RE: Trailer Trash, 58 pt 2 (Patreon)

    Tabitha's decision paralysis only worsened as they looked through the steaks on display. She stood by and stared with a frown as Officer Macintire leaned in to peer over all the meat and remark upon how mouthwatering everything looked. Tabitha wasn’t sure if the man was just teasing Hannah, or if those were his genuine thoughts—the red slabs filling all of the little plastic-wrapped foam trays just looked like uncooked meat to her. The fact that Officer Macintire saw the cuts not as they appeared to be now, but for their potential was a… it was like. It meant… something?

    Half of an analogy failed to meaningfully bridge over onto a comparable idea and collapsed into confusion, unable to become metaphor. Tabitha couldn’t focus, and trying to turn her thoughts away from this predicament with her mother was futile, because… because…?

    Because like with Hannah steering the shopping cart, I don’t control where it goes? Tabitha tried. Oh, Hannah—stop, stop.

    The little girl had braced her feet where they stood beside the meat department and was swinging the cart back and forth in a restless way while her father was occupied. The movements were small, but they had the edge of the cart dipping out past their section of the aisle and potentially blocked off other shoppers from passing them. It wasn’t a big deal, but already Tabitha was swallowing back a stern reprimand, because annoyance had welled up inside her and almost burst out.

    “What about this one, what do you think, Hannah?” Officer Macintire presented a large sirloin steak for her approval.

    “No way,” Hannah sounded almost as frustrated as Tabitha was. “That one’s all bloody.”

    “Hah, well—yeah, they all look that way now,” Officer Macintire teased, returning to the row of meat and comparing the package in hand to another one. “But, okay. We’ll get one s’not too icky and bloody.”

    The good humor in his voice now rubbed Tabitha the wrong way—everything was getting under her skin all of the sudden. She wanted to step up and grab the nose of the cart that was slightly waggling back and forth and hold it in place, she wanted them to just pick whatever and immediately leave, she wanted to just not be here and to not have happened across this new problem today.

    No, not problem. My mother isn’t a problem, Tabitha grimaced. I just, I don’t know what to do here, and I don’t want to deal with it. Can’t handle confronting my mother right now. Getting into… all of this. All of that.

    Eventually Officer Macintire chuckled to himself and seemed to arrive at a decision—instead of weighing the merit of the steak in one hand against the other, he tossed them both into the cart. That he was so privileged as to not have to choose made something dark bubble up inside of Tabitha, and she had to carefully compose her expression so as to not let those overwhelming teenage feelings get the best of her.

    “We’re getting them both?” Hannah also seemed surprised. “Won’t that be too much?”

    “What can I say, I want ‘em both,” Officer Macintire said. “We can put one away for a bit and have it later on down the week, if we don’t finish the first one. You’ve gotta remember there’s four of us at home, now.”

    Hannah turned to regard Tabitha at the pointed reminder, and Tabitha wanted to open her mouth and refute it—to say that they didn’t need to buy more expensive cuts of meat just on her behalf. No words came out, she didn’t trust herself to say things right, and instead she simply felt awkward and embarrassed. Everything felt wrong.

    What do I say to my mother? Tabitha’s mind reeled through one unlikely option after another. Hi! Yeah, so nice to see you.

    No, a generic, impersonal greeting was completely out of place here, because it didn’t express surprise or interest at the unexpected circumstance of her mother working a cashier position all of the sudden. Tabitha didn’t know how to address that, because she was shocked, and it wasn’t as if she could just remark upon it off the cuff either without sounding incredibly rude.

    Mom. What are you DOING here?

    That was closer to Tabitha’s honest feelings, her need to know, but it was a blunt, bludgeoning method of inquiry that she had no way of delivering. Because the answer was obvious and self-evident; Mrs. Moore was working a job. People didn’t work minimum wage service positions like that on a whim or just for fun, they worked them because they needed immediate income, and actual better employment wasn’t tenable for any number of reasons.

    Like being pregnant. Why hire on for a more stable, long-term position if you’re just months away from maternity leave, or not planning on sticking around? I KNOW why she’s here, she’s here for a paycheck, and she’s here for a paycheck because there’s another mouth to feed on the way.

    Tabitha’s thoughts on the matter spun round and round without ever arriving on something conclusive, because she still wanted to demand to know what her mother was doing here. As if the logical, rational answers to her question needed to be set aside and disregarded, because they were impossible. Shannon Moore, the total reclusive shut in, had freed herself from the prison of her mobile home and fourteen years of steeping in her own bitter self-loathing somehow, and was out among people.

