Hyperbolic Mirror
“Can I use the bathroom?” It was hours later—brow damp, hand clutching their abdomen—Kid was in sudden and serious distress.
“Of course you can use the bathroom.”
Kid bolted with an urgency no one should feel for The News’ bathroom. Jerk slipped on his headphones, cranked his music, and read—blocking out everything neither of them wanted overheard.
A customer. Then another. Regulars. One got the last bunch of bananas, the other bought a 6 pack. Jerk just pointed to the display to indicate price and pantomimed ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’. Neither blinked. They left. Minutes dragged. He worried he’d have to send a search party, and he had no other volunteers. He was about to go in when Kid came out, shaken but standing.
“Was it the pizza? The Wings? Are you OK?”
“I’ll be fine.” Kid dropped onto the stool next to Jerk and slumped against the wall. Sweat soaked through their sweatshirt, pressing into the papers tacked behind them. Jerk stayed quiet. “Not the food. I’ve got some… gut problems.” Kid was rubbing their abdomen. “It came on faster than normal.”
Jerk did what he did. Cooler—ginger ale. Aisle B—Pepto. Saltines from D, where the ramen packets next to them were a mess. He straightened them automatically before he went back to the counter and put his foraging in Kid’s reach.
He rang everything out, punched in exact change, and wrote JERK in block letters across the receipt before putting it in the til.
“I’ll pay you back.” Kid said weakly, taking their first sip.
“You’d just be handing me the change back from the pizza.”
“But your pizza was wasted.”
“No. It wasn’t.” Jerk’s eyes flashed. He was mad, he didn’t know why. It wasn’t at Kid.
Jerk got up. He paced Aisle C, which had a great view of the door if you were pacing. In the back hung a hyperbolic security mirror, letting Jerk see the entire store from any angle. Weird thing—custom-made for Tiny’s father. The center reflected clear and clean, showing the counter and door. The rest warped into a funhouse haze.
The coolers kicked off, and the only noise in The News was the sound of ginger ale slowly going flat and saltines crumbling in Kid’s mouth. Jerk stopped in the middle of the aisle and asked a question. “So how bad is it in there?”
“Let me clean it up. I’m almost steady.” Kid said. They were pallid.
“That’s not an answer, Kid.” Jerk caught Kid’s reflection in the mirror over the coolers. They stared at the back of his head.
“It’s my mess. Let me clean it up.”
“No! It’s just a mess.” Jerk shoved his hands into his pockets, grabbing two handfuls of material. Shoulders stiffened, elbows locked.
“My mess. My problem.”
“No one owns a problem!”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means: Just tell me how bad it is in there.” Jerk turned, looking directly at Kid, no mirrors. “It’s my job. Let me do it.”
Kid looked towards the bathroom door. “You’re going to need a mop.”
“That’s fine. How bad? Should I bring kitty litter?” Jerk’s shoulders relaxed as he took his hands out of his pockets.
“Even if just to improve the ambiance.” Kid smirked weakly and nodded.
“Little punk.”
“Jerk.”