Charlie Charm's

Charlie Charm’s

            Charlie Charm’s liquor store is swamped full of the seedy, the needy and the young. Overly skinny women stand in line with their Smirnoff Ices, homeless men buy bottled shots at the counter, and students repeat the information on their fake ID’s to remember their fake identity. Sequim, Washington is a small town outside of Seattle where there are less locals than there are people that move through it. Charlie Charm’s gets more traffic than it does revenue and is home to about 200 homeless, who prey on those that drive through. 

            “Next.”

            Penelope walks up to the counter, she ignores the people around her; she has eyes for her bottle of Bacardi only. Digging through her purse Penelope sees that she is ten dollars short and shoves the bottle into her bag. Jesse, the cashier clerk, sees her and says nothing. Sauntering into the store, Penelope’s classmate, Alex walks in with his shirt unbuttoned completely. His chest hair coats his body like a wool blanket, and the gold chain around his neck is awkwardly attached to his excess hair. Alex looks at the line and then proceeds to the front; slapping down a twenty-dollar bill, the cashier already has out a bottle of bottom shelf whiskey.  He walks with a façade alluding to a gangster lifestyle, but in actuality has been living off of his refund check from the financial aid of the University of Washington.

             “Hey. Thanks for the cut dude. I was next. What’s going on tonight?” Rolling her eyes, Penelope greets Alex.

            Alex turns his shaded eyes in her direction. “I’m what’s going on tonight. Want to come see what that’s like?”

            Penelope looks first at the bottle of whiskey, then at Alex’s wooly chest. She is down in more ways then one and decides to try her luck for the night. With a nod, Penelope turns and leaves with Alex. Seattle is where everything happens; nothing important ever stays in Sequim for longer than a day.

            “Next.” Jesse is bored of alcohol and the way it feeds his insanity, last night he finished a fifth of whiskey and found himself talking to a mannequin in a window for hours. Oppositely, the people of Sequim line up day after day for their drug, excited and willing to pay any cost. This society remains blind, if you learn you can leave or die.

            Jesse looks expectantly at a couple of locals that come in every couple days to pickup before a sports game. John and Marty walk up to the register, a box full of wine, and a giant elephant between them. They had hooked up for the first time the night before and the awkwardness between them is being felt mostly by Marty. Marty’s hands start slipping on the box in a sweaty flurry of embarrassment.

            “Last night was fun, but I don’t think I’m comfortable hanging out with you anymore.” Marty looks down, clutching the wine box a little harder. Asserting his manliness was what he assumed was the appropriate response.

            John looks down as he adjusts his sleeves and pushes the wine into Marty’s arms. Tears start welling in his eyes. John does not think that last night was a mistake. For years, John and Marty have been friends, and he always feels a stronger connection alone with him than he has previously with any woman. It was John’s first time, but he is too embarrassed to say that he is in love with Marty. Red, ashen, and bursting tears from the seams; it must have just been a mistake.

“Marty, I don’t want today to be the last time I ever see you. ” John looks up slowly, “I know you liked it.”

Marty drops the wine, and pink moscato rains down from the box. Grasping each other’s hands the boys leave the line and the spilled alcohol on the floor. The store is now pungent with the smell of the fruity alcohol and full of an uncomfortable silence. 

The cashier rolls his eyes, “Next. Please excuse the mess.”

Scratching at himself and the sores on his arms, Mark limps up to the register, eyes darting wildly around the room. Jesse straightens up as Mark approaches, separating himself from the actual crazy.

“Can I get a shot of Smirnoff, or whatever gets the job done the quickest.” Mark flinches and scratches at himself. Mark has saved up enough money to get either a coffee from a gas station or this bottled shot of vodka. If you lived in Sequim you would of chosen the shot of vodka too. Shoving out his worn down cup, Mark pours an assortment of change onto the counter. Without counting the change, the cashier hands over the one shot. Mark exits, without talking to another person. Jesse’s hand flinches around the change as he watches one of lost souls of Washington leave with his poison.

“Next.” The cashier’s eyes roll to the next person in line.

Shuffling up, ID card in hand, a young girl walks up to the counter. She looks over the cashier’s shoulder at the long shelves of alcohol.

“Hi, I’m Candace. What’s your name?” Candace smiles.

The Cashier pauses, looking up, “Jesse. What can I get for you?”

“Can I get a bottle of UV Blue? What does that taste like.?”

“Like raspberry rubbing alcohol. Is that what you’re into?”

Candace bops her head side to side, swaying slightly. Candace has never used her fake ID card before, let alone chose her own alcohol. Rubbing alcohol seemed to be an alright taste, especially since she has no other plans for the night besides for getting blacked out.

“I’ll take it!” Candace feels confident in her decision.

“ID please.” Jesse turns to grab the bottle from the shelf.

Candace holds out the card keeping a firm grasp on it, Jesse looks at it and sees a completely different face. Looking from card to person, Jesse realizes that he is not meeting “Candace,” he met her friend, or her cousin. Jesse’s eyes turn blank again as he charges her card and hands her the bag.

“Thank you!” Fake Candace calls out. Jesse does not say a word.

“Next.”

Hairy knuckles slam two forty ounces of beer onto the counter. A trucker named Paul is on his way to Seattle and his last stop is Sequim. Dry palms pull out a ten-dollar bill and slide it towards Jesse. Paul’s been in two accidents on his way to Seattle and did not report either. If no one knows, it never happened. Jesse has been watching the folk of Sequim, and sees Paul drinking as he drives through town.  

Jesse looks up, “Don’t drink and drive.”

