the day after Thanksgiving. I saw two older women fighting over the last artificial sweetener and a man yelling in French to a cashier about the milk being too warm. Another man was demanding a free refill because someone had knocked his over. Meanwhile one woman furiously demanded to know if the muffins were organic or not.
To avoid the chaos, I made the executive decision that Dad and I would just have our coffee black and proceeded to the exit. At the main entryway, however, two of the janitorial staff gathered with mops and industrial Caution: Wet Floor signs while a mother held a crying child and apologized profusely about some expelled fluids. I cringed at both the sight and smell and started walking over towards the side door I had seen in the cafeteria, but quickly changed my mind when I saw a physically disabled senior citizen and their wheelchair being assisted into a power lift attached to the automatic door. I bit my lip and tried to look absentminded as I sipped my coffee.
Maybe Dad was right and I needed to be more patient. Yet as much as I hated to be rude, I also felt increasingly guilty about making Dad wait for me. I reviewed my options. Looking around, I could see that most of the eateries had separate entrances and exits, but I’d have to get back into the herds just to get back out, and that didn’t make much sense. I tapped my foot impatiently and began counting the seconds until the entrance ways were clear when I saw two of the convenience store employees veering toward the back of the building. When I stepped up closer, I could see the red neon of EXIT blaring just above the door. The two began taking off their red aprons and one employee handed a cigarette to another. I followed the two from a distance as they pushed the large door open. In the distance, I could see the smoke of their cigarettes and moths dancing around the street lamps of the parking lot.
I sighed with irritation. If I was annoyed, I could only imagine how agitated Dad was going to be. I opened the heavy metal latch and was greeted by the humid August air. I inhaled it deeply and tried not to think about the mysterious man in line. Why would he just walk away like that? Sure, there were a million different reasons, but it still nagged at me to know why. I tried to shove the potential explanations away. Plenty of time for daydreaming on the way home, I told myself.
I set the coffee next to me on an upward groove of pavement and took my phone out of my bag. Despite the dark, there was still enough light from the lamps of the parking lot that I didn’t have a hard time rummaging around for it. I realized quickly that unlike where we first pulled in, this section of the lot seemed reserved for truck drivers and was fairly deserted. I jumped up on a torn piece of curb to catch a better look, and sure enough, there were only trucks and charter buses as far as I could see.
As I was dialing Dad’s number, I heard a noise that almost made me lose my balance. It was a wet sort of sound, only lasting a few seconds, but still, it frightened me enough that I had to wrap my arms around myself when it ruptured my ears. The echo of it seemed to unwillingly puncture the calm lot and fracture the night itself.
“Hello?” I called
All was silent. I laughed at myself. Reasonably, it was probably a cat that caught a mouse or some other unfair demonstration of nature. But then the noise happened again, only this time it was louder and ended with a most distinguished pop.
Even thinking logically, the sounds frightened me, and the peculiarity of it had me thinking that something was terribly wrong or that someone might be hurt. What if someone was injured and couldn’t call out for help? I looked back to the busy side of the parking lot where Dad was waiting for me somewhere. I had been as quick as possible in the rest stop for Dad’s sake. Hopefully taking a minute to gander around now wouldn’t bother him.
I tried to make my voice seem louder and more confident. “Hello?”
I stepped past the curb and straight into the lot. I walked slowly and with