Sandy Vanilla Memoirs



2. Marbled

The sky that day was a muted purple, like a child's picture book that was only halfheartedly colored.  From the streaked window I could see a few stragglers making their way down the dusky streets to the cozier bars.  Olivia worked the few tables remaining and was busy chattering about the day's fish of the day or soup the year.  The customers guffawed along with her, clearly at home in the cushy hole in the wall restaurant.  


I slipped past Olivia and made my way to the back, but not before giving her a solid smack in the behind with the towel.  Closing the kitchen door on her squeal and the customer's laughter, I set out to tidy up the counters.  Out of the two of us, I was always the neater one.  She'd tease me saying that'd when we got married she'd bring home the bacon and all I had to do was keep the floors tidy and our sons fed.  I remember accidentally punching her in the chest when she tried to wrestle a yellow apron on me afterwards.  Good times, I laughed to myself.


The doors burst open just as I was wiping up the last mason jar.  


"Get up.  She said the rest of the money's in the back.  Where is it?"


The man speaking had pallid skin and hardly seemed to breathe as he gripped Olivia by the neck and leveled a gun to her head.  I could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes as she tried to breathe under his hold.  I set the jar down shakily and slowly pushed up to my feet.


 "Where is it?"


The room was fading out of focus and I barely heard him speak over my heaving breaths.  I tried searching his face but saw little as it was set in deep shadows.  He wore a Sunoco cap.

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