every sunday before this one

Every Sunday in the months of December, January and February, there were three people who always walked into Jim's Sundries, without fail. From the point of hire to the current day, Dilan had watched with growing anticipation as they followed the same routine week after week.

Person number one was an old man who came in around 4:30 AM, wearing a fluffy brown hat, some form of jacket tucked over a worn shirt, the cleanest dress pants in town, finished off with a pair of running shoes so dirty they were more mud than shoe. He always bought a pack of off-brand cigarettes, and stood outside for an hour with one lit, staring out towards the skyline, the sunrise that never came in winter.

Person number two came in anywhere from 9 AM to 4 PM, for exactly ten minutes at a time, and always paying in either dimes or five dollar bills. This person wore a black scarf wrapped firmly around under their eyes, a hood pulled low to hide any hair, and a long black coat that reached to their knees. This mystery person never spoke, but they either bought some form of candy or basic groceries- milk, eggs, bread, deli meat, etc. They left as soon as they got the receipt.

Person number three was a young girl who came in around 3 PM, right as the middle school's advanced choir let out. Her clothes changed, but she liked wearing frilly shirts and the color green. She usually bought candy, but never anything chocolate. She sometimes stuck around to talk to the other kids that wandered in, sometimes stuck around to talk to anyone else present, sometimes just walked out chewing on whatever she just bought.

Without fail, almost every Sunday in the same three months for the past 2 years, Dilan had seen these three people walk in at their designated times, buy their things and walk out. His college friends had started betting on which one would fail to arrive first, which one would fail to step through the door and break the routine.

Every Sunday before, however, they arrived, on time and without breaking routine. But out of all of them, Dilan might be the one breaking free first. He'd finally gotten a transfer to an out-of-state college, a cheaper one, approved- and by next semester he'd be out of this city, away from the town he'd been raised in. Only three weeks before he could leave and actually have a Government professor he could tolerate. (He'd met the guy at his new college during a tour- he was actually willing to admit that his opinion wasn't fact, something his current professor couldn't.)

He didn't tell his roommates, though. If they were willing to throw over 500 dollars on trying to predict something they weren't willing to directly find out themselves (as they all admitted they would never get up before 8 if not absolutely necessary), that was their problem. And if they agreed that all of them betting wrong meant the pot went to Dilan, then that was also their problem. 

This Sunday, the third Sunday in January, started out a bit differently.

Instead of walking in at exactly 3:58 AM, Dilan walked in at 3:59, just missing his manager- Lena- as she locked the doors on him just because he was a minute late. She didn't actually care- she just liked knowing that he always left his keys in his glove compartment unless necessary, and that he'd have to waste two minutes getting them. Then again, he could try climbing onto the roof and entering through the maintenance closet. It was possible, but it meant standing on the dumpster and hoping he actually managed to grab the ledge on the first try.

He grabbed his keys. If he was going to go dumpster diving, the day to do it was Tuesday, because that was the day that the owner always tossed out any "damaged" things that hadn't sold in the past week, which included DVDs that had a scratch on the case, or boxes of snack cakes which were slightly dented. And on Saturdays he dumped out rotten or expired food. Probably not worth it.

The first twenty-eight minutes passed quickly, Dilan spending most of the time screwing around on his phone aimlessly. Some stranger walked in, bought a lotto ticket. Then it was 4:30, and he looked up for a moment before returning to his phone.

Around 4:37, he wondered if the old man finally wasn't going to show. At 4:44, he was almost certain he wasn't coming- the latest he usually got was 4:45. And at 4:53, he decided the old man was the first one to break the Sunday routine.

The day passed, and the old man didn't show. A few more customers trickled in, but none of them regulars. 

Around 10 AM, the door opened, and an old woman tottered in. She peered around the shelves, inspecting the items closest to the door. Dilan found this odd for one reason- she looked around, and after squinting at him for a solid twenty seconds, she just turned around and left without buying anything.

Noon came and went just like that, with the arrival of two relatively new hires flitting around storage and various shelves, and the beginning of the small church rush. Dilan's phone stayed in his pocket, and a cup of cold coffee came to rest under the counter as his eyes began to slip shut. Around 1 PM, a small energy shot joined it.

2:42 PM came and in came number two- the person his roommates had dubbed Edgy Hood. They stared at the milk for an almost disturbing amount of time (seven minutes) before coming up to the counter and looking at the various sweets.

Finally in walked the first of the choir kids, hand in hand with another choir kid. They were loud, giggly, and they went straight for the soda. By the time number two had finally chosen a pack of gum at the 9 minute mark, the girl who made number three had walked in and was the second person to break routine.

For the first time, she was crying, and she was wearing a plain grey turtleneck and plain jeans. It was the dullest outfit he'd seen her wear, and the fact that she didn't speak to anyone else as she picked up the biggest pack of hot dogs they had in stock was… actually very concerning.

She sniffled, watching as number two pulled out their wallet, and then looked at Dilan. 

"Hey, mister, have..." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, then unfolded it with shaking hands- barely clinging to the package of hot dogs- revealing a simple picture of a golden retriever. "Have you seen- a dog like- like this?" 

Number two looked down at her, at the paper, as Dilan shook his head. The dog looked like any other golden retriever, no defining features aside from a green collar to set it apart. The girl's lip trembled, and she let her arms fall to her sides. 

