I went back to work on a Saturday in November.
I put on a brand-new blue vest. The store gave me a new name tag too. LORETTA, same as always. I stood right where I always stood, just inside the automatic doors of the ValuMart Supercenter on South General Bruce Drive.
Dolores came over from the deli and hugged me so hard she knocked my glasses crooked. Two of the cashiers I’d worked with for years cried. The new store manager, a quiet woman named Pam Okafor who used to be a police dispatcher in Killeen, shook my hand and said, “Anybody gives you trouble at that door, you call me. Day or night.”
There was a new sign on the wall right by my station. Laminated. Big red letters.
IF A CHILD SAYS “THAT’S NOT MY PARENT” — CALL THE POLICE. EVERY TIME.
I stood there with my roll of smiley-face stickers in my apron pocket and watched the parking lot. It was a gray morning. A little drizzle. The kind of rain that doesn’t know whether it wants to be winter or not.
Nine o’clock came. Nine-thirty.
At ten o’clock, the automatic doors opened.
A little girl in pink rain boots came running in ahead of her mother. Purple raincoat. Not the one with the ducks. A new one, with little yellow stars on it. Dark curls bouncing. A gap in her front teeth where a brand-new grown-up tooth was just starting to poke through.
Behind her, in pale blue scrubs, Jasmine walked in slowly, holding her car keys, smiling so wide she had to wipe her eyes.
Quinn ran straight to me and stopped. Right in front of me. Like she’d never missed a Saturday.
“Sticker lady!”
She held out her hand. Palm up. Like a tiny tax collector.
I gave her a smiley face.
Then another one.
Then I laughed, and my eyes filled up, and I gave her the whole roll.
She looked at that roll of stickers like it was the greatest treasure in Texas. Then she peeled one off. Very carefully. Her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth while she concentrated.
She reached up and stuck it on my vest, right over my name tag. Right over LORETTA.
She patted it flat with her little hand.
“Now you have one too,” she said.
I’ve had a lot of things given to me in sixty-nine years. A wedding ring. A railroad watch. A folded flag at a graveside. A $9,340 direct deposit and an apology from a vice president.
But that crooked yellow smiley face, stuck right over my name, is the one I’m going to be buried with.
I already told Kevin. It’s in the will.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
Ethan holds a degree in Communications from Zurich University, where he developed his expertise in storytelling, media strategy, and audience engagement. Known for his ability to blend creativity with analytical precision, he excels at creating content that not only entertains but also connects deeply with readers.
At TheArchivists, Ethan specializes in uncovering compelling stories that reflect a wide range of human experiences. His work is celebrated for its authenticity, creativity, and ability to spark meaningful conversations, earning him recognition among peers and readers alike.
Passionate about the art of storytelling, Ethan enjoys exploring themes of culture, history, and personal growth, aiming to inspire and inform with every piece he creates. Dedicated to making a lasting impact, Ethan continues to push boundaries in the ever-evolving world of digital content.