression, I confirmed that this woman was indeed being weird.

I ran her salsa verde across the scanner.

Beep

“Paper, or paper?” Kyle said for the umpteenth time.

The woman’s gaze never left mine. Kyle shrugged, popped open a paper bag, and reached for the jar. Before his fingers touched it, the woman snatched it up and held it high in the air, never breaking eye contact with me.

“My life,” she said.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

“That’s what I value most. I’ve done terrible things to save my own life. Terrible things.”

“I—ok.”

The woman’s left eye began to change. Like an old cataract-ridden mutt, it glazed over and turned the color of spent cum, then the eyeball slowly turned down to the floor while the right stayed locked on me. She came down with her hand and smashed the bottle on the edge of the checkout counter, sending glass and salsa flying at me.

A mass of jagged shards remained in her hand. She slowly raised it to her throat, mechanically, with horror in her right eye, as if she wasn’t in control. She slowly dug the glass into her throat and began to turn it back and forth, shredding the skin, exposing, and rupturing the large vein that ran down the side of her neck.

Blood squirted from her jugular, completely covering my face. Kyle screamed—more like a six-year-old girl than I would have expected—then ran away. I wanted to run, but I was paralyzed. The green salsa verde swirled with the dark crimson of her blood. It smelled like roasted tomatillos and iron. I wondered for a moment what it would taste like.

The woman’s right eye turned back up at me and the milky white dissipated. Just as soon as her eyes leveled out, the life extinguished from them. She dropped to the floor and squeaked as she slid across the soaked vinyl.

I slowly removed my apron as my coworkers and the remaining customers watched in shock. I walked out the sliding doors into the warm afternoon air, blood dripping from the tip of my nose and into my mouth. It tasted a little savory, a little sour, just as I expected.