Okay, here's the deal. This piece originally lived in my laptop, then I posted it on my myspace page. However, myspace only allows a certain amount of memory per blog before they start erasing, so -- seeing as some crackhead is using my laptop screen to cut lines of coke and I have no way to keep a backup anymore -- this piece is coming to live on Blogspot Street. Please be nice to him, he's an only child. (as in, he's my only fiction piece ever.)
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Sam laid his usual groceries on the belt canned beans, rice, canned corn, a package of chicken pieces, generic cereal, and eggs. He had, of course, checked all the lanes until he found the one she was working. It meant a longer line, but it also meant being close to her for a moment, albeit with a scanner between them.
Waiting for her to check the items was the only time he didnt know what to do with his hands. In the pockets, out of the pockets. At his side, back in the pockets. Then on the wallet, then back in the pockets. Sometimes he would fold them or pick nervously at his nails. His eyes would also dart, which they almost never did, from her nametag, to her profile as she typed in the code for chicken, then at his hands, back to her nametag. ELIZABETH. The letters were crooked, punched into red plastic, showing white. A ladybug sticker covered the bottom of the H.
He loved her name. He thought the cheap nametag a shoddy misrepresentation, an injustice to something so pretty. The name reminded him of characters in literature he read in college. It was also unlike anything he had heard back in China.
His birth name was Xio Lin, butchered enough by professors his freshman year that he began going by Sam. Actually, it was the lacrosse player he tutored in math that had started it. "Im too hung over, dude, Im just gonna call you Sam, okay?" Sam liked it. It sounded Western. Unlike anything he had heard in China.
It wasnt that Sam hated his homeland. His mother, Xio Chiang, made sure pride was instilled deeply as a child. His mother had died, however, days before his fourteenth birthday. Black market blood-selling was gaining popularity in China as the need for transfusions increased. The growing population made plasma a commodity. A factory worker could bring home one months pay for two pints of blood. The money was guaranteed, but new needles werent. AIDS and HIV spread through the poorer regions like a torrent. With his father drinking away the tiny pittance factory life brought in, Sams mother had taken the gamble and anted her life. Sam decided early that life was never fair and death was no great equalizer. It was what kept him out of the Indian casinos outside of town. He already knew what it was like to lose a bet.
When Sams mother died, his love for China died with her. As his father grew increasingly violent, Sam vowed to leave it behind any way he could. He managed to stay in school, his mothers dying wish, while other kids in his town were forced into the same factories their parents worked; sometimes it meant going without meals or spending the night on the streets to get away from home. The fact that Sam didnt work was always a point of contention with his father. After Xio Chiang died, the man would come home drunk, reeking of whiskey and sometimes hookers, and rail that there was no food in the house. Sam would usually sneak out the back door before he could be seen and return hours later, when he knew his father would be asleep. His homework would always be in his knapsack, printed so neatly no teacher could tell it was written under a bridge.
Back in the clinging darkness of Renner, South Dakota, right outside Sioux Falls, Sam lay clutching an empty silohouette. In his mind, she was warm to the touch. In his mind, her skin was wrapped in delicious shades of cream and vanilla. She rolled over, clutching his chest to hers and breathing into the sacred space between his neck and shoulder, the space reserved for a lovers kiss. In these dreaming times, it was never the streetlight that sent halogen streaks across the ceiling, strongarming their way through the cracked binds. It was the sheer light of wanting, the wish in his heart that someday hed pay for his groceries and something, something would make Elizabeth look at him in the way hed seen women do in movies.
An Asian in America is an obvious minority. An Asian in South Dakota may as well be an alien. Going to school at the University of Sioux Falls, Sam was one of only three Asian students. The other two were Korean and raised in America. Sam was the only one with an accent.
With the help of a teacher at school, he had applied for a scholarship to attend school in the States. It included a dorm and plane fare. He had never believed in ghosts, but he wondered if it was his mother blessing him from beyond the grave. Sam left home much like he had in the years since her death, by sneaking out the back door. He and the teacher had arranged everything under his fathers gin-blossomed nose and left just before the man came home from another bender. On the table, he left a note. Neat Mandarin characters read, "I wont be coming back. You can sell my furniture."
