Seven-Eleven

An attendant's nose was still bleeding, blood dripping onto the floor. The gun was still burning in his pocket, begging to be used, but it had been left all alone there, no smoking barrels or sudden, sharp ripping noises through the grey afternoon. As they dragged him away from the scene, John Martin looked back at the ravaged 7-11 and felt no guilt. It was social tact that kept the smile between his lips. Handcuffed and bound, they stuffed him into the back of the cop car, the front seat protected with fencing, just to be safe. As they drove to the 'station' ("You're going downtown," said one of the cops, and the other one exhaled through his nose sharply), he heard the two policemen talking to each other like he wasn't even there. 1

"Man, the day was going so quietly. Sheila's gonna kill me. It's our anniversary."2

"I'll take care of the paperwork, if you want,' his partner offered, but the husband shook his head.3

"No, Watson's on my back these days, I have to do it or he won't think it's been done."4

That let a little feeling in. He usually didn't feel anything after an 'episode', and today wasn't anything special. The only defining characteristic was that he'd never tried a 7-11. The scene he could see in his head, of the husband's anniversary, made him feel bad. He wished it had been another pair of cops so the husband could go home to a happy wife.5

Johnny saw it all happening in his head. He could see Husband No. 1 bustling hurriedly in the door, hands covered in ink, still rushing from filling in details as quickly as possible, holiding all his work equipment because he'd been in too much of a rush to pack it all away carefully to make for more convenient transportation. He could see him shouting, "Sorry I'm late, sweetie, something came up and I just couldn't get out of it-" and being cut off by his wife. Her best dress and pearls on, makeup too, modest heels. Her arms crossed and an expression of total fury on her face.6

"Do you know what I told the babysitter?" she asks in a voice like poison and eyes like slits. Before her husband responds, she answers herself. "I had to take her home, and then I had to pay her for the half-hour when she played with them while I sat at the table waiting for you."7

John couldn't take this scene. The ultimate winner, the wife, would forever remember the one anniversary when her husband couldn't get out of work for her. She would hold it against him and use it to poke his mood every time he did something else to displease her that wasn't his fault. It brought a tiny tear to his eye, one of the few emotions other than anger and frustration he could remember feeling since he'd been a child.8

The other cop looked in the rearview mirror. "Feeling bad about it now, buddy?" 9

He smiled. "This ain't nothin' compared to what you're gonna get once you get some spare time on your hands to think about it." Jail. Johnny knew he meant jail. Where he'd have enough time to think because there'd be nothing else to do. Judging by his other 'misadventures', he'd probably have eight to ten hours and three hundred dollar fine. The judge was easy on people like him. The cop seemed friendly enough; the husband seemed irritated.10

John was a relentless petty criminal. He'd been locked up more than once, and been forced to therapy more than twice for continuing to do what he wanted. Ever since he could remember, his actions always seemed to lead to flashing cop cars. When he was fifteen and all he wanted was to smoke a cigarette, they caught him behind the school and warned him for skipping so often the school thought he'd been transferred. Just because they wouldn't let him smoke in class. Everything he wanted somehow conflicted with everything everyone else wanted.11

He was shoved by fingers that poked in his back into the police station, and Maury saw him coming in. Maury was forty-three, overweight, balding, and friendly. Recognized John immediately. 'Hey, Johnny boy, whatcha in for this time?'12

'Killed a buncha people.' A running joke.13

'You kids,' Maury chuckled to himself and shook his head. He'd been working for the police in Glenwood so long and been in the police department for so many years that he had a way of shrugging things off. It made most normal people shudder. It also earned him the admiration of his co-workers.14

The cell, cell 4, was cold and damp, just like they always were. It didn't matter very much to John. He wouldn't be in here long. Normally he'd be in here, they'd settle on a court date, he might spend the night here and they'd let him go. He wished, just like he always did, that he was back at his apartment watching tv. He'd let his desires cloud his mind again and he'd made a mess of things. If they let him out, it would only be to shuttle him off to another station.15