    No, no that’s not fair anymore, Tabitha couldn’t help but cross her arms tightly in front of herself—she told herself she was warding off the chill from the refrigerated display.

   Mom’s not like she used to be, I was already seeing that. She started WALKING with me. On the little exercise loop I was doing around the trailer park. There was that one time back during Halloween—she called my friends, planned for us to have a get together. When I had just thought it would be me and the boys. SHE TALKED TO ELENA’S MOTHER. She talked to Elena’s mother, after I told Elena’s mom that there was no way she would talk to her. So, I was already mentally unable to see my mother growing outside of the mental box I had put her in. Right from that there already.

    “Tabitha?” Officer Macintire prompted her.

    “Hm?” Tabitha jolted out of her thoughts.

    “Asked if you’re a fan of pork,” He gestured with a wrapped pack of what appeared to be reddish-brown mulch. “Pulled pork like for sandwiches, these ones’re already done up in spicy barbeque. We could do these instead of the turkey ones like you’ve been making, but oh man they can be a whole lot messier.”

    “Too messy,” Hannah cast her vote, eyeing the pulled pork with skepticism. “It looks gross, like it’s already been chewed. Gross.”

    “Oh, um,” Tabitha blanched. “Whatever you want—if you want pulled pork for sandwiches, I can make them.”

    He gave her a look she didn’t know how to interpret, like he was sad or concerned or aware of the inner turmoil she was no doubt failing to conceal, but Tabitha didn’t know how to engage with that. Parental figures weren’t supposed to pick up on those sort of cues, were they? Maybe it was because he was a cop? Tabitha wasn’t comfortable addressing her own obvious discomfort, so she turned her attention to the things he had already thrown into the cart.

    Sirloin steak, two different packages. A pack of Italian sausages; Tabitha wasn’t sure how she would cook those. Maybe they were things that were intended to be grilled? She remembered Sharon at the Springton Town Hall office had Italian sausages simmering in a crock pot full of spicy sauce in the break room for special occasions. They had filled the entire wing with a peculiar smell that was both appetizing and a little off-putting. Tabitha had never dared to try them, always sticking to ‘safe’ foods she was sure she liked.

    Every Christmas I think she had something in that crock pot going, and I never ever once even tried any of it, Tabitha remembered.

    She felt like her writer brain was trying to bridge that over into another analogy to help her grapple with her present circumstances, but Tabitha didn’t have a clue as to what it might mean. That she should try new things? What did that even mean, in this context? She had no idea what new approaches she might have for speaking with her mother. That whole impending interaction was a terrifying unpredictable distortion in the gellar field, where the insanity of the warp devoured plans, or courses of action, or things she might think of to say.

    Because, I have no idea what to say. Because—wait, you can’t GRILL pulled pork. It’s just messy little shreds of pork—they would slop down through the grate of the grill. How are we going to cook it? On a skillet? Or, does it bake in a tray?

    Although Tabitha was an accomplished cook, she was only accomplished at cooking things she had normally made for herself in the future. Experience outside of that was revealed to be a sudden blind spot marring her image as the competent cook who could make anything. On the one hand, this meant it was an opportunity for her to learn new things, to feel like she was growing as a person and becoming more capable. But, then on the other hand—it was really satisfying being the one who always knew everything and was able to teach things to Hannah. Darren Macintire said he would show them around using the grill, of course. Tabitha just wasn’t sure how she felt about being put into the role of a student by this strangely attractive father figure.

    No! Bad brains, Tabitha told herself. Focus, FOCUS.

    She couldn’t focus. They had been inching across the meat section of Food Lion for minutes but it felt like hours, she wanted out of here and for them to just leave right away, but also she would do anything to help stall them from going through the check out where she would run into her mother. Tabitha took a look at the prices of the various items in the cart—steaks, pulled pork, sausages, joined now by a two-pound back of ground beef that seemed enormous and a little wrapped row of ribs.

    This is… it’s a little ridiculous, right? Tabitha couldn’t help but just stare at all of them. NORMAL families would never buy THIS much meat, right? Meat’s super expensive. You’d just pick one or two things.

    “Alrighty, I think that does it,” Officer Macintire said. “What do you girls think, what else do we need? Pack of buns for the pulled pork and the burgers? Potatoes to go with the steak? Veggies?”

