Fiction Week, Day 3

He had worked at the restaurant for six years, starting as a senior in high school. Back then, it was the highlight of his life. At school, some of his more cruel classmates would taunt him and shout “Retard!” when they saw him. Thomas’ mom told him to turn the other cheek, that it didn’t matter what others thought of him. He acted on her advice, but never took it to heart. It did matter to him. He wanted acceptance. Because he was a hard worker and didn’t mind to do the “dirty work,” Thomas was accepted at the restaurant as an important person. Now, his job was his entire life.

The job was even better ever since Cheryl started working there as a waitress. She was 19 and a freshman at the county college. She was nice. She always said hello to Thomas and treated him with respect. She often flirted with him, but Thomas didn’t know what to think about that. He considered her nothing but a good friend.

“Thomas! We need your help right away!” it was Ben, the night manager. “I need you to go mop the women’s restroom. Apparently some chick blew chunks in there.”

Thomas nodded, grabbed a mop, and went to check it out. He knocked loudly on the door. “Anyone in there?” When nobody answered, he went in and looked into all the stalls. He couldn’t find any sort of mess on the floor, but figured he’d better clean it anyway. It was getting late in the day, and he figured Ben would make him clean the restrooms in another hour or two anyway. After he was done, he headed back to the kitchen to see if the cooks needed help.

“Hey, Tommy! Would you mind going back to the stock room and getting some more ketchup and mustard? We’re running a little low.”

“Sure thing, Bud!” Thomas neared the stockroom and heard voices. He paused to listen, but he all he could hear was what sounded like an angry discussion. He cleared his throat. The talking stopped, and Ben emerged from the stockroom.

“Oh Thomas, it’s just you. Tell you what, why don’t you go clean the men’s restroom, too, OK?” Ben said. “Get out of here, I’m taking care of some business.”

“Bud said they need ketchup and mustard,” Thomas said.

“Oh, I’ll take care of that. Why don’t you scram and leave me alone?”

Cheryl came out of the stockroom and smiled nervously at Thomas. He smiled back at her until he noticed blood in the corner of her mouth. “Cheryl, are you OK? Are you hurt?”

“I’m OK,” she said.

“Go,” Ben said forcefully. “She’s OK, I’m OK. If you get out of here now, you’ll be OK.”

Thomas left reluctantly, knowing something was up. He didn’t like to see Cheryl like that. He wondered what she and Ben were doing in the stockroom. But it was none of his business, so he did as he was told.

That night after work, Cheryl asked him if he could drive her home. “I’m scared, Tommy,” she told him as they exited the parking lot. “The first time Ben and I went out on a date, it was a lot of fun. I thought he was a nice guy, but ...”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I’d rather not say, Tommy. I need this job to pay for school. I make good money here. I can’t do anything to jeopardize that.” She paused, wiping a tear from her cheek. “It’s just that I’m afraid of Ben. He can be controlling sometimes. I don’t think I can handle that right now, you know?”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to her apartment. Thomas put the car in park and smiled at Cheryl. “Let me know if you need anything, OK?”

“I will. Thanks for the ride.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a good friend, Tom.”

Ben was agitated when Cheryl told him Thomas would drive her home. Thomas knew Ben had been the one to do that the past few weeks. “Come back right after you drop her off,” Ben had told him. “I need you to do an inventory of the stockroom tonight. It might take all night long, so be ready.”

Thomas thought of protesting, but he could use the overtime. When he got back, Ben was talking angrily on the phone. No other employees were left at the restaurant. Thomas stood outside the manager’s office and waited until he hung up.

“That Cheryl is a real bitch. I’m thinking about firing her,” Ben said angrily.

“You can’t do that. She needs money to pay for school,” Thomas said. “You said last week what a good waitress she is.”

“Yeah well, that was after she gave me a blow job,” Ben sneered.

Thomas felt his face redden. “It’s not nice to talk that way,” he said, flustered.

“Cheryl wouldn’t mind. She’s a nasty girl. You should have seen what she was doing to me the other night,” Ben said. He chuckled. “Of course, I bet you wouldn’t know what to think of that. No woman would ever let you see her naked, much less touch her.”

“Stop talking like that! You’re not being very nice.”

“Maybe I’m not very nice, Tommy boy. Maybe I should fire you, too.” Ben laughed loudly and pushed Thomas, who fell onto the floor. “Look at the retard on the floor! What are you going to do, Tommy? Huh? You’re so stupid. You look funny on the floor.”

“Please stop saying that,” Thomas said. “Please be nice.” He stood, fire rising within him.

“Are you going to make me, Tommy? Huh? Come on, let’s fight.” Ben put up his fists, then dropped them and snorted. “Like you could hurt a fly. You’re too stupid to defend yourself, you pansy.” Ben turned to enter his office.

“I can’t make you be nice,” Thomas said. “But I can make you be quiet.”

Ben started to whip around, but before he could Thomas clobbered him on the head with a metal serving tray. This only made Ben angrier, and he dazedly tried to throw a punch. Thomas dodged it and kicked Ben in the stomach. Ben limped into the kitchen and grabbed one of the long, sharp chopping knives.

“Come on, man. Hit me again, you f***ing retard! I won’t have to fire you, I’ll kill you!” Ben rushed forward, light glinting off the steel blade. His left foot caught on one of the metal prep tables and he fell hard, slamming into the hard floor face first. Ben let out a gurgling scream, then went limp.

Thomas watched Ben for a moment, then cautiously approached him. He dug his foot under Ben’s shoulder and turned the motionless body to the side. Somehow the knife had gotten twisted in Ben’s hand. Thomas could see the handle embedded into Ben’s chest. There was no detectable breath moving in and out of Ben’s lungs. Blood was starting to pool on the cold, gray tile. Thomas knew what he had to do.

Under the dim light of the three-quarter moon, a figure struggled to pull the trash cart to the compactor. The rusty wheels squealed under a heavy load. A few rats scrambled into the adjacent empty field. When the green button was pushed, the stillness was broken by the compactor’s deep, tenacious groan. Anyone nearby could have heard a distinct snapping inside from the pressure. The compactor went through two complete cycles before the operator, satisfied that the garbage had been pulverized into a neat bundle, shut the door and removed the key.