Anthem

I try to avoid the house after that day, working night shifts at Express Mart without overtime pay. The store sits between a discount grocery chain and a drug depository. My manager drops in a few times throughout my shifts to make sure i'm not stealing anything. Apparently he used to own a whole chain of Express Mars before the economy crash and is still paranoid about anything to do with his business. Things are slow as usual and customers are few. My only company besides Dennis, my manager, is Martha the janitor. She's an older woman whose son was drafted into the war recently. We don't speak, but I know she barely manages a living with this job so I turn a blind eye when I see her taking a bag of chips here, some toothpaste there. I try to catch bits of dialogue from the TV in the back corner of the store but the volume is turned so low I just watch and read the subtitles. A respectable looking reporter addressees the camera talking about the recent victory overseas. Their is an extremely brief report about a losing battle, but only in small print at the bottom of the screen. For a few fleeting moments the causality list flashes over the screen and then the news report starts from the beginning. Dennis comes in from the back room to look at me suspiciously, as usual. He's about forty, but already starting to bald. He combs his remaining hair over to try to conceal it.
"Jill. Quit sitting around and get to work." he says in an exasperated tone of voice. When he's annoyed his voice takes on a nasally sound.
"There are no customers." I reply. He looks around like he's realizing it for the first time.
"Right. Go clean the supply closet then. I'm not paying you to watch the news." he responds checking his watch. He goes back into the back room before I can ask about the night shift tonight. I stick my hands in my pockets to warm them, most of the lower budget stores sold their heaters and air conditioners when the war first broke out and metal was needed.
If anything, the supply closet is colder than the front of the store. Lit by a few bulbs, a dim glow lights the boxes labeled white bread, powdered eggs, soup, and various toiletries. I grab a cloth and start to clean the empty shelf space. As I turn to grab the spray bottle, my hip knocks a box off the shelf, it hits the ground with a cracking noise.
"Ah, crap." I breathe. With a grimace I pick up the box to inspect the damage. A split box of pretzels and a broken glass cup. I take a quick glance behind me before taking the bag of pretzels and shoving them into my shirt.
It's a broken bag, so it's not sellable. Therefore, I'm not stealing I tell myself.
It took another hour to move the boxes and finish the cleaning. After stalling enough, I decide to go talk to Dennis about taking the night shift. I take the last handful of pretzels from the bag and crumple the bag, throwing it into the cheap plastic trashcan on my way out from the closet. I give the door to the backroom a tentative knock.
"Come in."
He motions to an empty chair across from his desk. I give a sigh of pleasure as warm air rolls over me. No wonder he stays in here all day. I take a seat.
"Yes, sir, I was wondering if I could take the night shift tonight? If there is an opening?" I say, trying to use my most businesslike voice even though I've already done the night shift several times the past week or two.
"Yes, Jill." He sighs, not even bothering to look up. "There is an opening in the night shift.".
"Same as every other day." he adds. He glances up at me, holding my gaze for about a second and then looking down. He frowns and narrows his eyes.

"Uh, is. Something wrong...?" I ask, a bad feeling growing in my gut.

"Is that... A piece of pretzel on your chest?" He asks, looking disgusted.

"Oh! Yeah." I reply, my professional appearance gone. I look down and brush it off, too embarrassed to question why he was looking at my chest. Glimpsing up, I expect him to look mildly annoyed, if anything, but I am greeted with a look of anger.

"Miss. Hendry, I hired you with no experience and no recommendations yet you assured me you would be a reliable worker and yet what do I see? You stealing from me all day and taking extra shifts to rob me additionally?" he spits. As if it were some sort of honor to work twelve hour days at a convenience store with no functioning bathroom.

"What?" I ask taken aback. "No, you don't understand. The bag broke open. I wasn't stealing it." I try to explain.

"Don't try to change my mind. I've had other employees come forward and confess to being aware of your crimes." He responded righteously. Other employees? The only other employee who worked at the same time as me was-

"Martha!?" I blurt. Dennis stands up and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Confidentiality is necce-" he begins stiffly

"No! Sir! you don't understand, you can't fire me!" I plead. "I'm not the one stealing things! She is!"

"Pointing fingers won't help you. I had hoped that you would be professional enough to leave problems at home." He sighs. Problems at home. I had forgotten to check in with my father today.

"Please..." I try begging. I can't afford to lose this job, even if I'm planning to be gone in another week.

"Leave." he says with finality and a shake of the head. My shoulders slump.
As I exit, my frustration starts to turn into anger towards Martha. I see her put her broom in the corner. She looks around skittishly and makes eye contact with me, quickly grabbing her purse and walking out the door. I take large steps after her, yanking my bag off the hook. I soon catch up with her.

"You bitch!" I yell. I grab her collar and yank her back.
"I covered for you! And you turn me IN!" I accuse. For the first time in months I feel something other than the numbing cold.
"I needed that job!" my voice is growing angrier as I speak, and I'm soon into hysterics. She tries to wriggle away but I push her against the wall and pull my fist back. She'll learn what it's like to physically hurt so much you can't bear it anymore, what it's like to be hated by someone who's supposed to care about you. I'm feeling the rush of adrenaline now. Martha let's out a yell for help.
"Help me! I'm being mugged!" She screams. The scream of an aging woman trying to get by. Not the scream of an enemy. I stop, my fist slowly lowering. I can feel her heartbeat in my hand through her shirt, quick and panicked. I move my hand quickly and back away, we stare at each other in stunned silence. My hands shake through my gloves. She holds my gaze for a few more moments before grabbing her bag from the sidewalk and running. I collapse onto the curb and sit there. A few cars go by but none pay me any attention. You have to get up now. It's time to cook dinner at home... I think. I collect myself for a moment and shoulder my bag. I kick through the slush on the sidewalk and start the walk home.