About To Start
About To Start
November, 1962
He opened the door and walked in. There was thunder and rain outside but the storm was in his head. He stood erect and scanned the place. Display some confidence, he told himself. Catch them off guard. The god-awful music, the sickly pale light; these he could handle. It'll be over soon enough.
The man in the back. This is what he was told. It seemed an eternity ago, but he was here now and had his instructions. He thrust his hand in his pocket. What he had brought was still there. He caressed it, felt its strength, its power. He started walking.
There were some shady characters in here, for sure. Some had scars, one had a cast on his arm. They didn't look at him but they definitely knew why he was there. So what, better for him. Remember, no eye contact. Yes, this was hard, but he could do it. He needed to finish this self-imposed assignment. He walked on.
Slowly, doubt crept into his mind. Was this really necessary? Was there an alternative? He stopped and thought about the ramifications of inaction. He looked down at his shoes. Worn but sturdy. He looked at his hands. A slight tremble but nothing that would be noticed in this place.
The man in the back. He must stay true to his mission. He took a step forward on the sticky floor, his heart pounding in his chest now, his head throbbed. His old, miserable life was about to end and a new one was about to start.
It's about to start, he thought to himself. He liked the phrase and whispered it.
“It's about to start.”
An old woman was coming towards him. A witch, perhaps. Someone they sent out to impede his progress, maybe. He won't be delayed. He tried to shake off his anxiety but an underlying sense of dread prevailed. He walked past the decrepit woman and as he did she smiled up at him.
Wait. Did he know her? He stopped. Who was she? Would she tell? Surely, she must know why he had come. He spun around but she was gone. An apparition? A mind game?
The doubt festered again but he looked up. From his vantage point he could now see the man. The man in the back.
It's about to start.
The man was occupied with something and didn't notice him at first. He moved. The element of surprise was his one advantage. He slid his hand in his pocket again, preparing for the moment. He walked up to the man and put one hand on the hard counter.
The man looked up and smiled. He knew, but he hid it well. He was dressed all in white. An angel? A false prophet, more like it. If he had on a red bow-tie he would have looked like the Good Humor man.
He stared at the man. He could see every pore in his skin, every smudge on his plastic-framed glasses. He was an innocent, he probably had a family. Could he do this? It seemed like an embarrassing amount of time had elapsed.
“Can I help you,” the man asked, still smiling. This is it, now or never, it must be done. He took the crumpled, limp bill from his pocket and slid it across the counter as he spoke the words, just loud enough for only the man in white to hear. They carried on his breath, from his lips to the man's ears.
No turning back, it's done.
"One package of condoms, please."
It's about to start.