Finish Me by EB Jones Page A

the vitamin aisle. Organic fruit snacks ($4.99). A bottle of wine from the top rack ($42.99).  And so the beeps continued.
     
    Matt had worked in that store for three years, but he still couldn't comprehend the sheer amount of money that people shelled out for their so-called wholesome, local, organic food. Someone was getting rich off these people. And it wasn't him.
     
    “That'll be $234.58,” said Dave.
     
    The blonde woman never looked up. Her hand swiped a card through the reader and she entered her code as though there were an invisible wall between her and the men who had touched her food, the food that would be passing between her lips and those of her children. That was something Dave had always wondered about, how some people could ignore the human connections that were in front of them every day.  It didn't make sense to him. Life was all about connections.
     
    “Have a wonderful afternoon,” said Dave.
     
    “Thanks,” said the woman.
     
    She turned and walked away, pushing her cart, the toddler in the cart reaching for a package of strawberries just out of its reach, the other child walking just behind her, and the woman still stealing glances at the screen that formed a larger part of her world than the flesh and blood life all around her.
     
    “You didn't have much to say to her,” said Matt.
     
    “Some people are a lost cause,” said Dave. “That one was too far gone. She'll be on that phone when she gets home, when she puts her kids to bed, and when her husband wants to fuck her. She might as well be dead,” he said.
     
    “That's a little harsh,” said Matt. “It's just a phone.”
     
    “It's the absence of awareness,” said Dave. “Isn't life just awareness? Making sense of what's around us? And what happens when we let our awareness shrink to a three and a half inch screen? We become less alive.”
     
    “The way you talk, it sounds like you went to college and studied philosophy or some shit,” said Matt.
     
    “Hell no,” said Dave. “You don't need school to tell you what's alive and what's not. That's just the law of life.”
     
    Another customer approached their line. The grey and silver hair, pulled back tight into a bun. The tight black yoga pants and fitted white cap. A wide mouth and eyes that took in everything. She was a beauty, even with her age, the fine lines around her eyes accentuating her grace.
     
    “Hey, it's her,” said Matt as she approached.
     
    “Yes it is. And watch this,” said Dave.
     
    The woman pushed her grocery cart toward them. Inside it, there was a large order from the meat aisle, some vegetables, a French sourdough baguette, and a bottle of red wine.
     
    “Did you find everything you were looking for today?” said Dave.
     
    His classic line. It was part of the script , what the store had trained every cashier to say, but Dave had made the line his own. It was all in the way he made a soft smile after he said it, the subtle inflections in his voice, the full bodied baritone that women somehow found irresistible.
     
    The woman looked up at him, her eyes looking into his, searching.
     
    “I think so,” she said. “Did you?”
     
    Dave laughed as his hands moved over the conveyor belt, scanning her groceries.
     
    “No one ever asks me that,” he said.
     
    “I'm asking,” said the woman.
     
    From where he was standing, Matt thought her lips looked soft. Dave paused for a moment, searching for an answer, then shook his head.
     
    “No, I don't think I found everything I was looking for,” he said. He flashed her a quick smile, more with his eyes than his mouth.
     
    “That's too bad,” she said. “Maybe I can help.”
     
    Dave looked at Matt. Matt kept bagging the groceries. Beeps. The number on Dave's display slowly increased. Dave had hit on women before, but it was a rare event to have one be so self-assured, so intense.
     
    “I've never said no to a little help,” said Dave. “What were you thinking