Killer album

Created with Sketch.

Killer album

500 Words: Heartbreak!

It was a busy night. Almost Christmas. Definitely school holidays. Frazzled parents herding hyperactive kids. Older customers cursing themselves for not doing their shopping at a quieter time.

Traffic jams in almost every aisle. Not much room to move for anyone.

And then, our trolleys crashed!
His was piled high with boxes of biscuits for stacking on the shelves. Mine was full of returns from customers who’d changed their minds or run out of money.

A clich├ęd beginning? Perhaps, but at least the ice was broken and we got a chance to check out each other’s name badges and make awkward apologies.We exchanged small talk and took mental notes for later.

We both worked the Thursday night / Saturday morning shifts at the large local supermarket.

He was a country boy, boarding with his aunt and uncle while he went to uni. He was in his first year there.

I was in year 11, on my way to the HSC.

He was nice. He thought I was nice, too.We spent time chatting, between customers and shifts, getting to know each other. He spent a lot of time talking about his home town and the people there.
It all seemed very interesting, although I was a city girl and knew nothing about the country.Eventually, he asked if I would like to go to an afternoon movie.

I said yes.

It was a lovely date.

He invited me to meet his aunt and uncle. They seemed like good people.

After dinner, we sat in his aunt’s kitchen eating deliciously sweet peaches, picked that morning from the tree in the suburban backyard.Everything was going swimmingly until my friend produced a photo album…full of photos of all his old girlfriends. Girls in bikinis, on bikes, at picnics, all dressed-up…and with him!

He told me all about them. Ad nauseam.

He didn’t seem to notice my discomfort or disinterest.Those deliciously sweet peaches now felt quite sour in my stomach.

He got to the last page of the photo album.”The end,” he said with a smile. “Yes,” I agreed, getting up to go.

It was The End…in more ways than one.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.