TBC By Chuck Messinger
Running a music store is pretty cool. It definitely has its ups and downs. One downer for instance is having to run the same CD over and over again on a release week. It can get monotonous enough to make you want to stick a fork in your ear cavity for relief. Another downer is the Christmas season. Is there anyone on this planet that actually likes hearing carols for two months straight? If there is ever a time I contemplate suicide, November and December does it for me.
My name is Patricia, but I have been called Pixie since I was a frail adolescent. Surprisingly under this hockey jersey and my monstrous knockers I still have the same frail frame I had as a child. Don’t know what it is about my family; all of the women have ‘happy tumors’ as big as mine. A few have actually had to get reductions just so they could stay upright. The difference is I use them to my advantage. I have a round face too; safe to assume with my baggy close that I might be a little more rotund than most guys care for. Apparently all of my hormone production went into the ‘Fun Bag’ development factory; I really have no desire to get into the sack with guys.
I think it’s the job. I see people from so many walks of life in here that there doesn’t seem to be any endearing qualities in the opposite sex. Even when a cute one makes his way through the door he will end up picking up Abba or Madonna or something stupid and ruin any vision of perfection I may have had for a fleeting moment. I imagine bartenders feel the same way; when everyone is drunk around you there is no appeal to drinking yourself.
Being a mid-20s female in a store by myself at most times it certainly pays to maintain an intimidation factor too. More for necessity than anything, I have been caking on the make-up like a goth clown for more years than I can remember. My hair has been died purple just as long. Only on a lazy month can a customer paying close attention see the blonde roots jutting out of my fried grape mop. The funnest part about it is only I know how attractive I really am. When I look at myself in the mirror each morning after stepping out of the shower I get a huge boost. Whereas most baggy clothes wearing/dyed hair/caked on make-up types have confidence issues I am quite the opposite. I treat the get up like a uniform. There is nothing sexy about a cute girl in a music store getting held up by punks for cash because I look like an easy target. No way. No sir. Not having it.
I started working here when I was 15. Mom has always been self engrossed in her job as a lawyer and it’s just her and I at home. Figured out the best way to stay busy at a young age was to work. When I was still the frail, boobless little pixie at the age of 12 I had an under the table job working for an auction house. Did my best Vanna white pointing and smiling, then guiding the winning bidder to the correct table for processing. Demeaning really. Even at that age. Spent every penny I made here at the music store and Ol’ Dan took to me. In fact I ended up inheriting the store when he died of a massive coronary. I was only 19 and I was a business owner.
Surprisingly, the whole ordeal pissed my Mom off. She had always dreamed I’d follow in her footsteps and we would be partners in a legal firm. Her imagination was limited; she never stopped to think I might have another agenda. Though, this certainly wasn’t mine. When a cash cow is dropped in your lap you don’t walk away from it. Sure I could have sold it but to the average joe there is no appeal to a 6 day a week job in a dimly lit strip mall music store. It really suits me perfectly. My fair skin always left me a dark painful shade of red any time I partook in sunny day hobbies. This job keeps me out of the sun nearly all year round.
The fun time is winter around here. Its dark when I open and dark when I close. Really brings the freaks out. Probably the most notable is Two Buck. I kind of made up that name; I never mustered the nerve to ask him his name. Used to joke to Ol Dan that he must be a vampire cause we would only see him during the winter and he would stay in the store from open to just before closing; never setting foot out in the sunlight. I love to shop, but ten hours in the same store is a little ridiculous. During the winter months he would come in every 11 days like clockwork (after 8 years you begin seeing patterns).
He was more fair-skinned than I, I would swear almost to the point of being transparent. A lot like they describe them gay new age vamps in Washington. And his eyes. Wow. If he was a good looking man, those eyes would make him a god among men. The fairest blue you can imagine without being completely white. His hair was a peppered gray; the gray that looks good on middle aged men, only his quasi-mullet looked like he cut it himself with a pair of scrapbooking scissors. His mouth had that look of an older person with dentures, like there was no teeth in his mouth. Couldn’t tell you either way; I don’t think I have ever seen him smile. His trademark black trench coat really became more and more pungent over the years. I have him to thank for the air conditioning system. Ol Dan installed it about 6 weeks before he died to generate some air flow when Two Buck showed up.
I know what you are thinking, why not ask him to leave, or buy a new jacket, or take a shower, or anything to address his funk? When one customer spends at least a hundred bucks every eleven days during the winter that one customer becomes the bread and butter. Just one or two customers like that can make or break any mom n’ pop business. That and having any regular customers at all keeps me sane. Ok, the other thing is he was always buying music that dumbfounded me. Stuff that I listened to and kept in stock just hoping someday someone would turn off their fucking radio and pick up something less commercially generated and promoted. It is almost like he kept a list of CDs I have in my stereo at home and purchased them randomly during his regularly scheduled visits. Cool but weird.
