Two Tickets

(Vol. 12 | Spring 2025 - Cowley Student)

“Where were you last night?”

The feeling of a hundred insect legs went down Shawn’s neck. He turned from the time clock and let the name badge lazily dangle while the busted badge reel on his apron struggled. Moira wouldn’t be here. Dampness, the consistent cologne of every Konbinient backroom, no matter the make and model of season, overwhelmed him.

Ryan stood close. Oh, it’s not Moira. The cold from the large walk-in freezer he spent most of his shift on radiated from his oversized coat. The coat was wet and shined under abrasive white light. His face was wet too – the trademark miniature icicles dangled from his nose and beard – almost making an iceshelf. A skinned Yeti. Just a well-groomed Yeti. Shawn’s vision lost focus on Ryan’s face, the brown hair and beard in disarray, and instead focused on the visible cold that crowned him.

“Earth to Major Dipshit,” Ryan lightly knocked on Shawn’s forehead.

“Yeah, I was sick. Had a cold,” Shawn replied with a heavy blink. His eyes refocused on Ryan’s face, and he saw that he was grinning. Shawn groaned.

“Yeah, I bet. Cold sleeping out in your vintage creeper car. How pissed was Moira?”

“It was just another fight. That’s all.”

“Sleep?”

Shawn leaned against the time clock. It beeped. He ignored it. “Not really, no.” He rubbed his eyes, “I don’t know.”

Ryan laughed. The laughter was cut short by the truck doorbell. “Aw, man,” Ryan said as he turned to the bay door, “I forgot we got a delivery this morning. I got it, I got it. You wake up a little. Work frozen – I won’t tell Linda.” He nodded his head toward the door.

“Comin,’ I’m comin’!”

“Thanks, man.”

The lights inside the shelf coolers kicked on as Shawn walked up. Boxes of frozen entrees and specialty items filled the shelves. Products promising better health, less salt, or worldly cuisine. He parked the small cart of cold boxes to prop open a door. They oughta fix this. It’s been two months. The mobile scanner made quick of checking inventory - the plant-based bean and “cheeze” burritos were low by three.

Cold wetness slapped against his back where his shirt rode up - I’ll get a damn screwdriver. Fix it myself - as he placed the last burrito. The cart squeaked away from the door. Shawn let it drift. That’s life. They promise self-propping doors and you get shit. You get a cold ass back. He leaned against the opposite side of the frame, propping the door with his knee, and began to check dates. Would have been a good time to bring the pads. The condensation and cold made steady work on his knee as he worked.

His watch read a hair past seven. This section of frozen overlapped into produce and the small health food section. Seventeen years. The money ain’t bad. This store is smaller than the last. A produce associate was worrying with the potatoes. She wasn’t anyone he recognized - not that anyone sticks around long - and would probably be introduced at the morning meeting. Or she had already. The meetings tended to blur together - a lot like the music overhead.

The morning crowd will be in soon. There were the smokers who bee-lined it to the service desk upfront, and the New Yorker who did his best Midwestern improv who bought whatever the college cafe was lacking between order deliveries. If Moira gets that promotion back in Lawrence, I’ll have a couple of stores to move to. He took a breath away from the cooler and held the door with a gloved hand. The gloves were “store used” garden gloves.

“You’re lettin’ the cold out,” a round man stood next to Shawn with a hand basket. The man wore a bright Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned with a white tank underneath, his white chest hair curling over, khaki shorts and well-worn sandals. The overhead lights crowned his balding head in a halo. “Your momma never teach you?”

Someone let the weird uncle out. Shawn laughed, “Just taking a moment outta the cold.”

“Time and time,” the man stuck out his hand, “Gary.”

Shawn shook his hand and noticed he only had a six pack in the hand basket. A local microbrewery. Strong weird uncle energy.

“Just gettin’ the breakfast of champions,” Gary winked. “Shawn, tell me -“

Shawn jumped a little, and the round man laughed. There was a twinkle in his eye that hovered between friendly and mischievous. Like the ocean sunlight zone. “How did you -“ Shawn remembered the name badge lapeled to his apron and laughed, “I forget that is there. People get the name jump on me all the time.”

“I saw you thinkin’,” Gary said with a smile, “and I heard you too.” He looked up at the speaker above them. “Different song.” He hummed the melody for a moment. “I know that look, kid. You was lookin’ somewhere else.”

Shawn felt the refrigeration run up his back, and shut the door behind him. Gary had pushed his cart further away and stood in front of it. “Well,” Shawn slapped his legs jokingly, “it’s about that time. I better get back to it.”

