Sunshine and Poppycock: Chapter 3
My mom had her first split days off the following night. While I do believe she is aware of my excursions, I never go out when she is at home. Sometimes we manage a dinner together. Other times it’s TV. Most of the time, it’s sleep. While she does not ask it, I feel compelled also to sleep early, so I am not keeping her awake with the lights and sounds of my regularly scheduled night time activities.
I sleep late the next day nonetheless. The lack of natural light in my sleeping quarters has allowed me to evolve away from the the genus and species in which I was born to become a completely separate entity devoid of a circadian rhythm. Sometimes I am left with leftovers, which I am able to consume, like a bear freshly coming out of a hibernation in the spring. That afternoon it was dry chicken breast, joined by a side of freshly prepared toast and ketchup.
That night I stayed in. The night after was the second night of my mom’s split weekend. There was a movie on TV and we ate orange cheese flavored curly noodles. We- or rather, just my mom- enjoys this time with me. She fell asleep on the couch half way through, and eventually went to her bed sometime while I was doing the dishes to the music of the credits rolling, before they were cut off by the late night news.
By the end of my mom’s weekend, I have a renewed hankering for my high-fructose fix. That night I headed out. It was 10:43. The pavement was still warm from the hours of soaking up the sun. I left the sweatshirt at home, but alas, I was still sweaty by the time I had reached the bottom of the stairs across that final street to the convenience store.
Nobody was present at the front of the store, which also seemed to be the case of the interior and its barren counter and cash register. I walked up anyway and tried the door. It budged a half centimeter. I stepped back and stared into the twenty-four-seven sign that had never changed once ever. I took yet another step back, being careful of the drop from the curb, to peer up at the crusty and cracked logo for the store which was also of indeterminate existence.
“Boy went to the bathroom there, Sunshine.” I heard the man sniff and snort loudly behind me. I braced myself with one foot on the curb and looked to the side.
“Poppy.” I muttered.
“You’re early. Or late. I dunno.” He shrugged and wound himself in a circle, arms out, around the cigarette totem.
“Late?” I glanced about, attempting to fine any sort of time-telling device somewhere inside the store.
“Yeah, where ya’ been?” Poppy whined, finally stopping and shoving his hands back into his pockets.
“I’m not here every night.” I frowned at him. “Like you, it seems.”
“I ain’t.” Poppy pursed his lips and tilted his head back and forth. “Well, maybe I am.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t gotten you for loitering.”