Matt Cowper - The Clerk

“Eldridge loved it. Vernon thought it was all hokum. Pretty sure that was the exact word he used.”

“What did you think of it?”

“I thought it was hokum, like Vernon.”

“But what about individuality? Don’t you think it’s pretty much obsolete today?”

“No, not at all. I mean, people act like there’s some force controlling our every move, but there isn’t. Society isn’t that powerful. The people who worry about getting crushed by it are just over-sensitive, in my opinion.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Orianna said, though her tone made it clear she thought those who looked at it that way were completely wrong. It was almost a challenge, and Thomas wondered if he should pick up the thrown gauntlet and start a philosophical argument. It would be fun to teach this youngster a lesson, as she clearly thought she had it all figured out. But he’d come up here to get to know her, not to score points in a meaningless contest.

“Well, anyway,” he said, smiling, “that’s just my two cents.”

“Yeah.”

“So, how do you like the winter around here?” Thomas said, abruptly moving to Conversational Topic Number Two. “Me and a friend were talking about it the other day. He hates it, can’t wait until summer rolls around. Me, I think it’s fine. No tourists, you have the beach to yourself, and it doesn’t get too cold.”

“I like all the seasons,” she replied, throwing another dirtied paper towel into the trash can. She didn’t pull off another; it seemed the conveyor belt was cleaned to her satisfaction. “Every one is different here. Well, they’re different everywhere , but here we have all the tourists during the summer, so we really notice the changes.”

“What about all those stud tourist guys that come down?”

Her already cool look dropped a few degrees in temperature. “What about them?”

“Well, I know a lot of guys get excited about the… new opportunities that appear, so I suppose some girls do too.”

“Yes, I’ve known a few of those… womanizers. I don’t mess around like that. I want a relationship, not a hook up.”

“Are you in a relationship now?”

“Why? Are you interested?”

The question stunned him, though he knew it shouldn’t have. He felt misused, as if Orianna had reached inside his mind and pulled out a cherished fantasy. He did like this pale, languid girl, and it seemed she was very much aware of this fact.

She was looking at him, a water fountain frozen into solid gracefulness, waiting for his response. His best move would be to keep up the banter, reply with something light and witty. But he’d already stumbled, and it seemed inevitable that the fall should continue so he’d end up flat on his face.

“Uh… not really, no… don’t want you to get the wrong impression…”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have any impressions.”

“That’s good…”

Mercifully, a customer appeared in Orianna’s line, her basket filled with groceries, and this allowed Thomas to escape with a lame “Well, time to get back to work.” Orianna said nothing to this; she simply nodded.

Once again, Peggy had watched the whole scene. Her gaze scorched the carnal flesh from their bones and sentenced their souls to damnation. Thomas had been defiant the last time she’d eavesdropped, but now he slunk to the back like a whipped dog.

Once he was safely in the back room, however, he let his anger loose and started kicking a few flattened cardboard boxes. Cardboard boxes were not cathartic things to kick when angry. They didn’t shatter or explode; they flew lightly through the air or skidded lazily across the floor. The most a person could do was kick a hole in one, and even that wasn’t very satisfying.

Thomas heard Vernon’s office door open.

“What’s going on back here?” he bellowed as he walked towards the commotion. “You practicing your karate kicks or something?”

Thomas stopped his assault and looked at the small mess he’d made. The various-sized boxes, none of them very damaged, seemed to be laughing at him.

“Nothing’s going on, boss,” Thomas replied. “Just got mad at something, so I decided to kick a few boxes.”

“Well, at least you didn’t go punching the water cooler like what’s-his-face way-back-when. Remember that? Knocked the jug right out of the holder, and if fell to the floor and cracked open and it was like a tidal wave back here.”

“I remember.”

“What was his name?” Vernon rubbed his chin, scratched his hair, closed his eyes, sucked his teeth.

“His name was Marcus,” Thomas finally said, although he felt sure Vernon knew the name.

“Marcus! That’s it! Damn, that boy was built like a bull, and just as ornery.”

Thomas glared at the floor.

“You alright?” Vernon asked.

“Yeah,” Thomas said, sighing. “I’m fine.”

“Alright then. Clean this mess up. Mommicking up my back room like that…” He laughed, looked at Thomas one last time, then returned to his office and shut the door.

Up ahead, the incongruous water tower bloomed out of the sand like a mushroom cloud. “BOGUE BANKS WATER” was painted on its side in dark blue, and the rest of it was covered in glossy tan paint. Thomas could remember when it was repainted a few years back. One man hung off its side, a tangle of lines keeping him aloft, and slowly rolled on a new coat. Thomas had anxiously watched him work for at least fifteen minutes, feeling that something terrible would happen. It was the same feeling one got when watching circus high-wire performers. But the man kept painting slowly, deliberately, and nothing happened.

Thomas stopped and looked around. This was usually his stopping point. If he continued, his legs and feet would probably be sore tomorrow. However, he felt spry, and wondered if he should keep walking for a bit. He decided to take a rest, which he needed anyway, and delay his decision. He sat down on the sand and shifted around until he had two depressions for his buttocks. Yes, the sand was wet, but he really didn’t care about getting his ass soaked. He closed the umbrella and set it beside him. It was still sprinkling, but it wasn’t enough to bother him, and he wanted to give his hands a rest.

He tried to forget about “Are You Interested?” (was it a taunt, or was she genuinely curious?) and instead focus on Orianna’s snobbery. Their brief talk about The Fountainhead gave Thomas the notion that she was a self-proclaimed intellectual who looked down on the hoi polloi. The evidence to support this notion was contradictory, since she’d even said she disliked the word “intellectual.” Still — maybe she knew she was a member of the hoi polloi, but still looked down on those who were hoi-er and polloi-er.

Anyway, he was not disposed to think kindly of her after “Are You Interested?” (Wasn’t he supposed to not think about that question?) Saying The Fountainhead was “off the beaten path”? Ridiculous. Anyone who read anything would have heard of it at some point. It was like saying a local fisherman didn’t know where the ocean was. She was surely a snob — much like other people he’d worked with over the years

As Vernon said long ago, some people think they’re better. Many of these “better” people had passed through the doors of Oxendine’s Grocery. Thomas knew many of these would-be prodigies considered him an oaf and a ridiculous lackey. After all, only an oaf would work at a small grocery store for decades. They would never fall into the rut Thomas had fallen into. They would get an education and do great things and make lots of money. Thomas wasn’t so bitterly unreasoning as to think that society had punished them for their hubris. No doubt some of them had indeed become rich and well-respected. Others had found comfortable middle-class jobs. But some had reached up as high as they could, and hadn’t grabbed anything but air.