Leftovers

A tear slid down my cheek and a weary sigh escaped my lips as I stared at the ruined food in the fridge. The fridge that, again, was not working.

"Damn" I muttered as my stomach churned.

I had so little food to begin with and could not afford such a devastating loss. My every last cent had been used to get this dumpy little apartment this last month and I was living off of stolen scraps of food from work.

A waitress did not make a shit ton of money, especially in this small redneck part of the world but at least I could eat my scavenged food. Or could have as I stared at the warm remains of a BLT sandwich in the warm fridge.

I closed the door and leaned my head against it. I just needed something in my life to go right but fate deemed I should fight my way over yet another mountain.

I lit my last cigarette and leaned over the rusty sink to mull over my current situation. I puffed and looked around the rundown kitchen. I was lucky, it was better than sleeping in the car.

I sighed in resignation as I put out the last dreg and got to work.

"Keep on truckin, that's all you can do, just keep on truckin" I told myself as I threw out the wasted food and checked the fridge settings. No, they were all on the right settings.

I pulled out my flashlight and peered behind the appliance to see if it was, hopefully, unplugged somehow. Nothing but dusty cobwebs greeted me and I was about to turn off the light when something caught my eye.

Peering down, I could see that it was a small black book of some sort. With nothing better to do, I pulled and tugged the old fridge forward until I could reach down with a pair of tongs and pull the book up.

Dusting the cover off with a corner of my shirt, I wandered into the living room and perched on my daybed, the only piece of furniture to my name. Curious, I flipped open the book.

More of a notebook, I mused, and old too. Strange, I turned the leather bound book over in my hands. A few pages had been torn out but otherwise the lines held no writing. Disappointed, I flipped the book back over.

A yellowed ticket fluttered down from its papery tomb. A tinge of excitement flashed through my veins when I saw it was an old greyhound stub with a series of numbers written on it.

4-9-6

R3L7

The numbers looked like a combination lock while the row must be the locker! Could it be? The thrill of a mystery flared to life and, before I knew it, I had hopped up and dashed out the door.

The cool night air felt good on my flushed cheeks as I walked and tempered my mindless charge out the door. I had no choice in my current mode of transportation, not when my ancient Honda refused to start anymore. Still, I didn't mind.

The bus station was several blocks away but it gave me time to form a plan in my head. I had come to this backward town by bus several months ago and I could still see the layout of the station.

It was a small rundown set up with mostly down on their luck clientele. Like me, I thought. Those first few months were a mix of hope and discouragement. But the struggle belonged to me and I felt a liberating freedom to just be able to live.

Better than where I was, remembering the bitter taste of misery and despair. Of loneliness and hunger, where dreams were met with an empty stomach and hope slapped down by a cruel hands.

"Stop!" I told myself, not wanting to think about past memories. I forced myself back to the now and contemplated how best to approach the locker without raising suspicion.

I knew I was being over imaginative but I couldn't stop the scenarios from running through my head. Shaking my head at my own jitters, I laid out a plan.

Walk in like a boss but in ninja mode! I giggled at the thought. I didn't know what, if anything, was in the locker. However, instinct told me to not draw attention or suspicion. As the bus station came into site, I no longer giggled.

Nervous now, I pulled up my black hoodie and slowed my step as I scoped the area. A few people walked past with suitcases in hand but no one gave me a second glance. On the bench by the door slept an old homeless man. No one gave him a second glance either.

I entered the bus station and discreetly glanced around as I headed for the lockers. Scanning hastily, my footsteps quickened as I approached the right row. I passed a couple guys. One whistled at me and I did my best to ignore him.

I focused my gaze ahead and pretended like I belonged. I felt hyper aware as I drew closer and my heart skipped a beat when I spotted the locker.

Nerves on edge, my fingers shook and I had to try the code twice before the lock clicked open. Hastily, I yanked off the lock and opened the locker.

My breath caught as I saw the grey backpack. It appeared old and tattered. The pack was stuffed full. Experimentally, I hefted the pack and was surprised at the weight of it.

I tried to act casual as I slung the pack over a shoulder and left, but I was in a near trot that turned into a run as I exited the station.

I didn't care. I raced back to my rent-a-shack and staggered in out of breath. I fell to the floor and began tugging at the zipper of the old backpack. Something was building in my heart and I knew that whatever was in the old grey pack would be a gamechanger. It wasn't just clothes in there!

I finally gave the zipper one last hard tug and it came open. I gasped in disbelief. Mind numb at the sight of the contents, I just couldn't grasp at what I saw. Trembling hands reached in and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills. The entire backpack was crammed full of cold hard cash!

Hands that didn't seem to belong to me pulled out more and more money until the pack was completely empty. My dazed brain tried to absorb the money layered like a blanket across my lap and floor. There must be $20,000 in there. I closed my eyes and shook my head like a ragdoll.

I was afraid suddenly; afraid of opening my eyes and not seeing the money there. It would be fitting in the ongoing theme of my life. Of hope crushed. And the never ending mountains too high to climb. I took a deep breath and looked only to see the money still there.

Realization dawned as tears streamed down my face. I had money! I could change my fate. I could get my car fixed, pay my bills, buy silly things like girly lotion or makeup. Hell, I could get another place to live, choose a job I liked and didn't desperately need.

Giddy now, I wiped my tears away and stuffed the money back into the pack. Some part of me knew that I should turn this into the police. But as my stomach growled, I grabbed some money out again. I hid the pack away then went dashing back out the door.

With this money, doors sealed shut and long out of my reach were now open and my quality of life drastically improved. I didn't have to smuggle leftovers home from work. I didn't have to go without anymore. I was truly free.

On a cool spring night and the beginning of my own life blossoming, I sat in the back booth of the local fast food restaurant. I savored every fry, every bit of burger and knew there would be no leftovers.