The Turning Point
prologue in five parts to the short film “Blood Run”
by Chantelle Tibbs
PT. IV
Newman’s was closing. The aging hipster in the vitamin department made sure to let me know twice as I stood aimless in the aisles staring at an unnecessarily wide selection of probiotics. A tired, impatient voice rang out over the loudspeaker.
“We are closing in five minutes. Thanks for shopping at Newman’s, we open again tomorrow at eight. Have a good night.”
I felt their pain. No one should show up to any retail job even a half hour before closing. My older sister, Kennedy, got me a cashiering gig at the grocery closest to our school when we were Seniors in High School. She managed the bakery department.
“These people. We have a life outside of this God forsaken market.”
That was life-times ago. Before bags cost a dime. Before our mother made one fast left turn too many. Before Kennedy’s blood type led to symptoms that got her taken away.
I looked around the store one last time. Nothing. Another bust. I checked my phone. No response to any of my follow up texts. The walk to my car was long as I felt my cheeks grow wet. I was a sad woman chasing lesbian ghosts in the parking lot of a natural grocery. Just when I thought the miscarriage was rock bottom. Before I could find my keys in the oversized pockets of my jacket, I heard a sharp whistle. I looked over at the grocery store, all the lights were off. The parking lot suddenly felt vast and empty.
“Hey you.”
I turned to see Jen’s round face. She was smiling down at me, her hot breath building an ominous steam around her. I’ll give it to that girl. She even had the guts to check me out before she knew a bag was going over my head.
Join us for PT. V of The Turning Point on Wednesday, August 30th.
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