Gary reached into a side pocket of his shorts, and pulled out two tickets. “It just so happens I got these, and don’t need ‘em no more.” He held them out to Shawn. “The old lady and I have other plans,” he leaned in, “on account of the gout. Hers - not mine.”

Shawn tasted his breath. It was distinctly sausage patties and beer. He took a step back, and glanced at the tickets held in Gary’s hand. “I don’t think - “ The light caught the gold filigree on the tickets. Paradise shone brightly. Natural neon. He laughed, “Where did you even get these?”

“Swap meet,” Gary held them closer to Shawn’s chest, “They’re yours, kid. What are the chances? Life don’t just throw an opportunity like this. Take ‘em so they ain’t weighin’ me down. Think it over.”

“Good morning Konbinient shoppers! Associates, it is time for the morning meeting. Please report to the morning meeting, thank you.”

Shawn took the tickets and shoved them into his apron pocket. “Thanks,” he slid past Gary, “I appreciate it. I’ll see you.” He took the cart and made his way to the backroom.

The overnight guys got it good. They don’t get these weird shoppers.

Moira was parked outside near the bike rack. She looked at Shawn’s bike chained to the rack, and motioned to the pickup bed. He unchained the bike and threw it in the back. He got in the truck. Moira had a podcast playing low, and the AC running, although she was wearing a sweater. “Nice surprise,” he said while turning the podcast up for a moment to hear which show it was.

“Yeah, I decided to work from home for the afternoon.” She put the truck in reverse a hair to turn from the parking spot without backing up anymore. The truck rode over the sidewalk edge as she turned. “Country rules,” she glanced at Shawn, “I figure we could make lunch together before I get back at it - before you take your nap.”

He laughed, “Sure, sounds good.” She is mad if she took work off.

Moira did not return the laugh. She made a slow turn along the back end of the parking lot. Guess we’re snails today. Shawn observed the tattered Yule decorations that hung from the privacy fence. The decorations were old and battered. He had never seen them lit in the few years he had been at the store. Trash against the fence is almost festive. Few more Dorito bags.

The podcast host’s voice offered a low susurration mixed with the soft blow of AC. A soundtrack for tension contained in a truck cab. Shawn looked at Moira, but she did not look at him. That’s pointed. That’s sharp enough to cut. “So, how was work?”

Moira continued to focus heavily on the parking lot. Customers and their vehicles were low this time of day. Shawn took a deep breath and observed a mechanic working on the drive-up ice machine while Moira waited to pull onto the highway. If she can do it so can I. Shawn lost himself in the observation of the mechanic. Sure feels like forever.

The highway, main street in town, had more traffic than a three o’clock Tuesday usually did. A motorcycle with Colorado tags weaved between vehicles to break past the coagulation.     

Moira and Shawn seemed to be caught in. Somewhere in the mess, someone honked, and another responded. In a moment, it sounded like a pack of dogs barking. Must be a baseball game. Shawn looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see any of the gaudy school buses that often came to town for tournaments. “This is pretty wild, huh?”

“Must be a game,” Moira was focused on the road, and Shawn distracted himself by checking messages on his phone. Anything but this. It was mostly memes and days late follow up texts. It took a few minutes, and he found himself watching videos.

The truck jerked and Shawn dropped his phone to the floorboard, “Shit!”

“That car!” Moira pointed at a red convertible that had forced itself halfway into their lane, forcing Moira to drift quickly to the side, almost against another truck that made no move to give space. “What is this? This isn’t Topeka!”

“Maybe something blew up,” Shawn said, “like the world.”

Moira laughed, “With the shithead for President we got, probably.” She paused for a moment, “I got the promotion. Was gonna tell you at home, but I’m super anxious. This traffic isn’t helping.”

“That’s great! I’ll put in at a couple of Kobiniences out there,” Shawn leaned over to pick up his phone and pocketed it. Moira pulled into the turning lane, and waited to move forward.    The traffic around them continued, but didn’t seem to get better. Only thicker, louder. “Should be easy. Speaking of which, but not really.” He reached into his apron pocket and pulled out the two tickets. “Check this out. Some old dude gave these to me.”

Moira glanced over. The golden filigree was bright, almost self-illuminating, in the cab of the pickup truck. “Movie tickets?”

“Tickets,” Shawn laughed, “to paradise.”

Moira shook her head, “This is what I wanted to talk about. You’re not taking this seriously -”

A large, greasy hand slapped against his window, and Shawn jerked away closer to Moira. A big guy in greasy overalls shouted something he didn’t catch and slapped the window with his meaty hand. “What the fuck.”

