Payment

co-written with C L Farrell of Good Manners and Other Lies & Haiku Inversion

Goodkid Russel shuffled slowly into the convenience store. He turned sideways to squeeze past the soft drink display and enter the first aisle. Once in the aisle, he turned to the metal shelf on his right and contemplated the snack cakes. While he considered his options, he shifted his massive weight slowly from one foot to the other. Though the home he shared with his grandmother was less than a block away, the walk had left his feet feeling quite sore.

“What’ll it be today, GK?” the thin, elderly man behind the counter asked.

“Well,” Goodkid said, still trying to catch his breath. “Today feels like a ‘K’ day. So... I think I’ll have some Kremie Kakes.” He reached into the black and white display box and pulled out 3 plastic-wrapped chocolate cakes. He looked down at them - held against his body with both hands - then looked back at the display. There was only one left. “Looks like I’m clearin' you out, Mister Mason,” he said and reached in to grab the last one.

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright, GK,” the old man said, grinning. “There’ll be more. There’s always more.”

Goodkid huffed as he walked toward the drink cooler at the back of the market. “Don’t think there’s any ‘K’ drinks. So, I guess I’ll have an orange creme soda.”

“Sure, GK, that’s a fine choice,” Mason said. “Creme has a ‘K’ sound, after all.”

“Close enough,” Goodkid said.

“Close enough,” Mason said with a wink.

Goodkid grunted as he opened the cooler door. He had to step back to give the door room to pass by him. He grunted harder when he reached for his drink.

“The ones in the back are colder,” the old man called.

“Hhhhuuuhh,” Goodkid groaned as released his hold on the bottle he’d chosen and leaned even further into the cooler. He pushed his large, soft arm over the tops of the bottles near the front and manged to get a finger around a cap in the rear. “Uugghh. Hmmmph. Errr!” He puffed as he twisted and pulled his arm - and the soda - free.

Out the window Mason saw that some of the neighborhood boys were gathering. They were all watching Goodkid. A tall boy said something, and pointed at GK. The other boys started laughing.

With orange creme soda in hand, Goodkid turned and headed up the aisle. Mason asked, “How’s your grandmama doing?”

“Oh,” Goodkid replied, lumbering his way toward Mason. “She’s not too good, I guess. Her little cart’s lost its charge and won’t go more than a little ways before it quits.”

“Well, that’s too bad. Too bad.”

“She’ll probably have me head to the Piggly Wiggly for some more cough syrup too.” Goodkid looked down in dread at the thought. The Pig was nearly half a mile away. “Mister Mason, I wish you had cough syrup around here.”

“Now, GK, you know I ain’t no pharmacy. I ain’t allowed to trade in that stuff. The government won’t let me. They got what they call regulations that say what folks like me can and can’t sell.”

“They won’t let you!” Goodkid said. “Well that’s not fair. Now I gotta walk all that way.” Goodkid exhaled in frustration. “It ain’t fair.”

Goodkid looked at Mason. He was lean and old. His prominent cheekbones rose high on his face, so much so that - from where Goodkid stood - they appeared to cover the lower halves of his eyes. His chin came to a sharp point and had the slightest strip of gray beard at its base His hair was nearly gone save for a thick V-shape in the center of his head that pointed toward his long nose. His eyebrows were thick bushy and - unlike the rest of his visible hair - perfectly black. He sat perched on a stool behind the counter. The counter stood on a raised platform. The extra height gave him a view of the entire store, and meant he spent most of his day looking down on his customers. He looked down on GK now. “No, it ain’t fair. Is it? Ain’t fair at all.”

“Oh, well,” Goodkid said, resigned. “I don’t know Mister Mason, Grandmom tells me to walk more all the time. Says it’ll get some of this weight off me.”

“She does?” Mason said, sounding concerned, then he raised a hand to his chin and smiled mischievously. “Hmm. I’ll tell you a secret, GK, when I was your age, I didn’t always do what I was told. And I’m willing to bet you don’t either, do ya?”

For a moment, Goodkid looked away shyly, but then he turned back to Mason with a mischievous smile of his own. “No, sir, I guess I don’t always.”

“Ha, I thought so,” Mason said. “Shoot, you know what? I bet your uncle will be by later, won’t he? I bet he’d run down to the store and pick up that cough medicine.”

A broad smile spread across Goodkid’s face. “Yeah, you’re right! He’d do that! Yeah. He’ll be here tonight.”

“Your grandmama can wait a little while longer, can’t she?”

“‘Course she can.” Goodkid said, happily. “And I won’t have to walk nowhere.”

While they talked, Mason kept an eye on the boys outside. They were pointing now and jabbing one another in the ribs. Urging each other on.

