The Candy Store

The Candy Store

October 26th, 2015

 

A candy store. Like that was going to pay her rent. She thrust a knife into the
mannequin. But the heart was not there anymore. She had been taking these self-defense classes for two weeks now. She felt she had no choice, considering the neighbourhood she had just moved into. They had tried to teach her what to do in case of an attack. They had told her to practice at home everyday until the movements became a reflex, an instinct. She knew they had failed. They still had to find out. They would not care, they were more concerned about their money than her safety.
She left the knife and went to fetch her sewing kit to sow it back. She wished she could sow her life back as she was sowing the mannequin, day after day. Yes the mannequin was scarred. Badly scarred, but it was whole.
A candy store! What else would he come up with?!
She had been fighting to get him to move his sorry self for the last two years, to no avail. For two years he had sat on the sofa, a book in one hand a cigarette in the other and a glass from his healthy and generous reserve of whisky on the side table. She could not comprehend it. It was beyond her understanding. If at least he had shown signs of depression or some mental illness, but no. He was just happy that way. He simply wanted to do nothing else but that what he had been doing for the last two years. Read. Dream. Smoke. Drink.
She sat on the floor and could not believe she had spent the last two years playing his private coach, trying to motivate him to do something big, something he was destined for. After all he had a degree from an Ivy League school. That is why her father had allowed her to marry him in the first place. He was destined to become someone. Someone big. Everybody knew it. True, he had never lied to her about his goals and ambitions. He had always told her his ambitions were to open a candy store and read in it all day, between customers.
She had always thought he was joking. After ten years in the banking business he came home one day and informed her he had quit his job. At first she did not take him seriously, however, after a month of seeing him at home, she understood he had not been joking. She had hid the situation from both their parents for as long as she could. Soon enough the money situation became an issue. To keep up with their standard of living without his salary was a foretold chronicle of a swift economical death. It took even less time than she had anticipated before she found her credit card refused in one of the luxury shops she would visit over breakfast between two coffees and an auction. Her mailbox was soon inundated by creditor’s angry letters demanding to be paid at once. She knew she was but one step away from the creditors’ lawyers’ letters.

She had no intention of working herself so she took a quick coaching course and started working on him, building up his self-esteem, working on his motivation, following the instructions from the book à la lettre.
For two years!

Two whole years!
For two years she spent all her energy on getting him back to work.
She yearned for the holidays. She lusted after the ski, the yacht, the parties, the shopping, oh my god, the shopping!, she had not been in a designer shop in over a year. She was ashamed to be seen in public wearing the clothes from the last collections still. She had cut ties with all her friends, anyway she could no longer afford the coffee, let alone anything else. She had stayed home, and had worked on getting him up. She had been so insanely happy and hopeful when he had called this morning telling her he had excellent news for her. She had believed she cured him. She could already see herself going with her friends to lunches and openings, she could already smell the scent of money running down her throat, she could feel the power of having money again intoxicating her from top to toe, a sniff at a time.


A bloody candy store?! She kicked the sewing kit lifted the knife again and thrust it  back into the mannequin!

(October 26th, 2015)

Alex S David

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