Greg Clumpner
Kate eyed a customer browsing the shelves of the 7-Eleven. Older, late thirties-early forties, he wore a taupe, Aran-patterned sweater and a mismatched argyle cap. She’d earn his name in three sentences.
Stone-faced, he set two coffees on the counter, ring on his left hand. He scanned the hodgepodge of candies and treats below with narrowed eyes.
“Looking for breakfast before you take your wife to behold the foliage?”
He smirked. His barrier was down. “Yeah, how did you—”
“Try the Morning Glory, they have amazing to-go egg sandwiches.” He was ear-to-ear with pearly whites as he swiped his card. Time for the kill. “If you need any other recommendations while you’re in town, come back and ask for Kate.” She curtsied.
“We will. I’m Chris.”
Jackpot. “My pleasure, Chris. Enjoy your day!”
Kate reveled in mastering her made-up interview games. She and her roommate at the University of Pennsylvania used to play when Kate attended for journalism, using it as an excuse to talk to cute guys.
While she waited for the next customer, Kate reshelved the tobacco. The bell above the door chimed. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Is this what you want to do with your life? The man’s voice echoed.
Kate whipped around. “Excuse me?”
Ms. Duncan, a local, glanced from the coffee station.
“Sorry. I thought you said something.”
Ms. Duncan approached, coffee in hand.
Your life. Is this how you want to live it? The voice was distinctly male, one Kate couldn’t recognize.
“Did you hear that?”
Ms. Duncan raised a concerned eyebrow. “Everything all right, dear?”
Kate smiled and nodded. “Enjoy your day.”
Once she left, Kate scurried through each aisle. No sign of anyone.
Answer the question, Katherine.
Nobody except her parents called her Katherine since Penn. “Who are you?”
I’m conducting this interview. Not you.
“I’ll bite.” Kate jerked the utility closet door open. “My life, I like it.”
Does working at a convenience store satisfy you?
“Pays the bills.” She peeked outside. Nothing but Bach played from the speakers. “It’s quiet here. People are friendly, even the tourists.”
Don’t you want more?
Returning to the counter, she had a flash of teenage memory: Oprah’s interview with Rihanna, the way Oprah was able to coax Rihanna, make her vulnerable and candid. That interview led Kate into journalism. “Maybe a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”
What changed?
“I had to leave the city.”
Why?
“Something happened.”
What happened that drove you from the city?
The voice dug for the crux, like Oprah would. When interviewing the customers, Kate hovered on the surface. “There… was an accident. I was too nervous to walk the streets anymore.”
What happened during the traffic accident?
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
Indulge me.
Her chest tightened. “A car ran a red light. A little tan Camry. Got sideswiped and spun out. A bus swerved and…” Kate’s eyes welled. “I’m not doing this.”
And where were you?
“I said I’m not doing this!” Kate gritted her teeth, trembling. “Just go away!”
Please? You may have moved on, but I can’t yet.
The voice had her, played her sympathy. The repressed memory gushed.
“The light, the little white stick figure told me to proceed.” A tear splashed the counter. “Someone pushed me out of the way. A-Amit.” Kate snatched a pack of Kleenex from the counter stand and ripped it open. “I didn’t know him. Amit’s parents said he went to Penn too. Law school.” She dabbed her wet eyes.
“I visited him. Every day until he woke up from his coma. Amit still couldn’t speak, too much brain trauma. Alive, but not there.” She wiped away streaming tears, dirtying the tissues with mascara.
Then you dropped out of Penn.
“I forced myself out of my apartment to visit the hospital. I was terrified to go outside. Class seemed inconsequential. And I couldn’t be Oprah if I wasn’t in a city. I can’t go back there.”
You don’t have to be Oprah.
“I know.”
Are you happy?
“Yes. No.” Kate slumped over the counter. “I don’t know.”
She bawled into her sleeves.
The door’s bell rang. “Hello?” Kate asked. The customer withdrew as soon as they saw Kate’s state. “Amit?” The voice didn’t answer either.
Kate went to the washroom and cleaned herself up, wiping away the smeared makeup. Collected, she made a phone call.
“Mrs. Patel? I was thinking about Amit and—”
“Katherine? I was about to call you.”
Kate recoiled. “H-How is he?” She backed against the wall, waiting for a response.
“He passed yesterday.” Mrs. Patel’s voice was composed, steady. “The funeral is on Saturday. If you want to come…”
Kate crumpled. “I… I’m sorry for your loss. Amit was… a good person.”
“The service is in Spruce Hill.”
Kate’s body suddenly weighed a ton. The tan Camry screamed through the intersection, the screech of metal folding, the shattering glass—
“Have you been back to the city since…”
—the thud as Kate hit the curb, untouched. “No.” Kate sniffled.
“…I understand.”
“I’ll honor him, in my own way. I’m going to get back into journalism, even if it means volunteering at the local paper.”
“I think he’d like that.”
Kate wiped one last tear. “Me too.”
Greg Clumpner is a proud product of Wisconsin currently residing in Pittsburgh, PA. He has both a mechanical engineering degree and an MBA from Carnegie Mellon University and works as a business consultant to early-stage companies. Greg has been published in multiple journals and is Editor of the Triangulation anthologies Seven-Day Weekend and Hospitium. When not working, writing, or playing with shelter dogs, you’ll find Greg willing to engage in any form of sport. Find him at gregclumpner.com and on Instagram @greg_clumpner.