John laid down on the bottom bunk and looked up at the graffiti on the top. 'Crackley Woz Ere' and 'I'm In For Trespassing You?' and, of course, the day-counting marks. As far as he could see, the most anyone had spent in here was ten days. Maybe it had been more in other cells or maybe this was the longest. Maybe this was the only cell they used. All the possibilities only reminded John  of how much he didn't know. He was glad he got a cell to himself but it was only a matter of time before someone else was brought in or he was taken out.16

John wondered what all the other Martins thought about his antics. He doubted they'd been called, or that they'd even do anything if they were. He'd lived alone for the past six years, and at twenty-two he hadn't even finished high school before he'd been forced to run away. Not by outside sources, of course, by his own sense of dignity. He couldn't stand another second of beige carpets and cream plush chairs you couldn't sit in and gold trim everywhere. The whole world was so creamy and luxurious... and he seemed to be the only one who knew that the world wasn't fuzzy and warm, it was hard and rough and cold and if you ever wanted to live then you had to experience that. That's why he'd left. To live, because his kind of life was better than none at all.17

The only person that ever contacted him was his big sister. That sucker. She'd grown unnecessarily attached to their mother and look what had happened. Mom had kicked her out at eighteen and made poor Sandra Martin go to Harvard. Where Sandra had made it plain that she wasn't going. "I don't care how damn well you can afford it, I'm not going to Harvard!" She'd cried and screamed and slammed countless doors and of course it hadn't worked.18

At this moment, Sandra was skipping Psychology, just like she'd skipped English Lit and Calculus and Government and Philosophy and every other class her father had thought she should have. She was at home with the baby they didn't know she had and pictures of the fiancee they didn't know was hers. Paul was twenty-six, Sandra twenty-five, and baby Leah three months. She'd considered telling John, but had a feeling he'd blackmail her. He did that often, especially when they were kids. He'd be all sweet and considerate and play with her, but as soon as she realized a doll was missing he was all storm clouds and rain, with black smiles and saying, 'Now give me what I want and then I'll give you what you want.' Or else Little Daisy would be missing some hair. And then an eye. And then an ear. And the mutilation wouldn't stop until Johnathan got what he wanted. It had been like that throughout her entire childhood, until she'd realized at ten that it wasn't a good idea to trust her brother, and eventually, anyone. Paul had changed that. He'd shown her that some people you can depend on, some people are trustworthy and will stand up for you. She hadn't even wanted to ever contact her family again, but Paul had said that someone should be there at the wedding to represent the bride's side of the audience. So she had told John, and she hoped he'd be there, sitting in the aisle. She was hoping he'd give her away and hoping even harder that he wouldn't get into any trouble soon. The wedding was three weeks away, and too much of 'what he wanted' would make him late. It might even halt his attendance altogether. She hoped he wasn't sitting in a jail cell right now, because that could screw things up. Sandra, despite never trusting him, had no male friends to give her away, and damned if she was gonna ask her father. One of Paul's more considerate chums had offered, and she'd declined. But, 'I'll let you know if mine falls through.' She hadn't been able to resist a safety net, never had been.19

A knock on the door. Sandra's head snaps back to reality, or how much of it was hers. A key inserted, turning the lock, door opening. Footsteps wiping on 'BLESS THIS MESS' in the hall. Backpack falling on the ground. 'Sandy?' it called.20

'Hi,' she said, sauntering casually into the room, not leaving the faintest trace of her minute-old thoughts. They kissed, and went to find their baby. Leah was awake and reaching lazily for the mobile that dangled over her head, a present from a friend of Sandra's. Tin foil spaceships and clay moons were just out of reach. They all shared a moment full of simple, earthly love. Loving themselves and each other and everything else. And Leah was smiling, shining happiness from her burnt-brown eyes. They shared their moment in silence, husband hugging wife, wife stroking baby's cheeks, baby stretching out to be held.21

All the while, John was sitting in his cell, remembering that the only family member he'd talked to in six years was his big sister. And he'd completely forgotten about her wedding and his call. He had a quarter. Why not call Sandra. She'd understand, she usually did.22

The phone rang. 'Will you grab that, Paul?' asked Sandra, who was just lifting her baby into her arms.23

'Sure thing,' he said, and planting a kiss on both girls' cheeks, he left to answer it.24