Moira released the brake, and turned. “I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

The railroad crossing ahead was closed. I hate living on the north side. “Well, we’re gonna be home in a few,” he looked around at the traffic. They headed to Hutch? Traffic crowded ahead and behind them on the old highway. “Anyway, he insisted I take ‘em. His name was Jerry or something. Weird guy,” Shawn continued, “I figure they’re like those coins you get where the tail sides is a butt and-“

“Look,” Moira said. He followed her gaze ahead and saw a large old school passenger train come to a stop at the crossing. It gleamed silver and white in the afternoon sun. The word Paradise was in blinding gold on the side. Shawn looked at the tickets in his hand, and back at the train.

“You look,” Shawn said and lightly shook the tickets, “do you think?”

Moira stared at the tickets. “No.”

“What else could it be?”

“It’s weird, and too coincidental.”

“Look,” he gestured, “there’s a guy. What are they called? Conductors? I’ll see if these are legit.”

“Shawn, I don’t think – look, this is stupid. Stay in the truck.”

“It won’t hurt nothing if I check it out. It could be our big break. You and me in Paradise.

Think about it, Moira! No more state park stuff, no more ‘for your konbinience.’ I – we, need this.”

He unbuckled and stepped out into the road. All four lanes were full of traffic. That’s weird. The other side is oncoming. As far as he could see both sides of the highway were headed their way - out of town. He gripped the tickets in his fist and worked his way through the vehicles. As he got closer to the Paradise some cars honked - probably pissed they can’t get to that bar and grill on the other side - and stopped. It was almost like the fluttering of wings when a great flock of birds took to the sky, but deeper, as if someone had downturned the notes.

Shawn looked back and around him. Everyone was getting out and heading towards the Paradise. Headed towards him.

Moira stood halfway out of the truck, “Shawn! Get back! The tickets!”

The crowd began to yell. Shawn stumbled, and turned back to the Paradise. He began to run toward it. He reached the conductor - or whatever the train welcoming dude is - as each vehicle parked behind the Paradise had its car alarm go off. He held out the tickets and shouted, “Can I get on?” He was distinctly aware of the crowd - the mob - gaining on him like a slow mudslide.

“Just one?”

Shawn looked at the tickets, and back to Moira who was again in the truck, and back at the man. “No - I don’t know. What?”

The man took the tickets and clapped him on the back. “Welcome aboard! Welcome to Paradise!” He half-shoved Shawn onto the train as he stepped forward to board.

The silence was loud. It drowned out the shouts and car alarms outside. The air was cool, but he heard no hum. Outside the opposite side Shawn could see the road was as clear as the sky. He looked back at the crowd. They continued to yell, and cars continued to flash. Moira sat in the truck, which was now surrounded by more of the crowd, who beat their fists on the hood.

“Glad ya could make it, kid.”

Shawn turned, and Gary sat a ways down at a small table for two. A large burger basket sat on the table, with a large styrofoam cup, and he had a large ‘kerchief with a red lobster tucked into his white undershirt. “Sorry about your old lady,” he motioned with a plastic fork that had burger speared on it.

“What -“

“Looks like she bought a different ride than you,” he laughed and gestured again.

Shawn turned to the window. Moira’s truck was being rocked. She sat in the driver seat bracing herself and staring at the Paradise.

“It’s one way or another,” Gary continued, “though I guess you didn’t really buy anything. Not with your money.”

A waiter came down the aisle with a cart, and stopped at Gary’s table. He wore a creamy gold suit and hat. He served a single burrito, burst on the sides, on a white plate opposite of Gary. The waiter and Gary said something to each other that Shawn didn’t catch. Outside, the Paradise blew its horn, and Shawn thought he heard bells. I taste copper.

“Come on,” Gary stood and beckoned Shawn as the Paradise moved, “You oughta eat.

We got a long ways.” He wiped his face with the ‘kerchief, and grinned. “It’s one of those bean and cheeze burritos you were stocking.”

Shawn sat down, “What is this? What about Moira?”

“Look, I get it kid. I left my own old lady behind. We’re headed west – call it Paradise.

Everyone wants a piece of the pie.” Gary gestured out the window. “Some don’t know it, you got yours, and that’s what matters, alright?”

Shawn poked at the bean and cheeze burrito. What the fuck. “Why me?”

Gary looked Shawn up and down, “I figured you could make it, and that means you’re good for my needs. Kid, you sang, and I answered.” He held up a hand before Shawn could speak, and the taste of copper became overwhelming in his mouth. Shawn felt his jaw muscles tighten painfully and could not open his mouth.

“It ain’t about the destination. Enjoy the ride before it slows down.” Gary reached across the table and took the burrito. “If you’re not gonna then I don’t guess you mind.”

Shawn felt his legs lock when he tried to stand. It was like pushing against a stone wall internally. The waiter returned and buckled Shawn’s belt across his lap.