Paul grunts, and swipes up his beer before slamming through the front door.

Jesse hopes he chooses to sleep at the truck stop, but gives him the freedom of choice.

“Next.”

Dr. Roy walks up to the register and buys a bottle of mid-shelf scotch. Roy does not come into Charlie Charm’s often; he is more of a casual sipper. Something needs to take off the edge when you have two hundred papers to grade and an artificial intelligence dissertation to worry about. Roy is one of the better residents of Sequim, and at least one of the most intelligent. But the charm of Charlie’s calls to everyone; the weak of mind or strength, the lonely, and the confused.

“Will that be all sir?” Jesse sizes up the man and recognizes him from the local news channel. Jesse pulls down his sleeves and slicks back his hair as well as he can.

Roy does not smile, let alone look at the lowly cashier. Roy holds himself in such high esteem, that Jesse can tell he must live a lonely life. It’s always the smart ones that have more to fear; all that knowledge weighs on a person. All anyone cares about is Roy’s up and coming journal on robots and computer learning technology; there is no subtext for depression, and no way to truly tell if an emotionally intelligent person is upset.

“Yes, that will be all.” Roy mutters; he is the only person to hand Jesse the money.

“Thank you sir, have a nice night.” Jesse beams.

“Next.”

A mom with two young children, about the ages of eight and ten, clutches the young kid’s hands in one of hers and holds a bottle of whipped-cream vodka in the other. Sharon, lives in Sequim because it is cheaper to commute than live in the city. Sharon drinks often and frequents Charlie Charm’s for all of her alcoholic needs. Supporting her two children on her own has been a struggle, since she started her new job at Target. Sharon is a greeter, constantly giving “Hello’s,” and “Goodbye’s,” but she is never able to say goodbye to work. So Sharon always says hello to vodka.

“Hey Sharon, how was your day?” Jesse actually smiles, handing the two children some candy he has underneath the counter of the register.

“The days are starting to drain on me, I’m just happy that I have my whole world in my hand.” Sharon looks down, not at her children, but at her other hand.

Jesse’s sees the vodka, and looks down disapprovingly again.

“That’ll be $11.50,” Jesse grunts.

Sharon is unfazed by his sudden change of heart and pulls out the set amount then wraps up the vodka like an infant, cradling the cool bottle in the crook of her arms. The two children are loose and start picking up bottles like their mother. Existentially learning that this is the way that we would end up, and wanting to be strong like their mother.

Jesse looks at the children, “Sorry, Charlie Charm’s does not serve the innocent.”

The children put down the bottles, and start eating the candy that Jesse had handed to them.

Jesse sighs; this is good enough for the time being.

 Sharon and the children walk out of the store, and the bell seems to ring for a while longer than it normally does.

Jesse looks up to see that there is no one left in the store. So he sits, and pulls out the bottle that he has stashed under the counter, along with a shot glass. The brown of the whiskey swirls with the remnants of the vodka he had been pouring the night before. Jesse takes one shot, but then ends up finishing three.

Getting up from his stool, Jesse moves to the door and flips the sign over to “Closed,” leaving the door unlocked. Outside, Jesse can see that Paul the truck driver has fallen asleep behind the wheel and is not going to menace anyone tonight. Mark the homeless man, has fallen asleep right outside Charlie Charm’s and is sleeping in the small glow of the light seeping out from inside. Jesse stares at Mark, you are not like him, you will not become him.

Another homeless man looks at Mark, and tries to come inside the liquor store.

“Sorry, Charlie Charms is closed now.” Jesse stone faces him. Back off you crazy bitch.

 Jesse walks throughout the store, picking up the loose change that fell from pockets and sopping up the mess of wine that is now partially cemented to the ground.

Jessie is tired from the scrubbing and stops after the physical appearance of the floor looks new. No one else will know the floors the way that Jesse did, or about the various genres of people that bombard the store every night.

Jesse goes back to the register and pours another drink. Followed by, another drink; an even five, Jesse tells himself. This medicine went down like fire and made his mind soar. No other feeling feels the same and the dullness of the senses, it matched the surrounding and made Jesse believe he could blend into his walls.

Jesse stares into the corner of the wall, thinking that he can see the eye of Sequim. Blinking several times Jesse realizes he’s been staring into the fish eye mirror and directly at himself. His thoughts are loud, and he stares at himself longer in the mirror. Jesse can see a part of himself in every person that came into the store; everyone is stuck or trying to escape. Alcoholism has stopped progress for all the residents in the neighborhood. What Jesse once saw as medicine he now regards as poison. Escaping Sequim was not an option, those who are stuck drink, and those that can run away.

Turning to the counter, Jesse picks up his bottle and slides it in the trash. Quietly Jesse turns to the bottles behind him and starts slamming them all into the garbage can. It is garbage and it is killing the people of Sequim. Jesse cannot stand to be the giver of this non-gift; he is appalled he has done so for so long.

Sticky fluids drip from the bottom of the can; Jesse watches the slow drops hit the linoleum.

Am I insane? Jesse’s eyes dart like Mark’s around the room as he looks for something else to destroy, and another way to atone for the wrongs he had committed that day.

“Next. Next. Next.” Jesse calls out.

No one comes, and Jesse feels an immense release. No one else is going to be hurt tonight. Silently Jesse huddles on top of his stool, shaking, all the while muttering, “Next.”

After every “next,” Jesse chillingly smiles, believing he is doing some sort of right.

I am insane. Jesse lurches up grabbing his keys and an unbroken bottle from the trash. Time to numb the pain again.

Walking to the door, Jesse turns the key and puts out the lights.