ISABELLA BLACKWOOD

Working the graveyard shift at Howard's was rarely eventful. The only things that kept my mind occupied were the flickering of the fluorescents and the steady hum of the beverage refrigerators lined up against the back wall. I would eventually tune those out, though. The lights casted a sickly green hue over the three aisles of snacks and miscellaneous items, making me constantly feel out of it, especially during the late hours. Oh, Zach was there too. We always shared the same shifts, being the only ones willing to work at such a late hour. Zach was kind, I guess. I don't know much about him despite working together every night for almost a year. He was quiet, only talking to me to ask a question or crack the occasional joke.

I walked to the convenience store every night. We were located in a very small town, Oakhaven. It had a population of roughly 600 people and an area of just under a square mile. It was an isolated town, surrounded by lush forest on all sides. The closest town was an hour away and the nearest city, three hours. I never saw a need to own a car, seeing as I've never left town, and everything was roughly a ten minute walk from my small mobile home.

The chain-link gate clanged behind me as I left my house. My Vans slapped surely against the faded and cracked asphalt during my five minute journey to Howard's. The wind nipped harshly at my body, my hoodie and baggy jeans doing nothing to help it. It was October, but it felt more like the middle of winter. I was so cold I couldn't even enjoy the warm colors of the leaves as they fell. I hurried my pace, craving the shelter of the store. Howard never allowed us to run the heater, but at least it wouldn't be windy.

As I approached the store, I could see Howard's army green pickup parked in one of the four spaces we had. It was the talk of the town when he had bought it. Apparently the truck had only been owned for two years prior, making it the newest and most expensive car anyone in the community had. My sleeve clad hand pushed open the front door, and I stepped in, my body relishing the slightly stale but warmer air. The ding of the bell announced my presence.

"Early as always, Blackwood," Howard remarked, looking up at me from his newspaper. He was a slightly heavy set man, who sported long white facial hair that moved almost comically when he spoke.

"I suppose so, Mr. Doyle," I hummed, looking up at the loudly ticking clock hung behind him. The time read 7:55.

"I've told you before Blackwood, call me Howard."

"Only when you stop calling me Blackwood," I smile, scurrying around the dull and chipped counter into the miniscule breakroom. He huffed in defeat.

"If only I could get Mr. Allen to be like you. I swear I'd fire him if you two weren't the only ones willing to work this shift."

I let out a small laugh, "I think you secretly like Zach more than you let on Mr. Howard. You wouldn't have the heart to. Plus, I can handle the first fifteen minutes fine by myself." He just hummed at that, ending the conversation. I put my things on the small table in the back, save my phone and earbuds. Taking my card, I punched in, the clunk of the timeclock reverberating throughout the small building. Howard got up from his stool with a groan, folding his newspaper and shrugging on his jacket.

"Remember to take that hoodie off, Blackwood," he mumbled as he made his way around the counter, "Tell Mr. Allen too; you better be wearing your polo under that."

"Will do Mr. Doyle," I called, waving goodbye as he shuffled out the door. I stayed in the back until I heard the roar of his truck's engine and the sound of tires retreating. Letting out a sigh, I dragged a second stool out behind the counter for Zach, then plopped onto the one Howard was previously sitting on. No way in high hell I was taking my hoodie off. It was nicer inside, sure but still almost morgue-like. I stuck an earbud into my left ear, and hit shuffle on my playlist. The first couple hours of my shifts were always relatively normal. A slow but consistent amount of customers would come in, buying snacks, lottery tickets, wiper fluid, et cetera. Zach or I would maybe stock a few things. It was an easy job.

I waited for Zach, trying to count every tile of the linoleum floor, only to get interrupted every few minutes by a customer. This was the only store of its kind in town, which led to a sustainable amount of business. Not even the sole gas station had a convenience store attached to it.

Finally, Zach waltzed in, a whopping 17 minutes late. He sported an all black outfit consisting of a hoodie, jeans, and Vans. The shrill ding of the bell made him flinch.

"Hey, Zach."

"Hi, Isa."

Maybe it was pathetic, but Zach was my closest friend. He was the person I spent most of my time with and the only one I consistently talked to, even though it was minimal.

"Why are you late this time?" I asked, phone in hand, skipping through my playlist. I heard the clunk of the timeclock, and then Zach shuffled over and lowered himself onto the stool next to me.

"I just couldn't sleep again. I ended up falling asleep too late and then waking up too late," he murmured, resting his chin on his hand. He did look tired. Purple eye bags decorated his slightly tanned complexion. His hair was never kempt, leaving it to slightly flop over his forehead in a mess of light brown waves. He slowly blinked, letting out a yawn. I worried about him sometimes, wondering why he had such a hard time sleeping.

"I don't know how you're not absolutely sapped after work," I replied, trying to stifle the yawn I caught from him, "When I get home I knock out instantly." He groaned.

"I wish I could do that," he said, eyes drooping. I stood up and stretched out my legs. I feel like if I had to look at him any longer, I'd start feeling sleepy too.

