Page 22 of Wicked Flavors

By the time Jake came in to take Catie’s place at register one, it was time for Gwendolyn’s lunch. She grabbed her purse and made the small excursion to the pharmacy, this time without the threat of any minivans running her over. She passed the familiar elderly cashierand made her way past makeup aisles and toys, until Gwendolyn reached the snack aisle.

Lunch usually consisted of going to the refrigerator section for a snack tray or TV dinner, but Gwendolyn didn’t have the stomach for regular food. She couldn’t explain why, but while she had been thinking about the spider, Gwendolyn had gotten a strong craving for sour candy. That craving only grew stronger as Gwendolyn passed by the usual line of chocolates and sweeter candies. When Gwendolyn finally found the sour worms, she felt her mouth water as she snatched the large bag off the shelf.

Gwendolyn didn’t even wait before she tore the bag open, ripping a few of the sour worms from free and stuffing them into her mouth. When the tart flavor hit her tongue, Gwendolyn let out a small sound of pleasure. Before she could swallow the chewed-up worms, her fingers were snatching more from the bag.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt like she was starving. Like her stomach had just opened wide at the first melt of granulated sugar on her tongue, and now she couldn’t think of anything else. Gwen chewed loudly, open-mouthed as her teeth tore into the gummy candy without a care in the world. A stark contrast to the way her stomach had turned violently at the start of her shift.

A noise drew her attention mid bite, and she was surprised to see a white woman in her thirties with a tight ponytail standing a few feet away. A sleeping baby was strapped to her front with what essentially looked like a window curtain. She was eyeing Gwendolyn like she was some disgusting frat boy.

Gwendolyn wasn’t the type to open food before she paid for it. If this had been any other day, she would have quietly purchased her candy and waited until she was in the break room to eat. But there was something about the waythe woman’s lip was curled in disgust that really bothered Gwendolyn. She eyed the woman in return, noting the organic dark chocolate in her own hand and the curtain wrapped baby.

Crunchy mom, huh? Bet the shoes are vegan, too…

“You know those are full of unnatural sugar, right?”

Gwendolyn’s eyebrow raised, her only tell. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s basically white sugar, and white sugar is like cocaine. You’rebasicallyeating cocaine,” the woman explained with a snooty expression.

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Gwendolyn said.

Then without another thought, she grabbed as many sour worms as she could pinch between her thumb and pointer finger and stuffed them into her mouth. She made sure to keep eye contact with the woman as she chewed with a satisfied bob of her head. Then, as an extra insult, licked her fingers.

The woman’s face grew as sour as she clutched her baby—much to Gwendolyn’s satisfaction.

“Thanks for sharing,” Gwendolyn said before turning on her heel and walking away.

She grabbed two more bags of sour candies, and a bag of honey mustard pretzel bites. A bottle of sparkling water and allergy pills completed her haul. The cashier gave her a disappointed look when she dropped the opened candy bag onto the counter, but Gwendolyn ignored it. She paid with her debit card, snatched the offered plastic bag, and made her way back to work.

She didn’t even think about how uncomfortable the encounter with the stranger was, because for the first time, Gwendolyn hadn’t been uncomfortable. There was no guilt for not following the script, no anxiety associated with deviating from the social expectations.

It was just Gwendolyn and her sour worms.

10

Helpless

Gwendoly...n...

The rest of Gwendolyn’s closing shift was normal.

So normal that Gwendolyn zoned out sometime around five in the afternoon. A sugar crash, perhaps. With the upcoming holiday, business had started to wind down. She spent the early evening running abandoned items back to their proper aisles. Pushing the rickety, old shopping carts down aisles with the singular purpose of dragging out the time for as long as she could.

She stopped in fabrics on the way back, searching the scrap bin for material she needed for the doll. The fabric was always a bit hit or miss, but Gwendolyn was successful in finding the diamond pattern she wanted. Her head was filled with the soon-to-be made doll waiting for her at home.

At eight, Gwendolyn exited the front door with George, her closing manager. He was a little too perky forher liking, but George was one of the few people at work who at least respected her need for quiet. She said the usual goodbye—insisting that he didn’t need to walk her to the bus stop, as it was right across the street—and said a firmer goodbye.

“The sun is still out, it’s fine,” she said as she waved, feet already moving.

The bus ride home was also incredibly normal. No awkward stares from men who didn’t know how to talk or be around women. No bored teens and no crying babies. Gwendolyn exited the bus with thirty minutes of sun left on the horizon. She walked past a group of kids playing with sparklers in the parking lot, and hoped they wouldn’t set any of the apartments on fire as she entered the building.

Even the elevator was normal and blissfully empty when Gwendolyn got in. Quiet, ordinary, and with zero signs of any blue backed spiders as she exited onto her floor. Both her neighbor and the package were gone, but Gwendolyn still cautiously looked over her shoulder as she entered her apartment.

She flicked on the lights, hung her purse, and removed her shoes. A TV dinner of macaroni and cheese went into the microwave before Gwendolyn stripped down in front of her washer. She dumped her clothes, rubbed her poor shoulders, and shrugged on the replacement sleeping shirt from her closet. She undid her signature braid, shaking her wavy hair free with a sigh.

Gwendolyn would wait for her dinner to finish cooking, scarf it down, and then get straight to work. She had the next day off, which meant the temptation of a late work night was calling her name. After all, her dolls wouldn’t just make themselves.

All perfectly normal…

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