Web´s Liars

I was running from my past, but not by my own choice. Life has a way of making choices for you-or fathers, rather. My father had rather impulsively decided it was time to forget every sordid detail of his former existence, and guess who got caught in the fray? Me.

That was the only way to explain how I ended up in a podunk town, population 1,517-just enough people to plant some fence posts to house the cow pies and barn dances. Great. My idea of fun exactly.

My father called Splinter Bridge "quaint" and "mysterious" and a "great little adventure". You don't want to know what I called the place. Needless to say it wasn't pretty or at all appropriate within civilized company.

I could feel my arms straining under the weight of the box. It was one of many lovely heifers of assorted cans I'd carried to and from the shelves all morning, leaving my muscles burning with fatigue and my skin chaffed from cardboard corners. The cardboard box landed a little too hard, issuing a metal clatter. Air burst out the side of my cheek as I examined my reddened arms.

I appeared tired, but relatively calm to the outside world, but inside I could feel the mental tirade beginning with a tinge of stinging bitterness that had laced my thoughts all morning.

Didn't he even think to ask me if I wanted to be here? No, of course not! Because my feelings meant nothing. He just had to take me away from my friends-my life-in his quest to forget.

The only thing that meant squat to him was a cold can of beer. That's what he squandered our savings on; that's how he spent his time. He'd even used up the school fund that he and mom had set aside for me so that I'd have some cash for college. How was I supposed to pay for my education? More importantly, how was I supposed to find the cash to run away from him?

So mom died. And yeah, it sucked. It sucked so badly that I cried on and off for a good two weeks before I was able to pull myself together. I almost hadn't made it to the funeral. The viewing had been a nightmare, shaking all those hands and smiling at all those nameless, faceless lines of people. The stifling air, the condolences, her cold and lifeless form...

I threw the image from my mind as I began to stack the shelf.

But at least I could stand the site of the park my parents used to job through, I thought. At least I could stand the pancake house we used to dine at every Saturday morning. And mom's favourite cat. Dad had even stopped working at the University because my mom had taken some upgrading classes there once. Big freaking deal! He didn't have to go completely nutty over it! He was supposed to be the calm and sensible professor-it's what he'd always been!

And now look at me! I thought, arranging the spaghetti-Os that I'd haphazardly slapped onto the shelf. I'm working in Mr. Splinter's mart just so that I'll be able to pay for school next year.

I sighed and tried to calm down. There was no point in getting angry. It wouldn't change anything. There were lots of kids that had to work to pay for their education. So I'm not spoiled rotten anymore. So what?

In one year I'd be out of high school and I could go back to Edmonton. I could room with Beth and Tia just like we'd always planned. Everything would work out. It only took one year in a strange school.

I bit my lip as I pushed the cans even farther back to make room for another row. My father was right. Splinter Bridge was a weird place. In fact, it was downright odd. I mean, who expects to walk down a street and find people hanging laundry off their front porches? This is the twenty-first century for goodness' sake!

I actually imagined this town with this dense, almost dark aura around it. Which is really weird. Part of my overactive imagination or something of that sort.

"Lynne?" A voice asked and then a stern-looking lady was turning into the aisle with her hands on her hips. Sue Cortino. She was the owner and manager of Mr. Splinter's Mart. Great. "Is everything fine over here? I thought I heard slamming sounds."

"It's fine," I responded and swallowed, managing a simultaneous half-smile. I'm pretty sure I didn't convince her if her following reaction was any indication.

She frowned slightly, a crease running between her brows. She pulled a hand through her short red hair that was mussed because she was always messing with it. Part of her whole "the customers are being so difficult!" routine that I had witnessed for the past week. Translation: she was feeling harassed.

"Now Lynne," she said in an almost huffy tone. "It's really nice having you work here. But you need to be a little more careful with the goods. If you dent one of those cans, it'll be coming out of your pay check."

"Okay," I replied. I knew I should say something a little more apologetic. I needed this job badly. But I'm not exactly your most diplomatic person. What exactly was I supposed to say? "Sorry for slamming your cans against the shelf but it made me feel better"? I think I was better off leaving it at "okay".