“Goodkid?” Mason changed the subject. “You know folks aren’t always nice, don’t you?”

Goodkid’s smile faded. “Oh, I know it, Mister Mason,” he said shaking his head. “Don't I ever know it!”.

“So, you probably know how sometimes one person or maybe a group of people will find somebody who’s different. And when they find him, they pick on him.”

“Yes, sir, I know it.”

Mason’s voice took on a grave, authoritative quality, like that of a teacher or a preacher. “Well, son, let me ask you another question. Have you ever heard of this so-called ‘natural selection’?”

“I think I heard something about that on TV, Mister Mason, but I can't remember exactly. Is that like what they used to do in that war?” Goodkid said. He half-consciously took a step backward. “World War II?”

Mason looked thoughtful for a moment and replied, “You mean the Nazis? I guess maybe the Nazis thought that's what they were doing, but not really. I knew a Jew once when I was a kid, and he was OK.” Then Mason leaned over the counter until he was on eye level with Goodkid and said, “‘Course some people are better than others, you know.” Mason paused and appeared to think for a moment. “You see, GK, I've been reading this book about natural selection and it’s got me to thinking. For one thing it got me to thinking about some of the folks around here. Natural selecting, you see, is nature’s way of keeping things nice and orderly. Not too little of any one thing. And not too much.”

Goodkid stared back at the man blankly. He pressed the cakes and soda to his body, gripping tightly.

“What happens, Goodkid, is that sometimes this world of ours gets full of.. What shall we call it? So much dead weight.” Goodkid took another step back and Mason leaned even closer, a cold smile appeared on his lips. Then, quickly he straightened. His smile immediately replaced by a stern blankness.

Mason shot a quick glance toward the window. The boys where still our there, but none of them were laughing now. They continued to stare at Goodkid. Turning back, Mason continued “What I mean to say is natural selection is the process of nature cutting the fat.”

Goodkid remained silent. Mason heard the faint sound of coins clinking in his pocket.

“Like I said that book got me to thinking. And I started to think that sometimes...not every single time, maybe, but sometimes... the pickin-on and meanness of one person to another...well maybe that’s just part of the way things are. Maybe that’s just nature doing it’s thing. Do you know what I mean, Goodkid?”

Goodkid swallowed. “Mister Mason, this is all I need. I better be getting back to my Grandmom now,” Goodkid said dropping the cakes and soda on the counter.

Mason took a quick glance out the window and smiled brightly. “Oh, sure, GK. I guess it is about time you were going. I got to talking and kept you past your time, didn’t I? Let’s see. Is this all you need? It’s a light day today, isn’t it?” Mason said. “What did you say before? It’s a ‘K’ day. That tickles me, GK.” Mason laughed. “You got a marker for every day.”

Goodkid nodded with a slight, tentative smile.

“Let’s see that’ll be four dollars and twenty-two cents,” Mason said.

Goodkid stuffed his hand into the font pocket of his jeans and came up with paper and coins. He laid it all on the counter and began counting. He counted out two paper dollars then moved on to coins. Little by little he pushed one coin at a time from the pile where he’d dropped it into a second pile closer to Mason. Mason offered no help. Instead he returned his attention to the boys outside his store. The tall boy now had a board. He was swinging it in a wide arch above his head. Some of the others were searching behind the dumpster at the corner of the parking lot.

“Mister Mason.” Goodkid drew the old man’s attention. “I don’t think I have enough. I only got three dollars and ninety-three cents.” Goodkid dropped his gaze, and said, “I’m sorry. I’ll put something back.”

“Oh, Goodkid. You know I wouldn’t let you do without,” Mason said. “What say I take everything you got, and we’ll call it even? How’s that?”

“Well...” Goodkid said, uncertainly. “I guess. I mean, thank you, Mister Mason.”

“Of course, GK. You’re one of my best customers,” Mason said.

“Thanks, again.” And with that Goodkid grabbed up his purchases and turned toward the door. Mason did not offer him a bag.

“See you next time, Goodkid.” Mason called.

“Okay,” Goodkid replied. He’d already begun breathing heavily by the time he reached the door. Mason watched as he pushed the door open with his shoulder and began to walk toward the sidewalk. He watched as the boys began to encircle him. He saw the boy with the board take the first swing. He watched the other boys jump onto Goodkid’s back and sides and drive him down onto his knees. He saw the four individually wrapped cakes fly in different directions, and the bottle of orange creme soda fall to the asphalt and bounce away. He watched one of the boys leave the mob and run around collecting these treats, then set them to the side and return to the beating. He watched until he had his fill, then he sprang open his register and added Goodkid’s payment.