    “Nooo—” Hannah protested. “Not veggies. Anything but veggies dad, please.”

    “What do you think, Tabby?” Officer Macintire turned his charming grin her way.

    “Oh, uh,” Tabitha blinked. “Vegetables would be nice? Green beans. Peas? Maybe onions, if—”

    “Tabby, no!” Hannah tugged at her elbow with a horrified whisper. “Green beans?! No!”

    “And, um,” Tabitha fought to remember. “I think you had also mentioned that you wanted bacon, for—”

    “Right!” Officer Macintire’s eyes lit up at the reminder. “Can’t believe we almost forgot—we musta rolled right on by that section, lookin’ at other things. Bacon.”

    They made their rounds throughout the Food Lion, piling on more and more things into the cart—fresh vegetables, frozen vegetables, mashed potato flakes, a pack of bacon, sausage rolls and hamburger buns. The sheer expenditure of it all numbed Tabitha’s mind and wasn’t something she could process. Mrs. Macintire jumping at any chance to go shopping was bad enough, seeing the woman's husband likewise just go on a shopping spree shouldn’t have shocked her. But, it did. Tabitha grew up in a poor family and then had lived a relatively frugal life on her own, so seeing pricy goods for feeding a family of four piling up was always going to startle her.

    They crossed the breadth of the aisle towards the front of the store, and then their cart was pushed into the checkout station Mrs. Moore was at.

    Mrs. Moore made eye contact with her and those eyes went wide with alarm—her mother looked every bit as alarmed at this sudden unexpected encounter as Tabitha did. The woman froze in alarm partway through scanning a carton of orange juice for the customer just ahead of them in line—then Mrs. Moore accidentally scanned it twice in a fluster, and had to stab at her terminal keys with frantic motions to correct it.

    Yeah. Yeah. Right there with you, Tabitha empathized, feeling the same panic. I, uh, I didn’t expect we’d run into you, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I—I have no idea what to say to you.

    “Hey there! Fancy seein’ you here,” Officer Macintire greeted casually, having no such compunctions. “Have you been workin’ here long?”

    “I—I—hah, well—” Mrs. Moore stammered out with a forced smile, looking back and forth between her present customer and the man speaking to her as if unable to handle both things at once. “I’m new! I’m, it’s my—I just started here. Actually. Hi Tabitha.”

    “Hi,” Tabitha squeaked out.

    “Dad,” Hannah elbowed his leg, having the good sense to know he was making things awkward for everyone.

    “Ow!” Officer Macintire teased, ruffling her hair. “Here, baby—help Tabby get all this up on the checkout.”

    That was a strange thing to ask, because as a seven-year-old Hannah had to climb her sneakers up onto the caster bar beneath the cart to even be able to reach over the front and manage to grab the contents. Tabitha helped her, passing things along to set them on the conveyor belt, while Officer Macintire leaned his weight on the cart’s handle so that Hannah wouldn’t tip the cart. Tabitha felt horrifically embarrassed—they were buying what felt like a comical amount of expensive food, right in front of her low income mother. Even worse, Tabitha felt like she was acting the part of a Macintire daughter, right in front of her own real mom, like she was rubbing the woman’s nose in the fact that she was part of a different family now.

    Oh God I can’t do this. I just want to duck down beneath the counter and out of sight and NOT BE HERE.

    Mrs. Moore recited the total for the other customer, received a ten dollar bill, put it into her drawer and made change for the man. It was bizarre seeing her mother put on a customer service voice, even a frazzled, uncertain one like this. Tabitha suspected Mrs. Moore was feeling humiliated to be caught working here like this, but Officer Macintire seemed intentionally oblivious to this and was just smiling along like everything was normal and okay.

    “Th-thank you, Hannah,” Tabitha said in a stiff voice as they got everything up onto the checkout.

    Her mother snuck a look over in their direction at hearing her speak, and Tabitha averted her eyes. Then, Hannah noticed that, and the little girl put on a frown of confusion as she attempted to process the sight of Tabitha sheepishly studying the scuff marks on the floor tile and admiring the sturdy design of the shopping cart’s wheels. Once again Officer Macintire’s body language and demeanor suggested that to him, nothing at all was out of sorts.

    “So, um, hi,” Mrs. Moore greeted them properly as the previous customer strode off. “I didn’t expect to see you guys, here! I—hah, I, I just started yester—yesterday, that was my first day. Technically. My first day on the clock, before it I was, there was—”

    “Oh nice, nice—Tabby just started back to school too, right ‘round the same time,” Officer Macintire responded. “She said it’s all been okay.”

