Short Story | Nine-Fifty-Six

By Eddlynn Jennifer Mangaoang

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    She walks along the noodle aisle of an empty 7-Eleven located around the curb two blocks away from her one-room apartment and hastily picks two chicken-flavored Maruchan cup noodles. It's 9:56 in the evening and the lone cashier has his back bent toward his phone while his headphone is blaring volume max. She stands on the other side of the counter full of urgency, but a minute already passes, and he seems to double his focus on the video he's watching.

    She knocks on the counter softly, "Excuse me."

    "Excuse me," a little bit harder, with a bite.

    "H-huh?" He pushes down his headphone and stands up. "Oh. Sorry. Let me ring you up. Sorry 'bout that."

    She watches as he lazily scans the barcodes of her cup noodles then drops them into a plastic bag.

    "Cash? or ---," she extends her debit card to him. "Thanks, man. See you later."

    "Thank you,' she snatches her debit card and the plastic bag.

    The cold wind of mid-winter night pushes against her stout body and she almost stumbles when a particularly strong one slams down on her from the north.

    Swish. Swish. The howling winds rustle the tall cypress trees running the edges of the street as she jogs toward her car parked near the convenience store, letting it beep as she opens the driver's side then shutting the door in. She turns on the heater right away and feels relief when the burning odor of dirt and debris permeates the inside of her car.

    A minute down the road and a man in a black hoodie and dirty blue jeans haphazardly jump in front of her moving vehicle, and with a suddenness similar to sleeping with the sun scorching the metal box carriages and waking with the crescent hanging out amongst the stars, she shoves her foot down the brake and watches the man shouts and bangs on her car hood. She makes sure her door is lock while staring him down. There might be something in her eyes that has him backing away into the sidewalk and she powers forward to her home. 

    "What took you so long?" A man reaches out and she hands him the plastic bag. She takes off her fluffy sheep fur boots and lines them on the footwear cabinet.

    "Asshole people all around," is her only answer as she slumps on the silver sofa, breathing in the aroma of boiling ground coffee in the air.

    "You crave it though." He puts the kettle on, rips out the plastic, and unfurls the noodle cup's lid halfway through.

    "Yeah. But that doesn't mean I should be going out in this weather." She swipes for the T.V. remote and turns the volume up to three times higher and puts her feet up on the center table comfortably. 

    "Yeah?" He comes to sit beside her and offers her a cup of coffee- with one tablespoon of sugar and a dash of coffee creamer.

    "Yeah."

    She silently slurps on her hot coffee and sighs. She sniffs.

    "You're crying?"

    She shakes her head "no," but the steam blurs her eyes and the tremble in her fingers - well, her long sleeves conceal them well.

    He silently presents a Hershey's milk chocolate-with-almond bar to her before standing up to make her beloved Maruchan noodles. She thanks him in her heart.