"Well why don't I leave you on the register then, and I'll go around and stock. How does that sound?" I asked him. His head was resting on the counter at this point, and he simply gave me a thumbs up.

"Don't you have your headphones?" I asked. Usually he'd listen to music like me, and that would help him stay more alert. He left out a muffled "I forgot". I hesitated for a moment, but decided he needs it more than I do. I quickly took out my earbuds and stuffed them into his ears, causing him to jerk a little.

"Mm thank you," He mumbled, now sitting up straight. I nodded, and headed into the storage room. It was rather dark and smelled kind of musty. I didn't like coming in here much. It gave me the creeps.

The next couple of hours flew by rather fast. Zach ringing up the declining stream of customers, and I continued to stock products. I eventually took a break when there was nothing left and made us coffee in the break room. The smell of fresh coffee was invigorating. Zach let out a lowly "thank you" as I handed him his styrofoam cup of black coffee. I wrapped both of my hands around mine, and sat on the stool. Taking a long sip, I savored the flavor of the vanilla creamer, already feeling warmer and more alert. Zach was looking better too. Still sporting the eyebags but now looking around. He squinted his dark eyes at the clock behind us.

"Hey shouldn't What's-His-Face be here soon?" He asked, taking a swig of coffee.

"What time is it?"

"Like...ten."

"No, he comes in like hours from now."

"Oh," Zach mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows as if he were deep in thought. He seems really out of it. I finished my coffee and got up to throw it away, taking Zach's cup as well.

"Do you want a snack?" I asked, peering at the rows and rows of candy.

"Mm...how 'bout some...uhh," He started, his eyebrows even more furrowed.

"Sour belts?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"Oo0, yeah!" He said, a smile slipping onto his face. I snatched the candy off the rod. I feel like the only times I see him smile is when I offer him food or caffeine.

I scurried around the counter and scooted my stool closer to his, stealing an earbud and popping in. We sat there for a while, splitting sour belts and listening to my playlist. It wasn't anything special, just rock. Three hours had passed and only two customers had come in. It seems like the whole town goes to sleep at the same hour. I wouldn't know though. I'm always here.

Zach eventually started reading a magazine and I went back to counting linoleum tiles, still losing count but this time not having any customers to blame it on. A sudden gust of freezing air and the sharp ding of the bell snapped me out of my trance. I tried to hide my smile as I saw who walked in. Zach noticed this and nudged my side, causing me to shoot him a look.

"Hey guys," he said, coming up to the counter and leaning on it. An easy smile rested on his face. He had a mop of dark brown curls on his head and mocha colored eyes. His skin was ever so slightly more pale than Zach's. His earlobes were decorated with small, black plugs, and his right forearm bore a tattoo of a serpent. He wore a light blue baseball cap, a fitted black T-shirt, jeans, and boots. How he managed to look so warm and lively under the nauseating, green tinged lighting beats me.

"Harvey!" I beamed up at him, suddenly feeling more awake than ever, "I didn't hear your truck pull up."

"Yeah, you guys seemed pretty zoned out when I saw you through the window," He chuckled, turning to Zach, "What's up, Zach?" They proceed to do a short yet complex handshake. I watched their hands move in sync with each other, still puzzled as to what exact moves they did.

"Hey Harvey, the usual?" Zach asked, already turning around to the cigarette display behind us. He was also more perked up than usual from Harvey's arrival.

"Yes please," he smiled and turned back to me, "Hey Isabella, do you guys have any coffee in the back?" I felt my face flush a little. I brewed the coffee earlier than usual, as Zach was so tired. I completely forgot about giving the rest of it to Harvey, as we typically do.

"We do, but we brewed it hours ago. I'll make some right now," I rushed, shooting up off my stool so fast I caused it to fall onto its side with a bang! I felt my face heat up even more, I was definitely bright red by now. God I'm so stupid. Zach snickered, and Harvey bit back a grin.

"No, no it's okay. Just give me the old stuff, and stick it in the microwave," He said, watching my mortified frame pick the stool up. I decided not to argue.

"O-okay," I turned on my heel, making a beeline for the breakroom, hoping to save myself from any more embarrassment.

"Oh and Isa?" He called, causing a flurry of butterflies to arise in my stomach. I slowly turned around and faced him.

"Yes?" I asked, hoping my voice wasn't revealing how I was feeling.

"Could I get some of your creamer, the vanilla stuff?," He smiled, his eyes boring into mine, "Please?" Not trusting my voice, I gave him an affirmative nod and practically ran into the break room. I could hear them conversing as I fixed Harvey his coffee. Harvey is the only person who comes in here every night. He's become a regular, and both Zach and I look forward to seeing him. We stopped IDing him for the cigarettes the second night in a row he came in; he usually gets a pack every night. He's also been staying longer and longer with every visit. The more he got to know us, the more he had to talk about. He usually hangs out for around an hour at this point.

"Here you go, Harv," I announce, walking over and setting his cup down in front of him.

"Thank you, Isa," he smiles. I nearly shudder at the nickname. Stupid butterflies.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" I ask, sitting back down on my stool, this time very carefully.