Ghosted by J.M. Darhower EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: J.M. Darhower
- Language: English
- Genre: Superhero Science Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
KENNEDY
The beeping of the checkout scanner is monotonous, a dull drone I barely
hear anymore, as it melds with Wilson Philips’s Hold On playing on the
loudspeaker radio. The same songs, day in and day out. Same constant
beeping. Same everything.
Same customers in and out of the store, buying the same things they’ve
bought before.
My life has become a predictable loop, a real-life version of Groundhog
Day that I have no intention of trying to change. I’m the personification of
an alternate ending where Phil accepts that he’s stuck listening to Sonny &
Cher every morning until the end of time.
If you’d have asked me years ago if this would be my future, I would’ve
laughed in your face. Me? Kennedy Reagan Garfield? I was destined for
greatness.
I’d been named after a pair of iconic presidents. My mother, the
idealistic liberal, and my father, a strict conservative, never saw eye-to-eye
on much… except for me. They never agreed on healthcare or taxes, but
they were both convinced their little oops baby would be somebody.
And here I am—somebody, all right. Assistant Manager Somebody at
Piggly Q Grocery in a ‘blink and miss it’ kind of town in upstate New York.
Thirteen dollars an hour, forty-plus hours a week, with a full benefits
package including (unpaid) vacation days.
Not that I’m ungrateful. I’m doing better than a lot of people. My rent is
paid every month. My electricity hasn’t been cut off. I’ve even got
overpriced cable! But deep inside, I know this isn’t the kind of greatness my
parents envisioned for me.
“Assistance needed on three!”
The high-pitched voice squeals over the loudspeaker, drowning out the
music. My gaze scans the register area, waiting for someone else to
respond, but nobody does. It always falls to me. Shaking my head, I stroll
over to lane three, to the young blonde girl running the ancient register,
ringing up an older woman’s groceries.
The cashier, Bethany, looks at me, dramatically pouting as she wiggles a
can of chicken noodle soup in my face. “It’s coming up a buck and a quarter
but Mrs. McKleski says there’s a ninety-nine cent sign back there.”
It’s $1.25. I know it is. Even Mrs. McKleski probably knows and just
wants to make a fuss about something. I smile, though, and override the
register, giving it to the woman at the discount.
I step away to let Bethany finish ringing up the groceries as Mrs.
McKleski asks, “How’s your father doing?”
I don’t have to look to know she’s talking to me. I start straightening up
the candy rack near the register. “He’s hanging in there.”
“Thought about baking him a pie,” she says. “Does he have a favorite?
Apple? Cherry? Thought it might be pumpkin, or maybe pecan.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate whatever you make,” I say, “but he’s more of
a chocolate cream pie guy.”
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