Reduced Price
Three items are placed on the counter: a bottle of orange juice, a bag of chips, and a stretch-wrapped sandwich—the lettuce stubbornly refusing to turn brown despite a bright orange REDUCED PRICE sticker covering the “Best By” date.
Jerk begins to ring them up.
“So when’s Norma coming back?”
The customer is a regular. Sandy blonde hair, a handlebar mustache with a hint of red. Jerk reckons he was more of a strawberry blonde as a kid. Sad Eyes.
“Norma had surgery again. She’ll be back when she’s feeling better.”
Jerk points at the price on the register’s readout.
Norma made the sandwich. Norma and Tiny made Jerk.
“It’s just… I was thinking about it last night, and even three days old—” Sad Eyes holds up the sandwich as evidence. “—even three days old, her sandwiches remind me of sitting in my Gram’s kitchen.”
“Uh-huh.” Jerk accepts the cash offered and rings it in. Seventy-seven cents in change. “Just sitting in a kitchen, eating a sandwich?”
“No, it’s more.” Sad Eyes puts his lunch in his backpack. “It’s like a happy memory. I’m sitting at the kitchen table. I’m small. My feet don’t even reach the floor when I sit. It’s sunny. She’s there, humming as she makes her afternoon tea. I feel warm. Safe. Happy.”
“Huh.” Jerk hands Sad Eyes his change. “Sounds like you’re getting a lot of value for your money, then.”
Sad Eyes nods, looking wistful. He turns to leave without another word.
“Enjoy the sandwich.”