Chapter 1

October 3rd, 2008
Salt Lake City, Utah

“Sigh.” I said. I didn’t actually sigh, I just said it to get my point through.

My mom and I stood at the checkout stand in Smiths. I knew that we should have just used the self checkout, but mom of course had a gift card and hadn’t wanted to go through and of the hassle of making it work. So hear we stood, not much better off.

She had tried to explain to me how buying one’s self 4 gift cards could save you money, but as usual when she talked about money, it had gone in one ear and out the other. Sounds mean, I know; but if you already knew how to track your money properly, and did it, what else could there be to learn?

It wasn’t that I minded going shopping with my mom, don’t get me wrong on that, it’s just I couldn’t understand why we had to deal with getting the ten dollars deducted off, when they could just hand us ten dollars.

My eyes wandered over to the cart where a box of brownies lay. Only my favorite food in the universe. And here I waited oh so impatiently to eat them. Stomach growling all the while.
I probably would have been in a better mood if out bagger had been a cute boy, but it happened to be a cute girl who, whenever a cute boy walked past, would flirt with them. Not my cup of tea if you get my gist.

My mom and I had just been in a fight about something I can’t even remember, so we weren’t really on speaking terms. We fought ever five seconds, and made up about fifteen minutes later. But it had only been ten, so I would just have to deal.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying to get some circulation going. On my seventh shift, I heard something.
Not something anyone else could hear, just me. That dreaded sound when you’ve stepped in something sticky.

I didn’t know what it was and I really didn’t want to find out. I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly. Patience was not a virtue I had yet mastered.

Looking around for a distraction, My vision came upon the other people in line. They looked like they were enjoying this just as much as me.

A Hispanic family with a young boy and older girl were at the very end of the line and hopefully searching around for an open line. I was envious of those children because the amount of sweets in their cart made my mouth water.

In front of them were to friends whose cart was so loaded with beer it almost had me worried. One of these guys caught my attention more than the other. He had his hair in dreadlocks and in a beanie. Think he might have been Australian with is accent.

But the one who I found most fascinating was a woman who was right behind us in line.

It’s not that there was anything in particularly special looking about her, but as usual, I wondered. Mostly about a scar on her right hand, crescent-shaped and pale pink in contrast to her wrinkled skin. She looked to be around eighty years old, but her hair was long and bright red. Not that cheap I just got it dyed, but real, beautiful hair. She wore no make-up, no fake nails, and her clothes were very simplistic.

What had brought her here, right now? What events had happened that had lead her to this moment? What was her story? And my imagination rumbled into gear. . . .