SEPTEMBER_UNIKUM_WEB (1)

SHORT-STORY
Pumpkin Spiced Panic
Marianne Murphree
Writer
Photo: AdobeStock // Joe Reynolds; Freepik // vecstock
Marcus shifted his weight from one foot to another as he checked
his bank account in the corner outside the bookstore. God forbid
someone should see him there, doing something as routine as
checking his balance before buying books from the curriculum. He
chided himself as he forced his legs to step out of the shadows. He
knew better than to let it win.
“Can’t afford a book, Jenkins?” he heard a voice taunt.
Except, he didn’t really, did he?
Marcus stepped back into the shadows before he had time to stop
and consider. His back hit the wall with a reassuring thump. He
had enough money, and logically he knew that he did, but he just
couldn’t manage to take a deep breath before he saw the numbers
on the screen. Only then did his feet allow him to step around the
corner. Only then was he allowed to stuff his phone into his pocket
and find the book he was looking for. It was heavy, and daunting
to even look at, but the part that really irked him was that he
distinctly remembered a time when a book like that would have
felt like a challenge; a chance to emerge victorious, or a lifeline
even. But now it just made his heart sink.
They were just about to close for the night, and he had planned it
that way, so no one would be behind him in line in case his card
got declined.
“Would you like a bag?” she asked as he tapped his card against the
machine. It beeped in dismay, and Marcus felt his throat clog. ‘Card
rejected’, it claimed, and hadn’t he known it. He had just known
it was going to happen. He had had that gut feeling, and finally –
finally! - it was right. He felt sick.
“I’m sorry, I just…” he started, but the kind faced lady just smiled
and clicked her tongue.
“Sometimes that tapping doesn’t work, try to insert it,” she said
apologetically.
Marcus moved to insert it with trembling hands, then dropped his
card. He couldn’t even hear it clatter to the ground; his heartbeat
was so loud in his ears. He wiped his palms on his trousers before
picking it up, and at that point, he couldn’t even look at the lady, not
until he inserted the card, and it was approved.
“Would you like a bag?” she repeated, but Marcus was already on
his way out, book tucked under his arm.
He felt awful, but this was what it had come to. Him or her. Time
and time again he made the choice, and time and time again he
cursed himself for being so selfish.
When he rounded the corner again, he was halfway to the bus stop.
The ride home wasn’t that long, and the walk home from where the
bus let him off was refreshing after a long day. At least usually. In
summer.
He listened to music on the headset his older sister had handed
down to him when she bought herself new ones, and they weren’t
half bad. As soon as he sat down on the second to last row, he
pressed play. For a while, his pulse went back to normal, and he
managed to convince himself he was okay. He thought of a scenario
in which he didn’t freak out, and instead accepted a bag from the
woman, and even complemented her smile. She really had had an
amazing smile. And she probably wouldn’t have minded hearing
it either. And it wouldn’t have harmed him at all. In fact, he might
even have felt better afterwards. He sighed to himself as the bus
continued on its path, headlights lighting up the road before them
as the wheels brough them forward.
The sun had begun to set earlier now as the autumn weather had
found its foothold and started its confident stride. His roommate had
said it was her favorite season of the year. But she was endearingly
vocal about her fondness of pumpkin spice lattes, horror shows
and knitting her own itchy woolen sweaters to keep her warm in
the darker seasons, so he shouldn’t have been surprised, really.
But for some reason, he was. They were similar in many ways, but
autumn was the exception to the rule.
“I’m doing it tonight,” a man said, phone against his ear as he
entered the bus and beelined for the back row. He chose the seat
directly behind Marcus.
“It’s too late. You can’t stop me,” he said angrily, then hung up. He
blew hot air out of his nostrils and settled firmly into the bus seat,
his knees sloppily slamming against Marcus’ backrest, who startled
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