Venice
Saturday mornings in the countryside are easy to sum up in one word: boring.
Every teenager in the entire town can be found, at one point or other in the course of the time between 8:30 AM and 2:00 PM, hanging around the general store. I pull into the dirt parking lot at 12:43 AM, yawning because I just woke up. I slept in way too late. I walk past Erica, Gene, and a few of their groupies into the general store, walking immediately over to the freezer in the back. The freezer is always fully stocked and on Saturday mornings it is constantly refilled, seeing as every teen who walks in here, (which, like I said, is every teen,) walks out with perhaps a few groceries, but always a soda. I pull out a bottle of Cherry Coke and walk up the counter where Joe is fixing up an Italian soda for a middle school girl in tight jeans and a button-down shirt that has lace that hugs her hips. She's also wearing boots, but that's nothing unusual in this town. I smile at Joe as the girl leaves the store. "That'll be all, then?" he asks in his friendly tone, motioning toward my soda. I nod and he says, "A dollar ninety-five." Even as I hand him the cash I roll my eyes and say, "Honestly, Joe, ordinary sodas cost at least 3 bucks, and with all the Cokes you got sold every Saturday, you could be rolling in the cash if you'd just upgrade your prices!" He laughs in a milky way and shoos off the notion with his hand. "No, no. I don't want to charge you kids anymore than I had to pay when I was your age, and I already feel bad because that price right there is already more than that. I'm not putting up my prices one bit. Besides, like you said, everyone buys soda here on Saturdays. If I upped the price, maybe they'd buy it somewhere else!" I laugh, "Like where, Kenny's?" Kenny's is the only bar in town, and its a shame for people who like the occasional bar trip because its a lousy one, as everyone knows. Every drink you get there is warm. Joe smiles and waves me off, and I smile back and put a five dollar bill in the tip box. Just as I step out of the store, the Erica/Gene and followers head over to their trucks. I smile and take a seat on the bench that is now open, popping open my cherry cola and soaking in the country sun.
I drive down the road, contemplating what to do with the rest of my day. I slow down by the theater. Nah. I slow down by the hair salon. Um, no. I slow down by the nail salon. Not today. I slow down by the mall. I park.
I walk out of Charlotte Russe holding a bag and sipping a Frapuccino. I see Molly from a distance and she waves to me. I sit down at a bench by the fountain in the middle of the mall and wave back. She glances at the person she's standing with and walks over to me. "Hey, Venti," she says. She smiles. I laugh, "Wow, no one's called me that since the fourth grade." She laughs, "You can say that again. I remember some people used to call me 'Folly' because I fell a lot." I laugh, "Wow. That it is...beyond-words lame." She chuckles, "Definitely. Well, see you around, Venti." She smiles and walks away. "Hey, Venti," a voice from behind me says. I turn and see Russel standing there, grinning, arms crossed over his chest. "Oh, jeez. You didn't even go to middle school with me, much less elementary." He puts a hand over his heart, "Ah, but I was there in spirit." I smile, "Ya. In England. A grade ahead of me." He shrugs, "Same difference. So, what's with the nickname, anyway? You drink coffee a lot when you were a wee little bug?"
"A wee little bug."
"Mhm."
"I have no comment on that."
"Ah, but that was a comment."
"No, I didn't drink a lot of coffee when I was a wee little bug. I had a crush on a boy named Kenti, so they combined our names. Like a celebrity couple."
"Kenti."
"Mhm."
"You had a crush on a boy named Kenti."
"Yup."
"Wow," Russel laughs, he tilts his head at me, "it's when you meet people with those kinds of names that you wonder what was going on in their parents' minds." He runs his hand through his hair, "Maybe it was the pain-killer drugs that did it. But what about the dad? You'd think he wouldn't let his wife make that kind of a decision when she's on the labor bed." I smack him on the arm and he laughs, just as a girl who's probably fifteen or so walks up to him, hooking her arm through his and smiling at me. "Hello, I'm Amber. Who are you?" She blinks her long eyelashes at me and I cringe at her British accent, blushing from the slight jealousy in my gut. "I'm Venice."
"Hi, Venice! I'm Russel's sister." Well, duh, Venice. She has a British accent. Honestly.
© 2010
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