Pat the Cashier

If one of the cashiers decided to show up they’d keep the lights and gas pumps on and do business until the next shift either did or didn’t appear.

If nobody replaced them by the end of their shift, they simply shut the pumps off, locked the doors and left. That's how it went until Pat came to town.

Pat had a different way of doing things than her co-workers generally did. She was a responsible person who would stay at the register and make calls to her fellow cashiers between customers, trying to find one to come in and work the next shift. She frequently had to work doubles, and usually counted on being in the store from 5:00 AM until 11:00 PM before going home. Pat was used to not getting any breaks, but she has certain regular customers who would watch the counter for her while she went to the restroom, or took a minute or two to restock the diary case. If a customer came in, the regular would call out to her and she'd come ring them out. Soon, Pat was promoted to Store Manager.

Everyone, including her boss in the Albany office wondered why Pat was so loyal, and such a hard worker. Only her Albany based supervisor knew her gender, as she dressed and groomed with a metro-sexual androgynous look.

That only deepened the mystery surrounding her, and Pat usually took quiet pleasure in the whispered questions she often heard her customers asking one another when they thought she couldn't hear.

“Do you think Pat's a man or a woman?” someone would ask.

“I think Pat's a dude,” another would say. “I saw him loading full LP cylinders into the rack yesterday. He wasn't straining or even breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah, I don't picture any women around here doing that. LP tanks are heavy, and that top shelf is about 7 feet up,” the first customer replied.

“Pat never has make-up on, and that short hair doesn't give anything away,” the second customer said. “Those flannel shirts and baggy jeans don't tell you anything. That's for sure.”

********

Pat grew quiet and her chest tightened whenever she overheard those conversations and comments. Sometimes she felt like she couldn't breathe and she'd fall silent as her memory flashed to a balmy summer night three years earlier.

It was a hot night in Tuscon. The late news had been unremarkable. The usual urban happenings: Auto accidents, house fires with families and pets trapped inside, both failed and successful convenience store robberies, and the standard hit-and -runs. They had no interest in national or international news so she and Marty had gone to bed at 11:30. The newlyweds made love and talked for a half hour before kissing good night. The conversation had mostly been about school and recreation for Marty's seven year old daughter from his previous marriage.

Since they got divorced, Marty's first wife, Rosie, had been arrested for selling crack cocaine to an undercover Arizona State Trooper. Her plea bargain had bought her a year in the county lock-up, and five years probation. After her arrest, Marty had no problem gaining full custody of Amy Lynn, and she lived with Pat and Marty in their comfortable home.

Once Rosie was out of jail and landed a job, the family court judge had ordered her to pay Marty $200.00 a month for child support. Marty had told the judge he didn't need or want any money from his ex-wife, but judge Barbara Hemingweigh secretly wanted to make Amy Lynn's mother suffer a bit more for her misdeeds.

The drugs and criminal lifestyle had made the former Mrs. Lightner a dangerous woman. She hated that Marty had married Pat and was raising Amy in a nice suburban home, while she was still immersed in a profane life of drugs and hand to mouth living.

********

2:45 AM No sound awakened Pat or Marty. No stealthy footsteps across a floor, or light in their eyes aroused them.

A deafening explosion. Pat awoke, scared and disoriented, bolt upright in bed. A flashlight wagged side to side in the darkness and a man's muffled voice mumbled, “there, the bastard won't need any more child support.” The sound of a heavy weight hitting the ground outside the window, then footsteps running down the walkway toward the street.

Later, Pat would realize that the voice had a Mexican accent, and that the flashlight's beam was very bright with a blueish hue.

Right now, she was frozen in place. Time stopped and Pat reached for the bed side lamp in slow motion. Her thoughts and movements felt like her mind and body were encased in heavy liquid, slowing down her every process.

Pat was momentarily blinded by the light from the reading lamp, but she blinked and struggled to see. She flung herself out of bed and onto the floor when she saw the bloody mass of raw meat that had been Marty's handsome face only a couple of hours ago. Screaming, Pat ran down the hall to Amy's room. The child was still asleep, causing Pat to think the worst had happened, but a shake awoke the little girl, and Pat grabbed her out of the bed. Quickly wrapping the child in a blanket, Pat dashed out the back door and ran screaming through the unlocked rear entry of the house next door.

********

Three years later, and 2500 miles away, Pat had another life in Plain View, NY. The convenience store was a haven from her memories of that horrible night and all that had happened in the aftermath.

Pat's recollection of the Mexican accent, the LED flashlight, and the window escape, had helped detectives amass a mountain of forensic evidence to catch the killer. To lighten her own sentence, Rosie had rolled over on her boyfriend, telling the DA it was all his idea. Rosie had coerced him into murdering Marty, but she struck an excellent plea bargain. For her testimony, Rosie had only 3 years tacked onto her probation, and she was a free woman.

With Marty dead, Amy Lynn's custody was awarded to Marty's mom and dad. Only in their early 50s, they were young enough and successful enough to provide Amy with a good life. Pat was happy for Amy, but missed the little girl every day, wishing she could raise her in Marty's honor.

Pat's early life, and all signs of her upbringing in Arizona no longer existed. Jessica Marie Toffman had been born Valentine's day 1981, in Phoenix, Arizona. Her parents had been proud when she received a sheepskin from the University of Arizona, proclaiming her to be a Bachelor of Science in Business Administration. But her new Social Security number and drivers license proclaimed her to be Pat O'Hearn, and her birth certificate now said she was born in San Fransisco, California.

Life in rural Upstate New York was peaceful. There was little chance that Rosie could ever find Pat and make good on her promise to hunt her down and kill her for “stealin' my man, and takin' my daughter away from me”, as she alleged. Her own life of crime had sealed Rosie's fate, and though Pat was innocent, she was serving a life sentence. Some days, a certain voice, or a fleeting glimpse of a woman entering the store or pumping gas outside, still sends a chill up Pat's spine. For now, it's better to be safely obscure in her sexuality and gender as the hard working, mysterious loner who manages the Hess Mart in Plain View, NY.