Short Excerpt The arid, summer wind blew a gust of sand across the heated lot, and Leslie squinted her eyes to protect them from the burning granules. She could almost feel the bottoms of her sneakers melt on the asphalt, and once again she wished that her work could wait until dusk, when the temperatures at least lowered to a more bearable level. The blowing dirt stung against her bare legs where her denim shorts were cut off, and her white tank top wasn't much relief for the sun that beat down upon her. She hoisted the bolt cutters in one hand, feeling the strain in her shoulder from the weight. The tool was practically an antique, but still did its job, so she had little room for complaint. After what seemed like miles of walking, Leslie stood in front of the self-storage door that she had been looking for. Glancing around, she realized that she was the only person out in the Texas heat, for which she was glad. Working without an audience made her job that much easier. She cut off the steel lock and set the tool on the ground next to the door. The heat on the metal overhead door burned her hands as she slid it up, and she rubbed them on her shorts in an attempt to cool them. “Ow, dammit.” The ten-by-ten room was piled almost to the ceiling with boxes and other junk, some of it just thrown on top of the other. It was her job, as the manager and owner of Eddie's Self Storage, to go through abandoned spaces and see if there was anything worth selling, or if she just needed to call and have the donation truck come and pick it up. Seeing the mess before her, she was seriously considering the latter course of action. Something at the back caught her eye, and Leslie began the arduous task of climbing across the piles of junk to see what it was. Balanced precariously on an old twin mattress, she leaned over to pull out the object. The rubber chicken caused her to laugh out loud, which in turn almost caused her to fall from her perch. “What kind of moron would put a rubber chicken into storage?” “My girlfriend,” a woman's soft voice interrupted. Startled, Leslie fell from the twin mattress and landed feet first on the bare, matching box springs. Her feet tangled in the wires, and she flipped over into a box and its contents. “Do you need any help?” “No,” Leslie's muffled voice returned. She cursed for several minutes while trying to escape the confines of the springs, finally crawling out of the storage space under an old table. She stood and dusted herself off. She came face to face with a slender woman, who had trouble looking her in the eye. “Who the hell are you?” The woman glanced down at Leslie's legs. Heavy scratches from the box springs liberally covered her from the shins on down. “Are you okay? Those look pretty nasty.” “I'm fine.” Leslie was embarrassed. Being caught in a space, even though it was her job, unnerved her. And then when the woman saw her fall, that made it worse. “Are you going to tell me who you are?” “Are you always this rude?” Leslie was taken aback. It's not my fault she can't answer one simple question. “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for the woman's next move. “Look, I just need to pick up that box right there.” She pointed to the small one that was marked, Personal. “My girlfriend sent me over to pick that up. Let me get it, and I'll be out of your way.” “I don’t think I can help you.” “What? Look,” she put her hands on her hips and let out a weary sigh, “I’ve already worked one shift, and I have to go back for another. I just want to pick up the box and be done with it. That’s all.” “Do you have two hundred and fifty four dollars?” Leslie asked. She hated when people tried to take “just one thing,” that ended up being half the storage building. She learned that lesson a long time ago, the hard way. The woman wiped her hair out of her eyes, the perspiration causing it to stick to her forehead. “What do you mean? Terry didn’t mention any fees.” “I mean,” Leslie closed the door and put on a new lock. She bent down to pick up her tool, and started for the office, “that your girlfriend is behind in her payments. You can't have access until after the bill is caught up.” She opened the glass door and allowed the woman in ahead of her. Waiting until the woman put her tool away, she hoped to appeal to her sensitive side. About the same height as herself, the woman's hair was dark, but was losing a battle with gray. Her dark eyes showed little emotion except agitation, and she hoped that was just due to her embarrassment. “I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money right now, but I get paid on Friday.” Leslie looked up from the notebook she was writing in. “This is Monday, Miss—?” “Sara.” “Sara.” Leslie reached under the counter and grabbed a bottle of water, then looked at Sara. I must be getting soft in my old age. She handed the bottle across the counter. “Here, you look like you were getting overheated out there.” Sara accepted the offering gratefully. “Thank you.” She opened it and took a deep drink. Twisting the lid from another bottle, Leslie followed suit. She looked out the glass door and back at Sara. “Where's your car?” “I don't own one.” “You don't? Then how did you get here?” Leslie knew that the closest homes were in the trailer park, and it was a couple of miles away down the road. Sara looked at her as if she was stupid. “By spaceship.” Waiting a beat, Sara added, less sarcastically, “I walked, if you must know.” “In this heat?” “Look, I don't have time to play Twenty Questions. Is there some way I can pay a little now, and the rest on Friday? I work at the café down the street and I promise I'll pay you. I really need that box.” Leslie sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, but we've got a clear policy on that.” She pointed to a sign behind the desk that said, “No payment. No stuff. No exceptions.” “My girlfriend's going to kill me,” Sara whispered. “It can't be that important. Tell her to come down and pay the bill, and she can have it.” Sara hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder. “You don't understand.” Her lip quivered, and she looked like she was fighting the urge to cry. Oh, geez. She's going to cry. I hate when women cry to get their way. “It's not my business to understand. I'm just the manager, Miss. Just have her come and take care of it, or we'll sell off everything by the end of the month.” Leslie pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to the woman across from her. “This should explain everything to her.” Accepting the paper, Sara looked dazed. “Thank you.” Seeing the fleeting sadness in the other woman's eyes, Leslie softened. “I'm sorry.” “Me, too.” Sara turned to go, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Copyright 2008 Carrie Carr All Rights Reserved | 
