Mama had parked the car a good while ago. We had been sitting here sealed up inside, marinating in the heat. I peeled my thighs off of the plastic seat cover. My sweat like glue making my skin feel as if it was left on the seat cover instead of my thigh.
Mama’s Slim 100 filled the car with minty smoke. I inhaled deeply hoping to take in whatever pleasure she got from that cigarette. It never worked. Mama got fired from the mill weeks ago. When she came home too early that first night, she told me not to worry. But I did.
The Chiquola Mill was where everybody’s mama worked, so if mine didn’t have a place there no more than I was worried. I picked at the scab on my knee hoping to make it bleed again and scar. Make me look tough. Mama slapped at my hand.
“Lou, stop that pickin’. And don’t fidget neither. I need to make a good impression. We need this, Lou girl.”
I knew Mama was serious now because she only called me her Lou girl when she wanted something from me. I willed my hands to leave the scab, and Mama reached over to smooth my dress over my lap. I still don’t know why I had to wear a dress. I wasn’t asking the manager for a job. The only good thing about working at Community Cash would be getting close to that Brach’s candy display. I dreamed about Milk Maid Royals.
“Now, I’m gonna be awhile. I have to meet with the manager, and I can’t take you in there with me. Remember to make yourself like a ghost.”
I nodded. Mama was always telling me to make like a ghost, especially when she had visitors over late at night. I wanted to meet them and ask them a thousand questions. But I had to stay in my room. Only thing left of those visitors in the mornings was the faint smell of motor oil.
When Mama pushed the door open, pushing hard enough to make sure it got over that sticking spot it had, I ran clear past the produce section full of all the foods adults told you would make you grow strong just like them. The kiosk stood tall above the produce section, beaming its pink and white and soft brown striped sign at me like a beacon of sweet hope. Mama’s nails dug into my arm, and I smelled cigarettes mingled with White Rain hairspray as she bent down close to my ear.
“Don’t you run through this store like trash. I’ll be gone for a bit. Behave. Remember. Like a ghost.”
I stood still until Mama stood at the front of the store speaking to a man with slicked back hair and a short sleeve dress shirt buttoned right up to the top of his throat. Mama adjusted her wrap dress at her waist and disappeared behind a door with the oily man. This was my chance.
I circled the candy kiosk, my mouth already forming the names of my favorite candies.
“Milk Maid Royals,” I whispered, slowly letting the “y” the “a” and the “l” go on forever before drawing out the “s” with a hiss like a snake in one of my cartoons.
“Cinnamon imperials,” I said a little louder. So loud that an old lady, who was perusing next to me, smiled as if she understood. I didn’t look back at her. Ghosts don’t look back.
I moseyed my way to the other side of the kiosk for some privacy. I threw a quick glance toward the door Mama had disappeared behind. No one. My hand shot up from my side and plunged deep into the soft peppermints covered in dark chocolate. As fast as my hand had plunged into the pool of peppermint and chocolate, it retracted back with even more speed. Only my hand wasn’t empty this time.
“Little girl! The candy is not for the taking,” said the old lady.
“Mind your business, trash.” My cheeks turned hot with excitement and adrenaline. I’d never talked to an adult like this before. I wanted these chocolate covered peppermints. I deserved them.
“Why! I have never!” she exclaimed.
“Well, you have now,” I hissed back at her right up close to her face just like I’d seen Mama do when someone wasn’t minding their business.
Her clawed hand snatched the back part of my collar on my good dress, stretching it out and ruining it. Oh, was Mama gonna be mad at me.
“Let’s just see how the manager feels about this.”
She dragged me toward the front of the store and to the door Mama had disappeared behind earlier. Her free hand rapped on that door sounding like it meant business. The manager cracked the door, and the old lady pushed her way in, dragging me behind her.
“I just found this child stealing candy from the Brach’s kiosk. When I confronted her, she called me trash and told me to mind my business.”
Mama didn’t even turn her head to look at me. She sat with her hands folded in her lap staring straight ahead.
“Does this delinquent belong to you?” Her eyes narrowed in on Mama.
Mama got up from the chair and shook the manager’s hand.
“I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early. Thank you for the opportunity.”
I was like a ghost. Mama sensed me. I knew it. But she sure didn’t see me. She pushed past the woman and the manager and headed straight for that door with the sticking spot. The meat of her palm smacked it and out she went.
The old lady still had me by the scruff like a puppy, and the peppermint chocolates had melted in my fist. I squished them between my fingers feeling them ooze out of the waxy wrapper. I wiped my hand down the side of my good dress.
I wiggled free from her claw and took off for the door. Mama would be in the car sucking down one of those Slim 100s to calm her nerves. I hit the door with full speed, and it spit me out onto the sidewalk.
Shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand, I looked over to the parking spot where we’d left the car. Mama had a Slim 100 hanging out of her mouth and was looking over her shoulder as she backed out of the space. My feet instinctively moved me forward like she was a magnet pulling me to the car.
As Mama shifted the car into drive, her eyes met mine. Nothing. I was a ghost.
I watched as she pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the car away from home. My stomach felt like an empty pit. It hurt. And my hand was sticky from the candy.
I looked down at my good dress now smeared with peppermint cream filling and chocolate. I was a mess. I sat down on the curb and smoothed my dress over my scabbed knee.
I swiveled my head back and forth from the door to the parking lot. Thinking maybe she just drove around the block. Maybe parked without me seeing her and snuck back into the store. Then she would come out of the Community Cash and have taught me a good lesson.
The heat of the day started to get sucked up into the early evening as I sat on the curb picking at my scabbed knee. She will come back. And when she does, we will talk about her new job.
Katy Goforth is a writer and editor for a national engineering and surveying organization and a fiction editor for Identity Theory. Her writing has appeared in Brevity, Reckon Review, Cowboy Jamboree, Salvation South, and elsewhere. She has a prose collection forthcoming with Belle Point Press (2025) and a novel with Cowboy Jamboree (2025). She was born and raised in South Carolina and lives with her spouse and two pups, Finn and Betty Anne. You can find her work at katygoforth.com.