Marshall Ramsey

The parking lot of the Quickie Gas & Groceries was empty that Thursday afternoon. The whole world was gathered around the table, saying thanks and enjoying the company of loved ones and friends. All except Elizabeth J. Clarke. She was working the midday shift on Thanksgiving at this rural convenience store to make a little extra cash for college.

It was the worst Thanksgiving ever.

She stood behind the counter, behind the Five-hour Energy and the Beef Jerky, reading her law book.  If there was a silver lining, it was that she was getting paid to study.  Time and a half never looked quite so good.

Her boredom was interrupted by a beat-up older green Chevrolet Malibu that pulled into the parking lot.  It pulled up to the store and parked.  “OK,” she thought, “They aren’t getting gas. So I’ll be having company.”

Two young men in hooded sweat jackets threw open the doors of their car and got out. One had his hands in his pocket.  She hated to profile, but her heart started racing. Who knows? Maybe they just needed some gum to get rid of their turkey breath. She almost laughed but her heart was racing too fast to let that happen.

The bell on the door rang and she noted their height against the doorframe measurement.  “STOP IT!” she shouted at herself. “QUIT THINKING NEGATIVE.”  One of the men went back toward the drinks and got a six-pack of beer. The other circled around and disappeared from her line of sight. He was the one with his hands in his pockets — she desperately checked the video monitors.  Panic set in.

Suddenly he appeared holding a gun!  Her law book hit the ground as he started screaming a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush.

“GIVE ME THE @#$@# CASH IN YOUR #$%#$ DRAWER YOU #$%#$ING #$%$#!!!!!’

His eyes were red and his hand holding the gun was shaking almost as violently as she was.  Whatever he was on was making him even meaner than he probably was when he was sober.

She hesitated and that cost her.

“NOW! YOU #$%#$%!!!! I SAID @#$%#$ NOW!!!!!”

She was openly sobbing, pleading for her life. “DON’T KILL ME!”

That made the man holding the gun even angrier.  He thrust the gun against her forehead and screamed, “NOW!!! ”

She felt the cold metal of the gun barrel against her forehead.  When it touched her skin, time slowed down to a crawl. The screaming man’s voice slowed and suddenly she had her life flash before her eyes: Playing with her dad on the floor of the living room. Winning 1st place in her science fair.  Her first kiss. Graduating with honors. So many Thanksgiving dinners with her family…

She saw his bloodshot eyes blink and then his finger slowly squeeze the trigger. So this is how it would end. Right here at the Quickie Gas & Groceries on Thanksgiving Day.

It was the worst Thanksgiving Day ever.

She closed her eyes and prepared to meet God.

click.

The gun jammed.

The angry man holding it became even angrier and screamed even louder as he ran out the door to the waiting car.  The two would-be robbers and murders scratched out of the parking lot and onto the rural Mississippi highway with only a six-pack of beer.

What had seemed like hours had only lasted a minute.  She fell to her knees sobbing, appreciative of the life that she still had. Of the experiences she would still get to experience. Of the family she would get to go home and love tonight.

Lying on the floor of the Quickie Gas & Groceries,  Elizabeth J. Clarke cherished the second chance at life she had been given by the jammed gun and thought the only thought she could:

It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

On the fourth floor of St. Argemir’s Memorial Hospital, a man with his head in his hands sat in a chair.  Surrounding him were floral displays of every shape and size with cards, balloons and teddy bears accompanying them.  He didn’t notice them.  He sat there and just watched the man lying in the bed in a coma.

“I know you can hear me,” the man said to the patient. “I wish you could give me a sign.”

The man in the bed didn’t move. The only sound was the slight purr of the respirator.

“Remember that time we played down by the creek? When we shot bottle rockets at the other kids and built dams?  That was fun. Being a kid was so much fun.”

No response.

“And the time at the beach back in the 1980’s? The girls were so cute back then. The sunburn was so painful!”

Silence.

“And remember the first time we saw Sandy?  She was gorgeous.  I’ve never seen anyone any prettier in a wedding dress. What a knockout.”

Still nothing but the sound of the respirator.

A nurse came in and checked the patient. She adjusted the amount the morphine drip and reset the beeping machine.  She paid no attention to the man in the chair, punched her iPad and walked back out into the hallway without saying a word.

“Seeing the kids being born. Well, that was worth living for. Seeing them grow up, well that was an even better.”

His words faded into silence.

“Cancer sucks.  It’s a thief. It’s a killer. And it’s a bully.”

No disagreement from the bed.  In fact, there was nothing from the bed.

“Well Buddy, I got to go. It’s been an honor.  But I have to go and meet friends.”

No sound or movement from the bed.

The man in the chair stood up and walked over to man in the bed. He ran his hands across his rubbery forehead and said,  “We had a good life.”

The man in the chair leaned over and kissed the body in the bed. And when he did, alarms went off in the room.  The patient’s spirit looked back at his body one last time and then was gone.