Chapter 21 #3
I put my head in my hands, attempting to slow my heart rate and focus on my breathing.
No cops, I told myself; they never help.
What would be the use anyways, report it, answer a bunch of invasive questions, as I defend myself over something I didn't do. My belongings would never actually be recovered. Then, I would have to cancel my cards and get a new ID regardless. I’ll take the less aggravating route, thank you very much.
It was thirty minutes till the end of the event.
I had a few pity buys from onlookers that witnessed me running after the punk kid, but no big sales to speak of.
I don’t wait. I start folding and placing clothing and hats into the bins I brought, ready to head home, when I hear something drop on the table behind me.
I spin around to see no one, but when I stand to full height, I find my purse sitting on the table between the earring display and hat basket.
“Holy shit.” I pick it up and shuffle through, first locating my wallet.
I count each bill three times and to my astonishment, not a dollar is missing!
I walk out of my booth to the aisle, purse in hand and look in each direction.
Who I was expecting to see, I don’t know…
but I was elated no matter who brought it back to me.
Without my purse being returned, I would have been in the hole for my tent rental and booth fee, but having the money back means I had enough to be in the green and a little extra to buy some delicious take out this week.
Wheeling my little cart slowly back toward home, I encounter an adorable, older lady in a coral, cashmere sweater.
“Excuse me. I wasn’t able to make it in time to the craft event, but I understand you have lovely embroidery hoops for sale.
Would it be too much trouble to make a purchase, my dear?
” I glance back at the boxes and precariously stacked items in the wagon.
“Ummm, sure. I just need to get that box out.” The one on the bottom.
“Just a second.” I let go of the handle, on the wagon.
“Oh, not here, dear. Are you able to deliver?” I face her, confused how she’s going to know which one she would want without seeing them first. “Not really. I could show you—”
“How much for all of them, dear?”
I don’t think I heard her right. “All of them?”
She nods.
I quickly calculate how many I brought with me; versus how many I sold.
Then multiply the average price, times how many I have left.
Four hundred? No. I pull out my phone and check my math.
It seems too high… but the calculator on my phone said it was right.
“Four hundred and eighty?” My math is terrible, but I checked twice to be sure.
Why did Eamon want me as manager again? It’s a miracle I haven’t messed up the drawer yet.
“Wonderful. She reaches into her pockabook and hands me a thick envelope.
I look inside to find crisp fifty-dollar bills.
Significantly more than the price I just gave her.
“The extra is for the delivery fee and the slip of paper within has the address. Please deliver at your leisure.” She snaps her little latch shut with a click, gives me a warm smile, ahead of continuing down the avenue.
I glance at the money again, then back toward the older woman who all but disappears. This seems too good to be true. I slip the envelope in my bag and walk a little faster toward my apartment.
After getting everything up the stairs and through the door, I was starving and exhausted.
I throw a frozen burrito into the microwave and collapse on the couch with the envelope of money.
I count it multiple times, only to realize not only did I have enough for takeout, but I have enough in my hand to cover my share of this month and next month’s rent!
I would be lying if I said I didn’t smell the money, but I would deny any implications that I rolled in it. I did, though… roll in it.
The burrito tastes like burnt beans, with spots of ice throughout.
I don’t care at this point because I am ready for a shower and nap before working at the bar this evening.
I start to undress, leaving my aid and earbud for last. When I reach for the earbud, a soft melody begins playing.
I recognized the song. It’s Radiohead – “Creep.” Who doesn’t know this song?
I cover my face for a moment in utter disbelief…
then I smile. I don’t know how he did it…
but I’m relieved. I didn’t sever how my musical stalker communicates with me.
Sure, he could text, but this felt special.
I found myself swaying as the song plays only for me.
The room fills with steam as the shower runs while I dance.
I wipe my hand across the mirror, staring at my reflection.
Could my musical stalker be the one who recovered my bag?
Does he really find me that special that he would go through so much trouble?
For once, I didn’t find the idea of him creepy.