Dilan felt bad, but he couldn't exactly help- he had a job to do and he had no clue where to look for a lost dog anyways. 

And just like that, number two was the final person to change routine. "What's its name?" The voice was low, but smooth.

The girl looked up, blinking. "He- he's named Flower. He likes… likes to chew on the dandelions, in our yard." She reopened the picture, and number two stared at it for a moment.

"When'd you last see him?"

"Last night…"

Number two stared to the right, out the glass doors. "I think I saw him."

Dilan finally had to pull his attention away as another customer stepped up. In the corner of his eye, he watched them talk a little more, and the girl grabbed number two's arm and pulled until the two of them were rushing out the doors and around the corner. He watched one of the new hires confusedly pick up the package of hot dogs.

They didn't come back, and at 4 PM, the store's owner- Jim- finally walked in, and Dilan was free to go. He stumbled out to his car, half asleep, taking almost five minutes to put the right key in and another three to actually turn the key.

His car didn't start.

Dazedly, he tried to remember if he left his lights on. He couldn't, but it was possible. After two more tries, he swore, and pulled himself back out of his car and into the store to let Jim know he had to leave his car again.

It says something that this isn't the first time. It says even more that Jim just waves his hand and stays hunched over paperwork, glasses sliding down his wrinkled nose.

Dilan starts back to his apartment on foot. He realizes about three minutes in that he left his coffee and energy drink under the counter. He also isn't willing to go get them, so whoever next has counter gets to deal with it. Lucky them.

His mind was foggy with exhaustion, his bitter conscience reminding him that he could have just asked for the 8 PM to 4 AM shift, but no, he had to want more hours, more money to waste on a stupid phone plan and food he didn't really eat. 

Dilan was jolted into awareness by a collision with another pedestrian. As he blinked, he realized it was the old man who didn't show up earlier- void of his jacket and hat, wearing a puffy zipped coat and old jeans. Automatic apologies came from both of them, a half nod and Dilan walked on.

It was around two minutes later he reached a crosswalk and realized that the old man was headed the same way.

For a long moment, Dilan wondered a few things- why hadn't he shown up this morning? Where was he going? Did he just not need cigarettes?

The light changed to green and the old man started walking, and Dilan realized that oh I'm allowed to walk now. 

He trailed behind the old man as they kept heading down the street, closer to Dilan's apartment. As they went, Dilan began to slip back into the state of half-sleep he'd been in, only vaguely aware of the old man still being there.

When the old man suddenly stopped, though, he forced himself to focus on why- number two and the young girl. They were talking at him, and the girl looked furious. Dilan distantly realized he'd stopped walking to stare, and decided that it was a bit too weird. So he slowly walked closer.

"...in your hand! The same collar! And you've never had a dog before!"

"I've seen you walk by every morning, and this was the first time you had a dog, so am I wrong to be a bit suspicious?"

The old man's face finally came into view as Dilan came close enough, and it was pulled into an expression of deep surprise. "A green collar?"

"Yes!" The girl sniffed, shoulders shaking. "And he disappeared last night!"

The old man nodded. "He friendly?"

She nodded firmly, and Dilan realized her hands were balled into fists. He also realized he'd stopped again. 

After a moment, the old man held up one hand, calling out a "Wait a moment," before turning and walking into the house they were all in front of. Huh. He lived there, apparently. After a moment of looking around, Dilan spotted his apartment a few buildings down. Interesting.

Three minutes later, the girl gasped as the front door reopened. In one hand, the old man grasped a bright blue leash, which was attached to a simple green collar on an ordinary golden retriever. As soon as the man stepped off the front step, the girl rushed forwards, crying out. The dog- Flower- licked her face, tail wagging, as she wrapped her arms around him. 

Soon the girl took the leash and brought Flower over to them, letting number two pet him for a moment before coming over to sniff Dilan. And then he realized he was still standing there.

He crouched down to scratch Flower behind the ears. He was too tired to care about looking weird and there was a very energetic, happy dog in front of him who deserved to be pet. 

The old man came over too, leaned on the fence. "Found him wandering on the sidewalk by the bank," he explained. "Bought a leash from the supermarket and brought him to my house so I could keep an eye on him until I could get a few "found" posters out. Good thing I didn't need to."

It was about an hour later, laying on the living room carpet of his apartment, that Dilan mulled over a very important fact- all of his roommate's bets had depended on the three changing their routines on different Sundays. None of them had bet on them all changing on the same day- so, that meant he still won the pot. 

As he imagined the looks he'd see on their faces when he told them, his mind wandered back to the girl and Flower. The old man not walking in, the crumpled photo. He fell asleep like that.

At 4:30 the following morning, the old man walked in, bought his cigarettes. The girl came in at noon, gave Dilan a stack of pictures- all of her and Flower, because apparently he'd said something about being a dog person yesterday and he would very much like to see photos of the dog. And number two walked in at three, finally bought their gum, walked back out within ten minutes. 

For all that the broken routine had been interesting, he appreciated constants. It meant he didn't have to keep forgetting the coffee under the counter, that he needed to fill his gas tank during his lunch break.

He had to admit, though, he liked being able to walk out after his shift and pet a dog. He also liked watching the look on his roommates' faces as he pulled almost three thousand from their pockets.

When he moved at the end of the semester, he didn't quit his job. Instead, he made a point of agreeing to come in every Sunday- just because.

It certainly wasn't just because the dog. Of course not.