Darien goes to the store...
The line of people grew longer in tandem with their agitation. The air conditioning near the check-out is inoperable; people are sweating, and the pallor of the unwashed masses is permeating the pores. Somewhere an annoyed child cries loudly. People shift on their feet and seethe and sigh in frustration and anger.
Only one person in line is motionless, suffering in silence, wearing a long-sleeved trenchcoat and wide-brimmed hat. He feels the heat, just as everyone else, but hides his annoyance and anger with a blanket of outward calm. His dark eyes stare icicles at the single cashier as well as the several patrons in front of him. He glances up to the manager’s desk at customer service and notices that he’s chatting on the phone in hushed tones. “Personal call” the coated man thinks to himself and his eyes narrow.
Immediately behind him a belligerent man exclaims aloud, “Can’t they get a fuckin’ cashier here… Jeezus… what a fuckin’ waste…” to no one in particular, yet loud enough so everyone hears him.
“I got better things to do that wait around here while some fuckin’ princess here learns how to run the register.” The man continues to rant, yet doesn’t leave, his words a contrast to his actions.
“Can you believe this fuckin’ shit, buddy?” The belligerent man gives him an elbow nudge.
The coated man slowly and quietly draws in a breath and then releases it. The sound is almost as imperceptible as the movement.
“Hey, I said… can you believe this?” the belligerent man repeats, louder and slower, as if the coated man didn’t hear.
The hungry masses seeking outlet or escape from their suffering glance in interest and watch the discourse.
Slowly the man turns his head, but only halfway. “I heard you the first time… and I’m not your buddy. Don’t like it? Don’t wait.” The words are clear, concise and enunciated perfectly with a chill at the end of every sentence even though they were uttered with very little volume. He turns his head back to face front, lowering his chin a bit to cover his perfectly sculpted face from the numerous sets of eyes who were now watching the display.
“What’d you say to me fag?” The belligerent man says, loud and obnoxious, obviously ready to vent some of his pent up hostility against the coated man.
The two now had the attention of everyone in line, except for the inept cashier girl who was struggling over the price of produce.
The coated man’s shoulders sink an almost indistinguishable amount, and he resigns to engaging himself fully in this encounter. His face changes, subtly, his eyes give off a look that feels as though anything they come across will turn instantly to ice.
He slowly turns his body part way and then turns his head the rest. His chin raises and his eyes come to rest on the belligerent man’s own. There is a contest of wills and within a moment it is apparent who the dominant individual is. The menacing stare of the coated man burrows quickly into the psyche of the belligerent man. It offers dark promises of unknown sufferings, threatening torment and punishment should he not relent and actually challenge the coated man.
No words were exchanged in that fraction of a second, but the physical effects were obvious. The coated man then turns back to waiting in line. There is silence and stillness for a brief moment where even the crying child held his breath. It was shattered then, as expected, by the belligerent man.
“I didn’t need this shit anyway…” he mumbles, a bit shaken. He deposits his six pack of Budweiser and bag of Doritos on an end-cap and storms out the door.
The child once again begins crying, the man’s space is consumed by the impatient patrons behind him and within moments everything was back to the way it was moments before the encounter, with one exception.
They all gave the coated man a bit of space.
“God I hate summer…” the coated man thinks to himself as he steps forward another foot and a half.