"Liz! Hey, Liz! Can you call for a price check on these diapers? My buttons not working." The large woman, Kathy, on the Express Lane called over to Lane 4 as Sam was getting out his wallet.
"Sure!" she answered, flashing Kathy her sweet smile. She kept it on as she turned back to face Sam. "Just one sec," she whispered to him before saying, "Ray, price check on Huggies 40-pack!" into a phone receiver.
"Sorry about that," she continued. Her eyes were a bright, Irish blue, under a bit too much makeup, but she was very pretty for thirty-four. "How are you today?"
"Oh, oh, fine," Sam said quietly, smiling and picking at his nails. He wanted to say more, but what? He just watched as she pushed blonde tendrils of hair behind her ear, moving his canned corn over the scanner.
Holding the can, she said, "You know, we have fresh sweet corn on sale over there, did you see that? Its from a farmer up in Garretson, its really good!"
Sam froze. Corn? Whats corn? His hands flew to his pockets, then back out again. She was talking to him. Not the usual "hi, how are you" she always gave him, but she was really talking to him. About corn.
She kept going. "Yeah, and I think we got some peaches on sale, too. Six for a dollar."
Peaches. Dollar. Sam had studied English harder than any other subject, but now words were escaping his mind like smoke from a chimney. In his head, he cursed at himself in Mandarin and tried to smile. When he opened his mouth, he spoke with an accent. "Thank you. I will... go... look." Twenty years in America, twenty years of trying to lose his accent and sound like everyone else, and here it was, back to set him apart again.
An Asian in America is a minority. An Asian on the dating scene in the Midwest is one of two things: single, or a dare. Sam had been the butt of many fraternity jokes and one sorority bet. His freshman year, guys would invite him to parties "on the hill" that never happened or to actual parties and then patronize him, subtly teasing to everyone elses delight. Sam wasnt used to such humor and it took him a few times to recognize it. Then there had been Tina.
Sam boarded the plane to America a virgin and stayed that way until his sophomore year at USF. When the fall semester started and a new wave of freshman were rushing Greek, one particularly bitchy sorority sister told her pledge she couldnt get in until she "fucked the chink". The hazing, which Sam was oblivious to, became huge news and a betting pool was even started on how many days it would take. It didnt take long at all.
Sam was invited to another of the frat parties. He didnt want to go, not after seeing the way the kids leered at him the year before. Plus there was lots of liquor there, and he didnt like the way people acted when they drank. But he had spent the summer on an almost empty campus and was feeling somewhat lonely. Lonely was a new feeling for him. He dressed in a short-sleeved button up shirt and showed up promptly at nine.
When a big linebacker answered the door, he yelled, "Hey, everyone, Sams here!" A raucous, laughing cheer went up from the crowd and they all but pulled him inside. "Hey, Sammy, you wanna beer?" "Hey, how about a shot?" "We got Jell-O shooters if you want one, buddy!" Sam was so taken aback by the attention he barely noticed the shot glass thrust in his hand. The students did, and started chanting. "Sam! Sam! SAM! SAM! SAMSAMSAM!" Sam drank. It burned on the way down and more was poured in the glass. The chanting started again. This happened four times. Someone asked, "Wheres Tina?"
She appeared at the bottom of the rickety staircase. She was cute, curvy, with dark curly hair. Sam was pushed towards her and all but knocked her down as he lurched forward. Everyone watched and hollered as she led him up the stairs, holding his hand. A guys voice shouted, "Youre gonna get laid, Sammaaaaaaaaaay!" Laid?
She was nervous and tipsy, he was shitfaced. His memory of the foreplay was scattered she was clothed, then naked, then he was naked, then he was on a bed. But his consciousness snapped back like a rubber band when he felt her touch him. It was wet and she was sitting on him and it was warm and suddenly all his thoughts were in Mandarin and oh god what was she god his mouth was hanging open and holy no this is new and suddenly it was over, as quickly as it started. Then she was off of him and sitting on the floor. And she was crying. Then she threw up.
He lay there in the darkness, stunned and wet around the middle, suddenly becoming very aware of his body, his thin arms and bony hips. He felt extremely self-conscious and confused. Tina was looking at him through her tears, her face twisted into alternating shades of contempt and shame. Her own self-loathing was oozing through the cracked exterior. "Get out," she whispered. Sam froze. "Get out!" she shouted. He jumped off the bed.