He of course got the name ‘Two Buck’ by always paying cash and always finding a way to work a 2-dollar bill into the mix. I have a separate slot in my cash register just for 2-dollar bills. I only take them to the bank when the season is over and I know he won’t be back for at least 6 months. That is, until last week.
Last Tuesday I got a COD shipment from one of my distributors that was more than triple what I usually pay. The problem was I had a line of customers waiting for one of the CDs and you can’t accept a partial shipment. I reluctantly wrote a check for the full amount and promptly ran down to the bank with all my cash to make sure I didn’t bounce the check. Leaving only the bare minimum in the till, I included all the 2-dollar bills in the deposit. Turns out that was the biggest mistake I could have made.
Two Buck had just been there two days before the shipping fiasco. I spent the following day arguing with the distributor about how they really fucked me. Turns out it was somehow my fault. When submitting my usual order online I hit the ‘submit’ button three times, thus the triple order. The end result was a choice between keeping the product or sending the excess back to them at my expense. Shipping is not cheap from here; would cost me more to ship than to sit on the product. Needless to say I was frazzled, grumpy, pissy and exhausted that day. It had been 4 years since Ol’ Dan passed and the store became mine. This was the first time ever I had a dilemma that caused me any stress. I must have oozed negativity because the small handful of customers I had that day did their best to avoid eye contact.
After a dismal day of sales, I turned off the CD player and went to turn off the neon signs. I stopped for just a second. Something wasn’t right. There was a ringing in my ears like white noise only different. I focused on the noise, or lack of noise. It sounded like it was coming from under the floorboards, like a rushing flow of water from a burst pipe. The fortunate thing was there was no plumbing or space under the floor boards as the building was relatively modern and was built on concrete with the plumbing in the walls. The less fortunate thing is no matter what I thought of, nothing explained the noise.
It was at that moment that Two Buck rushed through the front door (seven days earlier I might add), pivoted on a dime and pushed his back against the door. He was clearly winded, as his nostrils flared like a horse that just did a lap at the track. “Open the register now!” he said, louder than I had ever heard him speak before. I always imagined this happening, but never imagined I would cooperate. Almost as if I was a puppet with strings, I hit the ‘No Sale’ button on the register, let the drawer slide open, and stepped back one foot while folding my arms behind my back like a soldier at parade rest. I didn’t feel panicked at all; something about my level of familiarity with this strange man led me to believe that he would not harm me.
“Where are the 2-dollar bills?” he demanded, again in the same pronounced tone that was at least an octave higher than I had ever heard him speak.
“Had to take them to the bank to cover a check” I stated matter-of-factly, providing no more information than was necessary.
“Lock this door, go out the back and make your way to the hill…and hurry!” I was beginning to realize that not only was he speaking in a tone that was commanding but there seemed to be a buzz to his voice that demanded my attention. Much like the noise under the floor. I did as he requested and locked the door, leaning across him so he could maintain his stance bracing the door. The stench was almost unbearable up close. Like something dead and buried. I held my breath long enough to do the deed and made a beeline for the back door.
As I opened the back door, the parking lot erupted like a giant pimple. The dumpster launched straight in the air and landed with a thud just two feet away from me. I landed on my ass and backpedaled back towards the back door. “Go! Go! Go! Don’t look back” Two Buck yelled behind me while he lifted me back to my feet. I scrambled around to the right noticing now the gaping hole out of the corner of my eye something extremely large make its way underneath the building. I needed no more incentive as I scrambled full speed up the hill behind the complex. AS I started to make my way back down the hill on the other side Two Buck yelled “Stop” to which I was obliged to listen. I skidded to a halt and collapsed against a nearby tree failing to catch my breath after many attempts. As I fell into a heavy breathing rhythm, I blacked out.
“Pixie, wake up. Pixie!”
I felt and heard Two Buck whispering in my ear and slapping my cheek. Just enough pressure to wake me up without hurting me. I awoke thinking how tender he was with me; like an elderly woman with a priceless antique. “What is happening? Who are you?” I asked, waiting patiently for my hazy vision to clear.
“If I told you I was a subterranean dweller charged with the responsibility of herding giant moles away from the surface, would you believe me?” he asked with a grin on his face. First grin. Has teeth. Answered one question. Taking in his smell outside, I realized that the smell I always associated with him was the same smell of the ground I was laying on. Dirt. So many years since I played in the dirt I really had no frame of reference.
“ I don’t know why but yeah” I said sharing his grin, “I think anyone else using that statement I would question”. I realized he was cradling my upper body against his knee, holding me upright during our conversation. “Perhaps you could provide me with a little more information so I know I haven’t completely lost it?” I said as I scooted myself off of his knee, choosing to support myself now that I was fully conscious.
“Can you trust me long enough for me to get you to safety?” he asked, this time with a pleading tone, nothing like the commanding tone he used prior. I looked into his cloudy blue eyes for a sign that he wasn’t sane. He just stared back determined and imploring. I found myself lost in his eyes, forgetting it was my turn to speak. I just nodded, still unsure with my decision.
