Déjà Vu

Hadley looks at the man standing in front of her, waiting for him to realize that what he just said was incredibly rude. In the past, she would have gone above and beyond to ensure his satisfaction, but she’s worked with the public long enough now to understand that no good ever comes from going out her way for a stranger. They usually want you to go against policy and will throw you right under the bus once you do it for them. 

‘Hello!?’ He exclaims at her. Clearly annoyed with her for not responding to him right away. She sighs. Any illusions she had about him possibly displaying self awareness disappear into the fluorescent lighting above her. They wither and die like all the moths trapped in the fixture that have come before them. She doesn’t know why she still holds out hope. 

‘Look, we don’t have it, okay? I’ve told you three times and I’m sorry but - ‘ 

The man’s face goes red, it’s as bright as a cherry tomato. Hadley sucks in her lips in an attempt to keep from laughing. She doesn’t know why, but rage makes her laugh. It’s ridiculous to her. What on Earth is there to ever get so mad about? Especially when it comes to things like this! He looks like a large, fat baby. She thinks it’s embarrassing, this inability to control oneself. 

‘You should be fired! I don’t know what you think is so funny! Who’s the manager?’ He looks around wildly. 

‘Um, I am.’ She says, still making a brave attempt at hiding her amusement. It’s just so Goddamn funny to see a grown man losing his mind over butter leaf lettuce.

‘I can tell you this, I won’t be coming back here, do you hear me? The way you people treat your customers is shameful!’ And with that, he turns and stalks off to the exit where he has to wait for the automatic doors to open for him. 

Hadley’s unfazed. Most people don’t like her - she’s used to it. It’s sealed off many doors to her over the years. It used to get under her skin like an incurable rash. But now, she lets most things roll off her shoulders. 

Her parents were killed in a horrible accident when she was a kid. Some drunk asshole blew right through their living room doing 120mph. They’d been watching Wheel of Fortune while she played with dolls in her room. All three of them died on impact. The sound was horrible. So were the smells. All the other worries in the world have paled in comparison to her since that day. Unfortunately, her luck hasn’t gotten much better. She wishes she could have the luxury of not knowing real pain. Then maybe she could also care about trivial things like some of her customers do.

Whenever someone bitches about something as stupid as butter leaf lettuce, she can’t help herself. They remind her of a bratty child whose parents won’t let them have a piece of cake for dinner. She wonders, how would that man handle a real problem? He’d probably lay down and die, she thinks. And he doesn't even realize how weak he really is.

She gets home at a quarter past 10. It’s dark and she’s hyper aware of her surroundings as she makes her way inside from the parking lot of her apartments. She already has her house key ready before she gets to the door. Feeling very much like a caribou in the Serengeti, she quickly turns the key and closes and locks the door behind her.

She doesn’t want to give the universe an opportunity to send any more trouble her way.   

She takes off her shoes and slides into the fuzzy black slippers she keeps by the door, anticipating Patrick getting home. Fucking Patrick. They’ve been together for nine years, engaged for five. What a joke, she thinks. She doesn’t actually believe they’ll ever get married, but at this point, it doesn’t matter.

The harsh reality is she doesn’t see him as husband or father material. And the feeling must be pretty mutual if he hasn’t sealed the deal with her yet. No, she’s perfectly content to stay with him because if she were to meet someone she deeply loved, the world would probably take them from her anyway. This is safer.

Patrick slinks into bed around 4am reeking of cheap beer and cigarettes. He’s still wearing his shoes when Hadley gets up at seven. She grabs each shoe and tugs as hard as she can to pull them off. ‘Hey!’ he protests, kicking at her. ‘Patrick I just fucking washed these sheets!’ She says through gritted teeth. 

They'd first met at a place not too far from here called O’Shaughnessy’s pub. They’d spent hours commiserating about each of their shitty runs with luck and had gotten so drunk, that they almost got married at a little chapel down the road but were kicked out when Patrick punched the clerk for pronouncing his last name wrong. Hadley had been so turned on by it that she'd fucked him in the front seat of her car. He slept over that night and never left. 

At the time, Hadley felt like she was being seen for the first time in her life. All the other guys she's dated came from Golden Retriever homes. They’d had a mom and a dad, 1.5 siblings, and a dog. A regular family life. They couldn't understand her. And no matter what they’d say, she didn’t feel like she deserved their love.

But Patrick, he knew what it was like. He’d been raised by his grandmother after his dad OD’d at a club and his mom took off with some local band called Crotch Rocket, never to be seen again. These past nine years with him felt like they’d been predetermined to her. Like no matter what, she was destined to end up here with Patrick.

Why? Because she was cursed. Before her mom died, she’d explained to Hadley all about how a witch had cursed their family thousands of years ago. She told her to expect bad things because those bad things would always come. So, in a way, she’d expected Patrick.

As she wrestles his shoes off of him now, she remembers her mother’s words again. ‘Remember to pray to your angels, they’ll be there to protect you. But no matter what, the curse is still there. Don’t forget it.’ Her face was very serious as she explained this to Hadley. So, Hadley figured she’d better believe it. Nothing made her believe it more than having a drunk guy kill her parents in their own house.

But, she’s pretty sure her “angels” must’ve jumped ship a long time ago. ‘Fuck off!’ Patrick yells into the pillow, landing a kick straight into Hadley’s bottom lip. ‘Ow, you fucking asshole!’ She yells at him, rushing into the bathroom to stop the bleeding. Patrick readjusts in their bed. She can hear him snoring almost immediately.

She presses a cotton ball firmly to her lip while tugging on a pair of jeans. She has to be to work by eight and doesn’t have enough time to make sure the bleeding has stopped before she’s back scanning peoples' wares at The Local Larder. If anyone notices the swollen red lip, they don't say a word about it to her.

Most of them are pleasant enough and don’t stand out to her in any particular way. But, right around 3pm, a petite woman wearing an Amethyst around her neck comes through the line and Hadley cannot escape the feeling that she’s seen her before. Her jawline is sharp and her eyes look almost golden in the light. The feeling of déjà vu is so strong it gives her vertigo. For a second, she thinks she may pass out.

‘Hi.’ She starts, trying to remember how to make small talk. It’s been a long time since she’s cared to strike up a conversation with a stranger. ‘I like your necklace. It’s pretty.’ 

The woman places her fingers gently on the stone. ‘Oh, thank you. It’s a family thing.’ She says, waving a hand through the air, as if having a family heirloom is somehow embarrassing. Hadley tries to figure out a way to get the woman to say a little more about the necklace without coming across as weird. ‘Oh, wow. Yeah, I have a few pieces of family jewelry, too. Nothing fancy.’ The woman nods politely. Shit. What else can she say?

‘Was it from your mother or father’s side?’ She asks. 

‘My mother’s. She was … well, her line was rumored to be witches.’ She rolls her eyes playfully as if the whole thing is preposterous. But something stirs inside Hadley’s chest.

‘Really? That is interesting. You know what’s crazy? My mom told me we’d been cursed by a witch thousands of years ago.’ She says in a tone that she hopes matches this woman’s blasé demeanor. She’s desperate to dig into her history and equally as desperate to conceal that desperation. ‘Huh.’ The woman replies, in a noncommittal tone. She grabs her bags and says, ‘funny the strange tales families pass on, isn’t it? Well, thanks for your help. Bye.’ 

Hadley stands frozen in place as she watches the woman slip away, through the automatic doors and out of her sight. ‘Yeah, funny.’ She says to no one in particular. ‘Sorry?’ The next customer looks up at her quizzically. ‘Oh, sorry. Nothing. Just talking to myself.’