Sam dressed quickly in a bourbon haze and ran down the stairs and out the door. Drunken shouts rang after him, "Hey, where ya goin, chinko?" and "Saaaaaaam, didja do it?!" He got lost going home and made it to his dorm at 11:30. He never went to another party.
The next time Sam went shopping, peaches were still on sale for six for a dollar. Actually, he didnt need to shop. It had only been two days since his exchange with Elizabeth about produce. He just wanted to her to see him buying the peaches. Just like he had wanted her to see the sweet corn he had bought the day before. And this time, he made sure his words didnt fail him.
"That corn was a good recommendation. Thank you." The only word he struggled with was "recommendation". He reminded himself not to use that one again.
"Hey, youre welcome! And the peaches, too! Wow, this is new for you, huh?"
His hands came out of his pockets, then went back in. "Yes, it is." Sam almost never bought fresh foods. It was always canned goods and boxes. They stacked easily and kept for a long time. Elizabeth looked around with a silly grin and motioned him to lean in. She whispered, "Well, dont tell anyone, but word on the street is that tomatoes are gonna be 99 cents a pound starting tomorrow." She stood back up straight and winked as she said, "But thats our little secret."
Tell anyone? He couldnt if he tried. His tongue was suddenly made of sawdust, just a useless flap of muscle in his mouth. He had felt her breath on his ear. She had winked at him. His fingers picked furiously at his nails. He smiled despite himself, grabbed the peaches, and left.
When Sam got home, he ate three of the six peaches. They were so sweet. The fuzz brushed his bottom lip as it rounded the skin. He remembered when he first came to America, how he had tried everything once. Peaches somehow made it to the bottom of his list of favorites, but Elizabeth had changed that. He made a shopping list. "Milk, chicken, soup". Biting into the fourth peach, he scrawled, "peaches". Remembering what Elizabeth had confided in him, he added "tomatoes". The juice dripped off his chin and onto the paper, leaving a tawny welt.
Sam was thirty-five years old. He had lived in America since age eighteen, arriving with a textbook handle on English and forty American dollars in his pocket. He had never had a girlfriend. He had never really even had a good friend, besides the Sioux maintenance man in his building.
Somewhere between college, working and becoming acclimated to America, a social life slipped through the cracks. He stuck out in South Dakota and tried to make himself as unassuming as possible. He threw himself headlong into schoolwork because it was his mothers last wish. At least, he told himself that. Really, it was to escape the memory of nursing her spindled, dying frame during her final days. Work became another welcome distraction. Sam worked at a bank. It was supposed to be temporary, while he worked on his math degree. After graduation, he just kept showing up and when he turned around he was middle-aged. And alone.
Loneliness barely bothered Sam in his years since college. He trusted himself and that was enough company. He knew he would never get drunk and hit himself, or lie or fuck himself to get into a club. But no man is an island. And stumbling on Elizabeth had torn down a curtain to a vast realm of longing he hadnt ever explored.
It was Wednesday. Tomato sale day. The bank closed at three as usual, and Sam made it to the store by three-thirty. Before he headed to the produce aisle he scanned the rows of registers, looking for her blonde hair pulled up in a messy twist. When he didnt see her, he figured she must be on break.
He didnt particularly care for tomatoes but he weighed some in the silver scale. The needle creaked and fluttered wildly before resting on the number one. He tied the bag neatly and headed to the register. She wasnt back yet. He meandered around the store, pretending to need things, then tried again. She still wasnt there. It must have been her day off.
He didnt particularly care for tomatoes. He untied the green wire on the bag and stacked the firm vegetables back on the pile. He hoped no one noticed
Driving home, he accused himself of being crazy for the seventh time that week.
He had never acted in this way before. He had never been so willingly vulnerable to someone he barely knew. It flushed him with a new vigor, a sense of recklessness. He felt like a man. But a scared man. This was new territory for him, and he had no way of knowing what to do next. He mulled ideas over in his head, logistics first. What if she refused him? What if she laughed? He would have to find another store. There was a larger supermarket near the bank he would have to shop at from now on. Almost worse yet, what if she said yes? Then what would he do?