“Ok. Where do you bank?” he said assuming my blank staring nod was sufficient. I pointed at the US Credit Union which was directly behind us on the opposite side of the hill from the store. Two Buck tapped an earbud in his ear and stared off in the direction of the bank. “Perfect. Lets get you down there quickly”.
I jumped to my feet ready to make the short trek to the bank. As I leaned against a neighboring tree I felt the ground rumble underneath us as Two Buck disappeared from site. I looked down to see him about 20 feet down a newly developed chasm in the ground, hanging from a root of the tree I was leaning on. “Get to the bank!” he yelled, this time with that commanding tone, “ I will meet you there”. I turned and ran towards the bank no concern for tripping hazards in the dark all the while thinking how can he meet me at the bank when he is falling to his doom in a giant pothole? My heart began to hurt, mostly from the action of running ( I don’t get much exercise running a music store) but also from fear he would not return.
Why was I so attached to this strange man? The feeling did not feel natural at all. Almost forced, like a chemical dependency. I f I was a smoker needing a cigarette would be the closest analogy. I came to a stop outside the bank next to the ATM machine, of course winded from the strenuous activity. My heart began to slow and quit aching. Sweat was rolling off my brow like it was a hot night in Louisiana. I commenced to waiting for Two Buck’s unlikely appearance.
Hours passed. It could have been minutes. I don’t know. Sitting on the ledge of an ATM trying to make sense of tonight’s occurrence made time seem intangible. Staring at the hill and the lights over the hill had me wondering if I had just lost it. There was no more rumbling. No more holes appearing in the ground. No strange customer spewing tales of underground worlds. For the second time today just an eerie silence. While I for some reason trusted Two Buck, the logic center of my brain said its too damn quiet for there to be anything wrong. I crept back towards the hill tiptoeing like I didn’t want to disturb my Mom after a late night teenage bender.
I made it across the parking lot. Before I stepped back into the grass I stopped for just a moment to feel that familiar rumble. And then I fell.
And fell. What the hell? Like something out of a cartoon, I fell for what seemed like minutes. I had the time to analyze the fact that I was falling and still falling, so it must have been awhile. And then I felt a strange heat like a heated seat in an upscale sedan. Like sitting on a balloon, I could feel my body get lighter and lighter, slowing as I dropped. And then I stopped. Still hovering, but I know I had stopped dropping by the bioluminescence on the walls. My eyes began to adjust to my surroundings.
I noticed what looked like a horizontal tunnel fading off into the distance with a light orange hue lighting its path. As I watched the orange hue flicker like a candle, my slowly adjusting eyes noticed a shape walking up the tunnel. “Thanks for dropping by” an all too familiar says from the tunnel, “I didn’t think you would ever show up”.
“Get me out of here fucker!” I yelled as I flailed my arms liked a spoiled child on the floor of a toy store. “Get me..”I could see him gesture with his arm and my body made its way slowly over to him.
“I sincerely apologize for not meeting you at the bank, but we have more pressing concerns on our hands. Come with me.” I made my way to my feet. As we walked down the passageway the faint orange light began increasing in intensity. And the heat…my god the heat! We rounded a bend and I found myself in what can only be described as…an apartment?
“Sorry about the mess. I don’t get visitors often. Just move those books on the chair and have a seat. We have much to discuss.” Two Buck pointed towards what appeared to be a chair fashioned from the rock wall. The chair was covered with a quilt of some kind and heaping with books. I pushed the books onto the table (again, fashioned from the bedrock) and sat down.
“First of all none of this is cool. I am not cool with how this is happening. I am not cool with giant rodents. I am not cool with plunging to my death. I am not cool with you ditching me at the bank. I am not…”
“Enough!” he demanded with that strange tone. I saw his demeanor change from annoyed to calm. “I apologize for using The Command on you, but our time is running short. Can you please take the time to listen to me without interruption for just a few minutes? It will all become clear.” I nodded in acceptance, knowing that it was a conscious decision for him to not just control me and shut me up. He took off the trench coat to reveal an amazingly well built body.
As he rambled on about the moles, something about creating tunnels to cool the earth, his mission, two-dollar bills with high frequency somethings…blah blah blah…I watched him transform before my eyes. What had previously looked to me like a toothless mouth was indeed full of teeth. When he concentrated he pursed his mouth, thus creating the negative effect. Having seen his smile I don’t remember what concerned me so much about its appearance before. The hair that had all the personality of an aged Raggedy Andy doll before seemed to almost defy gravity and glow with an orange hue. The eyes, his most endearing quality now shone like there were stars behind them.
He was beautiful.
He continue to speak of global catastrophe, moles, CDs, underground unions; and all I could think about was how wrong I was to judge. A beautiful man had been in front of me all these years.
“Why do you smile?” he said, breaking me out of my pleasure zone. I took off the hockey jersey I had been wearing and wiped away the make-up on my face that I had not already sweated away to reveal the swan underneath. I stood up and walked closer to him.
“What should I call you?” I said. The one question I always wanted to ask.
This time I got a full smile. “Call me Chuck.”
