I was minding my own business, not bothering a soul, when this elderly gentleman walked into the pharmacy. I was at the counter counting pills, occasionally tossing a smart remark to my pharmacist T, when he turned in his bottles for a refill.
I smiled at him and proceeded to count out his medications. My boss had previously purchased some copies of my first work, Her Keepers, and had copies of them out on the front counter. While the gentlemen waited, he picked up a copy and began to read the back cover.

I continued counting, while T processed the prescriptions.

“Do you know who wrote this,” the gentlemen asked one of the girls at the front counter.

The girls were still a bit excited about the whole situation, it had been almost a year since Her Keepers had been published.

“She did,” one of the girls exclaimed, pointing at me.

“That’s her,” another shouted from the back, also pointing at me.

I looked up and smiled again, pausing to answer any questions he may have about the book.

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t as dressed up that day as I was in the photo. Let’s be real, I only get dressed up for photo shoots and special occasions. If you come into the pharmacy on a regular day, I’m in scrubs with my hair thrown into a bun. At least around that time.

The gentleman looked at me and then the picture on the back of the book.

It wasn’t abnormal for people not recognize me. On more than one occasion, I had someone ask, “YOU wrote this book?” I was beginning to wonder if I looked that dumb. Why was this so shocking?

Again, the man looked at me and then at the picture on the back of the book.

Here it comes, I thought to myself, another ‘YOU wrote this book’ moment.

“But this girl is pretty,” he said, pointing to the picture on the back cover. The man seemed almost baffled as he looked up at me.

I heard several gasps from the girls, it was about that time, I lost control of my facial expression. (Side note: that’s a normal occurrence as I age.) I pushed my lips out a bit as I nodded.

I stand corrected. I not only look dumb, I’m apparently ugly too.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I told him.

He shrugged and put the book down.

I guess deep down, I always knew I wasn’t a ten. Shame. 

​I was working until close, we had five minutes left, and I had just rung up my last (hopefully) costumer. The gentlemen left and I walked back to my computer to finish the last of my work for the night. My pharmacist and the other technician I worked with was also trying to close out their computer. The technician I had worked with for a few years but for the pharmacist, it was her first day.

The doorbell rang and I looked up to see the same gentleman walk back in. I was wondering if I had forgotten something when I met him at the register.

“I just wanted you to know,” he said pointing towards the door, “There’s a woman out there ripping up your signs.”

He seemed a little nervous, apparently, she had just appeared in our parking lot out of nowhere.

“Okay thank you for letting us know.” I told him.

He left again and I caught a glimpse of the pharmacist who looked a little alarmed.

“It’s okay,” I told her, picking up the phone.

This particular lady was kind of famous for making trouble around town every now and again. So, it was no surprise to me when the gentlemen told me what he saw. I didn’t need to see her, just by the description I knew it was her.

The dispatcher on the other end asked what my emergency was, and I calmly told her, that the lady was outside ripping our signs out of the ground. She told me someone was on their way and I hung up the phone. We grabbed our stuff and headed for the door. I glanced outside before we left, and the lady was no where to be found. When the pharmacist locked the door, we all headed for our cars. It was getting dark by then; the parking lot was practically empty.

I was halfway across the parking lot when I remembered the guy that owned the chiropractor’s office beside us, usually worked late and by himself. When I mentioned it to the other tech, we both stopped in the middle of the parking lot. Although the lady was only messing with our signs, she had been known to be violent. Personally, I like sleeping at night, so I turned around and headed towards his office. I was sure he could take care of himself, but I couldn’t leave without making sure he was okay.

When we entered his office, it was empty. He normally sat in a chair at the front window and greeted guests when they walked in. But this time, he wasn’t there. We called out but there was no answer. Crap. I walked slowly towards the window, every scary movie I had ever seen, replayed in my head. If I looked over that counter and he was lying there, I’d probably faint. There would be no sport in killing me. I’d just faint or have a heart attack beforehand.

I peered over the counter as the other tech hovered behind me. To my delight, he wasn’t laying there in the floor. But where was he? I turned to the other tech in confusion. Maybe he was in the back working. But there were no customers. It was dead silent. He would have heard me call for him if he had been inside.

“Should we leave?” The girl asked me.

I opened my mouth to answer her, only to squeal when someone appeared behind me.

“Hey there.”

The chiropractor stood behind the counter smiling.

“What’s up,” he asked.

“We were just checking to make sure you were still alive,” I answered a little rattled.

“Well that’s sweet of you.”

He giggled to himself as he laid some signs down on the counter.

“I went outside to get my signs; someone was ripping them up out of the ground.”

“We heard,” I told him.

We said our goodbyes and headed out the door. Only to find our pharmacist frantically circling the parking lot, looking for us.

“Where did you go,” she shouted out her window.

 “We were checking on the chiropractor,” The other technician answered.

“You scared me!”

