An Unbreakable Heart

I.

It's a strange, unfair world. Every time you stand up, there's someone waiting to kick you down. Believe me, I should know. Everyone says they're scared of loneliness, maybe not in those exact words, but if you think long and hard about it, that's what it comes down to. They fear what they think will kill them cause they assume death is lonely, and if you don't have to be: why be alone?

The loneliness doesn't scare me anymore. Everyone always assumes it's cause I'm always alone, and in some ways, they might be right. But their assumptions make me more alone in this vast, empty world.

I like to think there was a time I wasn't alone, but as you get older you understand, just because it's what you believe doesn't mean it's true. I've always found it interesting how differently people treat others. For some, it doesn't matter your background, they'll treat you with the same respect; others unless you have something to offer they couldn't care less about you. Some are nice to your face, but they're spreading rumors about you when you turn your back.

Most people in this town fall into the third category. That's how I became known as the girl with no name. The truth is, I have a  name,  just not a last name. Well, I assume I had a last name, but I don't remember. I don't remember a lot of things.

I was found in the woods right next to this town. Or at least that's what I've been told. It's hard to tell what's true. When I was found, I couldn't tell them my age or speak English for that matter. The researchers stationed in this place tried for years to understand what I spoke, but so far they've found nothing. Probably gibberish.

"Aaylah, you're going to be late for work." A faint voice called from upstairs.

Michael took me in as his own when I was found. There's nothing but nice things to say about him. Sometimes I wondered how he ended up in this town.

    "Sorry, I'll get going." I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulders.

Alex ran down the stairs. "Stay safe." she then looked me dead in the eye, "remember tonight."

     I nodded, "I will, and don't worry, I won't forget."

Alex is around my age. Of course, it's hard to say exactly how close since I have no exact age. She's currently taking classes in the city, Michael told me I could as well, but I told him I just wanted to save up, so I could find my parents.

    Alex and I in a way saved each other. She saved me from the cold winter due to her persuasion skills (and her mom's), and I saved her from loneliness. She's the only thing keeping me here, and I don't have enough money to fund my ongoing search, along with no clear place to start.

    Michael is a mechanic at the only car shop in these parts, little ole me is working at the only grocery store. It's not like you'd expect the pay is really good, that's what desperation does to you. I walked into the store. 'Singer's grocery' was in bright red letters on the brownish-white brick.

    I went in and grabbed my little black apron from behind the desk. There were no departments in here, simply just groceries. That alone tells you all you need to know about this place. Small stores.

    Everyone knows everyone, which in most cases means you don't know anyone at all. Cause the stories to build like wildfire, till there's no truth remaining and all everyone knows are the lies they've been told.

    Mr. Singer ran the store, he opened it when he was in his twenties, but he won't say what year that was, so I didn't push. He's pretty nice when you get used to him, it's not that he's mean, just closed off. The talk around town was that he was a social butterfly until the loss of his son.

    Aaylah, would you price the cans?" he asked, handing me the device we used.

    I took it from him, "Of course,"

So there I was sitting on the stool placing stickers on cans of vegetables when our most regular customer came in. I continued doing my job until he was standing by the register.

    "One moment," I said. I priced the can I was holding, then got up and walked behind the counter.

"Good morning, sir. I hope you found everything alright."

    "I did," he said, then looked at me. He was an older man, but not exactly graying yet. He had darkish hair and brown eyes. Over the years, he's helped me get on my feet when Michael couldn't, but he stays out of a lot of town affairs. "I'm  a bit surprised you're still working here, with your big plans and all."

    "Well, I need to think things through. Have a bit of a plan and enough money."

    "I'd have to agree with you, I've been thinking about your safety and thinking that you should wait a while. I don't think you're quite ready for the trials."

I shrugged, although the worst part of me didn't agree. "The way I see it is like a race. Like an obstacle course. You're in a race with yourself, and you have to get through the trials. Some are specifically designed for you. You'll be tempted to turn around many times, but every time you press forward, you get closer to finishing that part of your life. Like that course, it will be easier at times, and there will harder moments. Getting through the hard times, gives us joy, cause we were able to make it when we thought we couldn't. When the world thought we couldn't. So no matter how hard it gets. I need to know the truth. I need to know who they are."

    He nodded then shrugged, "Well, I hope everything works out for you."

I grabbed the bags to put them in his car. He walked me over to his run-down ford pickup truck, and I placed the bags in his truck bed.

    "Have a nice day, sir," I said and walked back into the store.

Mr. Singer was standing behind the counter with a soft smile on his face. Bringing out the unique twinkle only good-hearted elders seem to have the ability to get in their eyes. That 'I'm proud of you,' look.

    "Never change," he said, then a bit quieter he said it again.

                    ***

My shift ended when it was closing time. I flipped the sign and waited for him. Mr. Singer never told me to, but I felt compelled to ensure he stayed safe. I walked him to his car and waited for him to leave.

    "I can give you a ride home," he called out of his rolled-down window.

"I guess I'll take you up on that offer today," I replied. "My legs might give out on me if I try walking tonight."

He gave a good-hearted chuckle, "well, hop on in,"

I was relieved when I finally got into the house. I was never usually this exhausted, but that night I was fighting to keep my eyes open.

The ride was a fairly quiet one. Jazz was turned low on the radio, and occasionally he'd hum the lyrics. Surprisingly, well in tune.

I forced my legs to carry me up the stairs into the room I called my own. Got in some sweatpants, and a gray oversized t-shirt. Crawling into bed, I turned off the lamp and didn't have to try to sleep, cause for once sleep wanted me.