'Hello?'25

'Hi, this is John.'26

'Oh. Hi, John. How is everything.'27

'Actually, if it's all right with you, Paul, I need to speak to Sandra.'28

'Just a sec,' Paul hit privacy and yelled, 'Sandra! It's John.'29

Sandra shook her head. Hadn't she been just thinking about him? Maybe she'd contacted him somehow.30

'Hi, John. What's going on?' She had a smile in her voice, and wasn't in the mood to be mad at him for what she knew he'd done.31

'You know what's going on,' he said accusingly, as if he blamed her for being there.32

'Yes, sadly, I do. Now how much is it this time?'33

'Just $150. Not too much.'34

She laughed dryly. 'Not as much as last time, anyway.' Why was this funny?35

'Will you pick me up?' His voice hinted at a sheepishness and gratitude he wouldn't speak out loud. If Sandra had been a less perceptive person, she would have resented his silent thank-yous.36

'First thing in the morning. You can meet-' She still wasn't sure. Oh, what the hell. '-you can meet Leah. She's three months old right now, got a taste for shiny things.'37

'You had a baby?' he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice this time.38

'Three months ago.'39

'I'll see you guys in the morning, then.'40

'Good night, John.'41

Sheila found herself smiling, actually looking forward to seeing her insane brother. Leah noticed and giggled quietly, opening and closing her fat little fists as much as an infant is able.42

Nine a.m. The chicken was sitting in the fridge, chilling and acting like good leftovers should. Paul and Sheila were enjoying quiet cups of coffee and Leah was burbling in her crib.43

Eleven a.m. Sandra found herself nodding at Maury behind his impossibly large desk, covered in stacks of impossibly complex paperwork, with a phone cradled in his shoulder and a pen delicately balanced between his teeth. Poor guy lives on the stress, she thought.44

A cop, 'jailer,' she thought from experience, showed her down to the cells. Four in a row, and her brother asleep in the fourth. She cleared her throat, and saw him wake up and close his eyes, pretend to be asleep again. Sandra rolled her eyes, but felt no frustration; she was too happy to see him to be annoyed.45

'Hey, psycho.' She said, and kicked the bars of his cell. 'Wake up, John!'46

John Martin got up and moved towards the cage. The overbearing man in a blue uniform unlocked his bars and said, 'You're free to go,' in a tone that screamed, 'But you'll be back.'47

'So this is Lee,' said John, looking at the baby.48

'Leah,' corrected Sandra. 'Yes. She's three months old.'49

'Congratulations,' said John blankly, not feeling much in the way of happiness. 'This kid's adorable.' He picked Leah up, not sure of how to do it, never mind the pure adoration he felt, and the baby regarded him with a little fear. He forgot to support her neck and held her like a book. She frowned, but let him hold her baby. After a couple minutes of wondering whether or not he wouldcause Leah permanent neck damage, she took her from him.50

'Uh... thanks.' said John, looking away. 'Sorry, I haven't had much interaction with babies.'51

Sandra smiled. 'I know. I'm sorry, I guess it's motherhood making me protective.' 52

She frowned as she locked Leah into her carseat, remembering something Paul had said earlier. 'Do you have anywhere to go, John?'53

John looked at his hands. At least he knew shame. 'Yeah, I got a couple friends..'54

'No, you're coming with me.' She looked at him with a look not unlike their mother's. 'Besides, the wedding's only a couple of weeks away, you might as well stay with me.' She frowned again, not sure of how to ask him something she needed to ask. 'Will you... I mean..' His complete lack of interest didn't help her much. 'For God's sake, John, will you walk me down the aisle?'55

He smiled at her, thinking it was what she wanted to see. 'Of course, San.'56

She knew he was only smiling to make her feel better; she also knew he'd have walked her down the aisle, even if it hadn't meant as much to her as it did. He'd have done it anyway. And he'd do it now, not feeling love or happiness, just holding his little sister's arm as she walked between rows in a church wearing a white dress. It made no difference to him. She felt a little grudge coming on, but knew it was nothing.57

They got back to the apartment, and Sandra pulled out the futon. 'Is this okay?' she asked.58

'It's what I'm used to.' he nodded.59