    Tabitha’s cheeks burned as all of the blood in her body rushed to her face. It was as if he was unaware of the awkwardness, but also aware, because he had simply stepped up and spoken on Tabitha’s behalf. As if he knew she didn’t have the right words right now.

    “Good, good,” Mrs. Moore struggled to split her attention between conversation and the slow but steady blip blip blip of items passing through the bar code scanner. “I was—I was so worried about her. I knew that, um, that she was going to be back at school. I thought about calling, but…”

    “Definitely!” Officer Macintire nodded. “Yeah, anytime. Our line’s always open. Sure she’d love to what from ya.”

    “Dad,” Hannah reprimanded him from where she balanced at the front of the cart.

    “Careful on the cart, hon,” Officer Macintire said. “Why don’t you help her with those bags?”

    “I—I can do it,” Tabitha blurted out. “I’ve got it.”

    “Oh—well—thank you,” Mrs. Moore managed, hurrying to arrange the pack of bacon in hand into the next grocery bag. “H-here.”

    “You’re… you’re working,” Tabitha said.

    Out of all of the unintelligent things she could have said, Tabitha mentally decided that this was the dumbest, worst set of words that she could have picked. But, as Tabitha locked eyes with her mother, she blanked on everything else and didn’t know what else to say.

    “I—yeah, I, I had to,” Mrs. Moore panicked as well. “I had to do something.”

    Tabitha’s throat constricted at hearing that, and her body froze up. Did that mean Tabitha’s flight from the family had been what filled her mother with the sudden impetus to find a job? There was raw desperation in her mother's voice. Was jumping into the work force prompted by the baby on the way? It seemed like a cry for help, but was it just for money, or was it for independence?

    Oh my God. Is she… is she thinking of splitting up with dad?!

    They had been fighting, but were things that severe? Tabitha certainly wasn’t happy with her dad of late, but by no means did she think her parents should actually separate. And, if they did—it would be completely her fault, a product of her actions, something that came about from the changes Tabitha had wrought upon them in this new lifetime. Tabitha wasn’t sure she could shoulder all of that.

    “Well hey, good for you,” Officer Macintire’s admiration sounded honest. “It’s hard gettin’ yourself out and about and back to the grind, believe you me, I know. I’m just now tryin’ to get back into things, myself. Even walking around leaves me winded—who knew all the, you know, the everyday little things I used to take for granted would ever get so tough?”

    “I-it’s great to see you’re doing so much better!” Mrs. Moore said. “To think, just, well, just a few months ago you’d been shot. You’re already walking around and back to normal! That’s a blessing!”

    The unfamiliar lines coming out of her mother’s mouth felt bizarre and alien to Tabitha, and after a split-second of introspection, she realized it was because she wasn’t used to seeing her mother interact with others. At all. Mrs. Moore spoke in a familiar way with her husband, and she talked down to her daughter, and on rare occasions she griped at grandma Laurie—but, that was it. It was strange and surreal seeing her mother out of the trailer.

    “We’re almost all back to normal—Tabby’s cast comes off in, what, just a few more days?” Officer Macintire looked towards Tabitha, as if indicating she was now welcome to join in their conversation.

    “Um. Yes,” Tabitha managed. “I think so.”

    “But hey, we were about to have some kind of a cook-out,” Officer Macintire explained, waving across the last few items as the belt fed them over towards Mrs. Moore. “Celebrate gettin’ back on my feet. You’re welcome to join us! What time does your shift end, here?”

    Wait, what.

    “Oh, u-um,” Mrs. Moore let out a nervous laugh. “Two and a half hours ago? Almost three hours ago? My shift was supposed to be over. Th-they said I need to cover a bit longer, because I think someone else called off? I’m not sure when they’ll let me go. I’ve been here since nine, nine this morning.”

    “It’s past four o’clock,” Tabitha stood up straight with a jolt. “It’s—it’s almost five. You’ve been here since nine? They’ve given you breaks? A lunch hour?”

    “Uh, I did have my one break!” Mrs. Moore winced as she rung up their last item and bagged it. “I was actually supposed to get two, but… they weren’t able to give me my other one, since—”

    “Where’s your manager?” Tabitha said, already turning to search across the store for someone in charge.

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/// Difficult to write! Uncomfortably tense. I'm switching over to work on Renfaire Fantasy for a few sections as a break from this.