In the movies, when the guy gets the girl he kisses her and then the screen goes dark. Sam needed a movie about what goes on after all that blackness and scrolling names.
Eddie tapped on the door of Sams apartment. Sam took longer answering than usual, and looked confused when he saw Eddies long gray ponytail through the peephole. Opening the door, he gave a quizzical look, which Eddie answered in his slow, methodical Sioux accent. "Its Thursday. Are we still playing cards?"
"Oh, it is Thursday, isnt it? I.... guess I got my days mixed." He stepped aside to let the old man in.
Every Thursday, Sam and Eddie, the maintenance man, played cards in Sams apartment. Eddie was a poker man, which Sam didnt care for, but he always obliged his friend with a few hands of five-card stud and deuces wild before they switched to pinochle or mah-jong. They never bet; it was only for fun.
Sam didnt know much about Eddies wife, except that she died thirty years before and he had never loved another woman since. Eddie rarely spoke of her. Still, Sam surmised that Eddie might be out of practice, but he must know more about this whole love thing than he himself did. Eddie could see the unspoken questions in Sams eyes and threw out his own as he laid out a full house. "Whats on your mind?"
Again, Sam was slow to answer. "Its..... this woman. At the market. She checks the groceries."
Eddies tan face widened into a satisfied smile. "Either shes been overcharging you for milk or someones got a crush," he teased, his chest rising as he chuckled.
Sam blushed. "Stop. Its not easy."
Eddie continued. "Oh, come on. Are you going to do something about it? Are you going to ask her on a date?"
Sam was at a loss, saying, "I dont know. I dont know how. I dont know what I'd say or where wed go or what I would say when we got there." Sam was used to being in control, having everything in its place. His life was stacked neatly and he liked it that way. Socks go here, toothpaste goes there, Sam goes to work and Sam comes home. Sam plays cards with Eddie on Thursday evenings. But here was something he wanted that had no order or specific place. He looked pleadingly at Eddie and asked a question, hoping the man could conjur some Indian magic and make sense of it all in one sentence. "How?"
Eddie softened. He thought for a long time, and answered slowly. "Try."
Sam sat poised for more for a moment, then let out a "Huh?"
"Try," Eddie repeated. "Even if she says no, just try. Ask her if shed like to go out. Its not that hard. Just say, "Would you like to go out sometime? And if she says yes, just try to pick her up on time and try not to have a booger in your nose and try to be honest with her. Try to have a good time and dont be so nervous. Its all you can do. Hell, when I met my wife I was just a young kid with nothing to my name, but I knew she was what I wanted so I tried. And then you just gotta keep trying every day so things stay good. Every day you try. The rest of it you figure out as you go, but you cant get to that point if you dont try. Thats all the advice I can give you."
"Just try?" Sam asked.
"Just try."
The next week Sam placed his groceries on the belt and his hands firmly in his pockets. Elizabeth smiled as she swiped a neatly tied bag of peaches across the scanner. "You like these, huh?" she asked sweetly.
Sam smiled back, his heart pounding but his voice even. "Yes, you were right, they are excellent."
"Peaches have always been my favorite fruit, thats why I love the summertime."
"Its my favorite season, too," Sam said.
And then, hiding his sweaty palms in his pockets, Sam tried.
"There is an outdoor festival this Sunday in the downtown area. Theres going to be music and food, things like that. Would you like to come with me?"
He hadnt been able to segue smoothly; it had been apropos of nothing. But Sam had tried. He had swallowed the nervousness, the stigma of being different and therefore unappealing, and he had tried. And as Elizabeth looked down and slid his gallon of milk over the scanner, he waited.
She grabbed his package of chicken parts and typed in the code, still looking down. Sam tried not to panic, and waited. She reached for his three cans of soup and ran the bar codes. Her blue eyes stayed trained on the register. Sam felt nauseous, and was about to stammer something about dont worry about it. He wondered why he had listened to Eddie, why he had tried because now he was going to have to shop at the other market by the bank and man, that was stupid because they charge more for milk and dammit, if only he had kept his mouth shut and he reached for his wallet because all he wanted to do now was pay and get the hell out of here and he was looking down at his wallet and not seeing anything else.
When he looked up to give her the money, Elizabeth was looking at him. Smiling.
