Quick Stop
My parents ran a small grocery store on the corner of Mulberry and New Meadow. Don’t bother looking it up, the streets are long gone, paved away for a condominium complex. Many of my summers were spent working behind the counter.
I hated it. While my friends were playing baseball or cracking open fire hydrants, I was stuck behind a counter in a stuffy room, taking care of drunks and single moms. Seriously, they were the only ones who came.
“Aye, Julio, stop reading and stock the fridge.” Mom would always catch me reading in the corner, away from the register. The fridge didn’t need to be restocked; she just wanted me to do something. So I would take the comic into the back.
Julio, she would cry. Julio! And she would find me reading and drag me by my ear up to the front.
I read the comic from cover to cover. It was weird, she didn’t come for me.
“Mama!” I called out. “Mama!”
I stepped into some red juice. Some stupid customer must have dropped a glass. Around the corner of the bread display, I found my mother lying on the ground.
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