The Night Shift

Beads of sweat crept down Carl’s forehead as he stared down the cold steel barrel of a Colt .45. He closed his eyes as he thought about the promises he had made to himself time and time again; the promise to quit his dead-end job working the night shift at a seedy convenience store on the wrong side of Brooklyn. The promise to go back to school and study business or medicine or law, or anything that would get him out of a dead-end life working the night shift at a seedy convenience store on the wrong side of Brooklyn.

But there was never enough money. He would go back when he had enough money put away. Just as soon as he had enough saved to pay for the first semester. But he had to pay rent, he had to pay the bills, he had to buy food, he had to buy cigarettes (he would quit just as soon as he went back to school), and then there was the drink or two (sometimes more) with his buddies on the weekends. And of course there was his daughter to consider.

His breath caught as he realized he might never see her again.

He always wished he could be a better father. He tried to be with her more, but there was never enough time. He worked so damn much, trying to save some money, and always nights. If only her mother hadn’t moved out of Brooklyn. Then he could see his daughter more. But there was never enough time.

If only he could go back to school, he would give her a better life.

The bells on the door jingled, but Carl didn’t open his eyes. He could faintly here the volatile commands shouted by the man with the gun. Why did he have a gun? Why would he come into this store, on Carl’s shift? Carl smiled as he thought that maybe this man too was trying to save some money. Maybe he too wanted to go to school.

“Get your ass on the ground! Hands on your head!”

“Hey man, are you dumb or something? I said open the mutha fuckin’ register.”

Carl realized that the commands were now directed at him, but still he didn’t open his eyes. He had spent his whole life hiding. Hiding behind excuses, behind circumstances, behind vices and instant gratifications. The dangers and disappoints could never catch up with him if he acted like they weren’t there. As long as he couldn’t see them…

He felt bare metal strike his cheek and reflexively slumped to the floor. He heard gunfire and vaguely saw the flash of light. When the bullet entered his chest the air escaped his lungs with a groan. And as his head rested on the cool linoleum he could feel the warm, viscous blood pool beneath him.

Carl’s last breath carried with it regret. His life had been a dream.