Shattered Glass

The window shattered with only two strikes of the tire iron. In movies, the storefront always breaks so easily for the assailant—cracking with the throw of a stone or the swing of a hammer. Ruth thought it would be different, like maybe Hollywood had simplified things for the viewer, because no one wanted to watch someone swinging at the glass for thirty minutes.

She stood back, pleased, and gave the glass around the edges of the now-demolished pane a couple of kicks with the sharp heel of her hot-pink pointed-toe shoes to remove any broken bits. The transparent crystals sprinkled to the floor.

Ruth stepped through the window, careful not to face the surveillance camera in the corner of the store. She was wearing a full ski-mask, but you could never be too cautious. Her feet crunched the glass as she picked her way into the building, and then tap-tap-tapped against the cool, clean linoleum. Thankfully, there appeared to be no one working after-hours. Except me.

* * *

Priya heard the crash from the back of the store. She slid down behind the metal door to the store-room and peaked through the rusted-away bit of frame, heart pounding.

The hole-in-the-wall was her sanctuary, her hiding place, for as long as she could remember: When she was little, peering out at the customers as Father worked, making up stories about what kind of people they were. When she was a teenager, having her first man in the back room of her Family’s business, waiting for him to finish, so she could ask him to leave. When she hid from Mother after the most recent bout of alcohol-induced violence.

Now she hid because someone was breaking into the store.

Dammit, Dad. Why didn’t you just install a security alarm?

“Because no one in this neighborhood would rob us. We’re family here!” He would say, chuckling and throwing his arm around her shoulders.

No, Dad. We are family in India. Here, we are outcasts to be taken advantage of.

But of course, he didn’t listen. Forever the optimist.

* * *

Ruth moved quickly through the small room, grabbing essentials from the shelves as she went. The refrigerators that lined the back wall cast a pale glow down the aisles, illuminating the store.

She opened one of the glass fronted cases, taking two 2-liter containers of whole organic farm-fresh milk and a couple of bags of pepperoni sticks. The milk cartons were cold against her bare skin as she waddled up to the counter with her arms full. She let the raided items spill out onto the transparent surface displaying lottery tickets and instant win cards.

Ruth eyed the sugary candies that lined the counter in front of the register, and hesitated before grabbing two bags of sour worms and adding them to the pile. She plopped her empty bell-shaped white leather purse on the counter beside them, then walked around the counter to the back of the register.

* * *

Priya watched as the woman in bright-pink heels tottered around the store. Surprisingly, she hadn’t gone for the cash register first. What is she taking? Is that milk?

Her nose itched, so she reached up to scratch it. But it kept itching. Oh shit, it’s a sneeze. She looked around at the dusty floor. Particles floated in the air in front of her from when she took refuge on the ground. Dammit, I should’ve cleaned this storage room last week.

Priya closed her eyes and held a finger to her nose, trying not to inhale, but it was no use. She heard a crashing sound coming from the front of the shop, it startled her.

And then she sneezed.

* * *

The register was the older kind, as Ruth had suspected. The kind you could kick hard enough to get it to work, like that old metal clunker of a washing machine at the laundromat where she met most of her clients.

She smiled and grabbed the register, pulling against it with all her weight until it groaned and gave way, falling onto the floor behind the counter. The fall had jarred it and caused the cash drawer to dislodge.

Then she heard a sneeze.

Ruth looked up and scanned the dimly lit room. No one was visible, but that didn’t mean no one was there. She had to move quickly.

The cash was more than she had anticipated. She scooped up tens and twenties by the handful, stuffing them into the bottom of the purse, its belly filling with her haul.

“Hey. Stop.” There was a girl standing in front of the metal door at the side of the shop. It swung haphazardly behind her, creaking ever so slightly with each pass. She must have been hiding in the back room.

Ruth glanced at her, checking for a firearm, but there was none.

“Honey, just go back to your hiding spot and pretend you never saw me,” Ruth said, continuing to scoop cash into her purse.

She shoved the milk, pepperoni, and bags of candy on top of the bills, filling the white leather bag to the brim. There was no way she would get the clasp closed.

The girl took a step closer, her cell phone in hand. “Stop, I’m calling the police.”

* * *

Priya’s hand was shaking as she confronted the woman, finger on the call button. Truth be told, she had already texted Father, who would have called 911 by now.

The woman had a ski mask covering most of her features, dirty blond curls peaking out the back. Priya noticed her dress; it was a bright red that clashed with her shoes, and far too short for her age, and her coat; obviously fake fur. Trying too hard. Also, who wears that to a robbery?

Her purse was large, ballooning on the counter with the woman’s bounty. But more than that, it held all the things the woman needed, that she couldn’t get any other way; milk, cash, snacks. Then Priya eyed the pack of diapers, and a cheap plastic baby bottle. Her heart sank.

She took a step closer and the woman flinched.

“Please.”

* * *

Ruth heard the sirens.

She looked at the girl, pleading with her, heart pounding in her throat.

The girl glanced out the window at the incoming sirens, still a block or two away, then back at Ruth. Then she slipped her phone back into her pocket, tears clouding her eyes, and nodded to Ruth. “Go, now.”

Ruth grabbed the purse and walked out of the store, carefully stepping over the broken glass. She pulled off the ski mask as she turned the corner away from the sirens, dumping it in a trash bin on the side of the street.

She held the bag close to her body, and smiled, shrugging the faux fur of her coat up around her neck. Something about the girl gave her hope. A feeling of warmth spread throughout her body.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the darkness between the streetlamps.

At least for tonight, the lights would stay on.