The pharmacist was going to say something else but was cut off when three cop cars shot into the parking looking of the grocery store across the street. It was then I caught sight of the lady walking across the parking lot, away from the grocery store. The cop cars came in so fast, I thought they were going to run her over. In seconds, they had surrounded her with the cars. All three cops jumped out of their cars, yelling at her. One grabbed her and slammed her up against the hood.

“Geez!” I cried out.

I said she was ripping out signs, not spines! What’s the deal?

It seemed a bit much if you asked me. They put her in the car and whisked her away. I found out the next day, that after she had ripped up the signs in our complex, she walked across the street and went into the grocery store; where she proceeded to knock over a whole display case and punch a customer in the face.

​Noted. I see the cause for all the alarm now. 

With it being so close to Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d share a moment between my husband and myself.

My husband had just arrived home from a long day at work; he sat on the couch with our dogs to rest. I walked over to him to tell him about the events of my day, when he held his hand out for mine. I gave him my hand, and he tugged on it gently.

“Sit down on my lap.”

“No,” I told him giggling.

“Come on, sit down,” he said, tugging at my hand again.

So, I did. He wrapped his arms around me, and I moved in for a kiss (sick, I know).

Fully expecting him to kiss me back in response, you could imagine how shocked I was when he screamed in my face.

“What—” I yelled, startled.

He shoved me off his lap into the floor, in response. The dogs jumped off the couch all excited, running around as if we were playing a game. I sat there in the floor, fighting off two fifty-pound dogs, stunned and confused, as my husband continued to scream.

He grabbed his leg as he screamed, pulling himself into the fetal position. I continued to fight the dogs off me in order to stand up to help him. By the time I got to him, he was sitting up on the couch rubbing what was left of his horrendous leg cramp away.

Staring down at him, I shook my head.

“You threw me in the floor!”

“I couldn’t help it; I cramped!”

I turned and stomped off to the kitchen to make him brownies.

​Ah love…. 

I couldn’t have been more than five years old, when my parents called my brother into the kitchen to have a serious meeting. I remember it clearly; I sat at the far end of the table while my mother, father, and brother sat at the other end.

The conversation started off with my father saying something along the lines of, “We want to talk to you about drugs, and I want you to be honest with us.”

I didn’t have a clue what that meant; I just figured he was in trouble for something. I sat there quietly as my father and mother continued to talk. My brother, being the teenager he was, rolled his eyes at first and huffed.

I can’t really remember what all was said; there were bits and pieces. My parents were adamant that if he was on drugs, he could tell them. My brother was adamant that he wasn’t on drugs. He kept denying it.

They went round and round. Each time they’d ask him a question, he’d deny it. My brother had a full glass of milk sitting in front of him when they started; and by now, that glass was almost empty. I hated milk. He usually drank sweet tea. He always had a glass of it in his hand.

I could tell my brother was getting annoyed, and I could tell my parents were worried. I, being a child, had become really bored with this whole situation. Why were we still talking about this? He said he wasn’t on drugs; what’s the problem?

My dad had started in on my brother again, with a different strategy. My brother was so done with this conversation, it was plastered all over his face.

I just happened to be looking straight at my brother, when my father sternly told him that drugs could kill him if he didn’t stop. I remember thinking, wow. But that thought quickly left. I noticed my brother’s facial expression change; he went from annoyed and bored to just—gone. His eyes glassed over, and he face was the color of a sheet of paper; it only took a split second.

My brother is quite the joker, even in serious moments, he could spit out a joke or do something funny to lighten the mood. So, when he started swaying back and forth, I thought that’s what he was doing. It looked funny anyway. My parents also thought he was joking; my dad didn’t think it was funny.

“Now be serious, son.”

But my brother swayed himself right out of that chair into the floor and laid there silently.

“That’s not funny.”  I can’t remember if my mom or dad said it.

I thought it was funny, but I didn’t dare laugh. They called his name, and he didn’t answer. I slid out of my chair, under the table where I could see him. He lay there as if he were taking a nap, while my mother and father hovered over him, calling his name. I began crawling towards him. My plan was to poke him hard enough to make him move.

I was halfway to him, when he exorcist puked that whole glass of milk up. All of it. It went across the floor, splashing against the wall. I shrieked as I came to a sudden stop.

“What in the world,” my father yelled, jumping to his feet.

My mother squealed.

I shot out from under the table in the opposite direction. I had seen that movie; I wasn’t sticking around.

They were still hovering over him when I walked around the table and looked down at him.

“He done died,” I uttered in amazement.

That wasn’t helpful. Ask me how I know.

Anyway, shortly after that, the EMS arrived. My brother had already regained consciousness before that. Unbeknownst to me, my brother had begun passing out regularly before this, which was what prompted my parents ‘drug’ talk. Turns out, it wasn’t drugs. Remember that glass of sweet tea he kept in his hands? Ladies and gentlemen, my brother is borderline diabetic.

​Also, I feel it’s worth mentioning that I wasn’t allowed in serious family meetings after that.