Here And Thereafter

It was an early Monday morning. The sun's light had sneaked its way into the window of her bedroom, waking Medina up. She yawned a yawn and stretched a stretch that suggested she needed more sleep, but all the same she was up now, and she'd give no thought to the postponement of her day. She looked to the left of her and discovered that he wasn't there. How odd, she thought. But just then she had an epiphany. She remembered that he had said that he'd be opening at the start of the week, but she was so used to him closing that it had escaped her. Yes, they lived together, they were husband and wife. She thought on the matter as she looked at her husband's space on the bed. They had been married now for almost two full years. My how time flies when you leave your childhood years, she thought. She could not grasp it, that it had been more than two years since they had proclaimed their eternal love for one another and set out--regardless of parental disapproval--to become newlyweds. Both sets of parents received invitations, however, and both sets of parents came to the wedding. Her father even paid for a good deal of the expenses, as his soon-to-be son-in-law had come up way short, and it was his daughter's wedding, so of course he'd chip in if needed. And so she laid there, reminiscing on it all until her stomach began speaking to her in a not so healthy tone.

She arose and went into the bathroom wearing her silver colored blouse. She would not brush her teeth now, oh no. She positively hated the way food tasted after you brushed your teeth. It was a quirk that she acquired at a very young age, at the point when she first began brushing her teeth, really. She remembered it vividly. Her mother began to show her how to brush her teeth and then afterwards when she was done she went in the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and couldn't even finish it, such was the aftertaste. Well, as it so happens, she soon made the connection that it was the toothpaste that made her food taste the way it did and vowed never again to brush before eating. She turned on the water in the faucet and, with a washcloth, began washing her face. She then washed under her arms and put on some deodorant.

She left the bathroom and went back into the bedroom and changed into an ensemble befitting of one who'd be staying at home all day. She then went into the bathroom and began combing her hair. To say that Medina was gorgeous would perhaps be a bit of an understatement. She was--to put it quite plainly--exquisite beyond words. She was mixed (her father being of African American descent and her mother a descendant of the Brits). Her hair therefore was crinkled and free and her skin was candy-coated in caramel. Her lips were full and her breasts supple. Her legs were long and extravagant extensions to her figure. But this is not to say that Medina was shallow or vain in anyway, far from it. She was--in her younger years--quite the introverted lass. Being mixed served as part of the equation for her introvertish nature. Predictably enough, she could never find her place in the world. The high school she went to, called Southfield High, had a good mixture of white and black students, but Medina was always straddling the fence--as it were--in terms of where she chose to place herself. She had though--in fact--managed to make three very close friends throughout her high school years and she had even kept in contact with the three of them. They would go to clubs or what have you, or bowling, or to the cinema to see the latest movie. She was very grateful for the friendship of these three young ladies.

After she finished combing her hair she went into the kitchen and began boiling a pot of water. She had her heart set on a nice bowl of Quaker Oats Oatmeal, with raisins added as an addition. This--too--was something that she picked up in her adolescent years. Her father had made it a habit to request raisins in his oatmeal whenever it was for breakfast and Medina's curiosity was piqued. She then asked her mother if she could have raisins in her oatmeal and she agreed, and thus sprang her love affair for raisins in oatmeal. As she waited for the water to reach boiling point, she began flipping through the channels trying to find something to watch. They had cable, but she mostly stuck with the local channels in the mornings. She was quite the viewer of the morning shows, such as the Today Show on NBC. Presently, they were airing an interview with a bestselling author. This piqued Medina's interest. As it so turns out, her husband was extremely interested in becoming a published author. The man whom they were interviewing mostly wrote about dramas and the like. And what about her husband? What genre was he interested in writing again? Medina thought on this for some time. It seemed as if the answer lay just beyond the foggy recesses of her memory and then it came. Fantasy, she thought to herself. That's what his niche is, fantasy. She listened to the author share with the viewers some of his secrets, knowing all too well that her husband would have given just about anything to be here at that particular moment in time. Regardless of whether he's familiar with his works or not, she thought, he'd certainly not mind having a few pointers.

There was a commercial on the Today Show. She stood and made her way toward the stove. The water was at boiling point. She turned it off and went searching in the cupboard for a bowl and found one. She also found the oatmeal in a bottom compartment. She poured herself a hearty helping and then poured some of the water into the bowl. She grabbed a spoon from a drawer. She then began to stir the concoction up and then she added a little sugar. Next she poured herself a tall glass of milk. She then made her way back toward the couch and waited as the oatmeal cooled down a little. She began to blow her breath on it after a time, becoming a little too impatient. When she finally determined that the oatmeal was cool enough, she began eating. The next segment of the Today Show was about the weather, so she flipped through the channels looking to see what else was on television. On another channel, it was being reported that the police believed a string of robberies were related. She flipped through the channel again. And then she noticed something. A baby cockroach was crawling along the television screen. She then went from looking at the cockroach to the raisins in her oatmeal and then again at the cockroach. Suddenly--and without thinking--she flung her bowl of oatmeal at the cockroach, knocking it from view. Creamy oatmeal mingled with raisins lay splattered all over the television screen, whilst the cockroach scampered its way under the television stand.

She sighed the sigh of a heavy-hearted individual. Looks like I've got some cleaning up to do, she thought. She stood and headed toward the kitchen where the paper towels were. Yes, this was Medina, Medina Clinton to be exact, and this was only a portion of the disappointments she had to endure throughout her upstart married life. She found a roll of paper towel and headed toward the mess. She then reflected on the problem with the cockroaches. It was a very persistent problem, this one they had. Everytime they'd call an exterminator, a mother cockroach (at least that's what it seemed like) would come from another apartment and re-populate their apartment. Everyone in the apartment complex had to deal with them, so at least she knew that she wasn't alone. What's the use of even calling the exterminator if they'll come back, she thought as she wiped the mess off of the television. But there was some solace to be taken in it. Usually, it would take months before the cockroaches would find their way back into her and her husband's apartment. For just those few months they were allowed to live peaceably, without baby cockroaches spoiling their appetites. Yes, it seemed worth it, she thought as she scraped up the last bit of oatmeal from the wood flooring. Next she threw the soiled paper towel in the garbage and transferred her cup of milk from the floor to the refrigerator. I'll save that for later, she thought.

Truth be told though, this wasn't the only reason why she had reacted the way she had with the little creature. She had something else on her mind, the bills. She reflected on this as she repositioned herself on the seat cushion. Every month it seemed like her husband made just enough to get by, but this month was particularly worrying. The landlord had increased the rent by fifteen percent. There was a lot of protest in regard to this, but he claimed that the utility companies were requiring more from him and thus he had to require more from them. This was informed to them a good six days ago and that was when Medina had spoken with her husband in regard to the matter.

"What are we going to do about this? You don't make enough money a month to cover these expenses," said Medina while waving the letter through the air.

"Don't worry about it sweetie," said her husband as he was playing through a videogame. "It'll take care of itself."

"I have to worry about it," said Medina. "I'm not like you. I can't just push the most important things in my life to the side and revel in the things that don't matter. Don't you see the quandary that we're in? Are you blind to it?" At this point Medina had made her presence particularly known to her husband as she got in front of the television. He looked up at her upsettingly, wondering why it was that she had to ruin his fun.

"I wouldn't call it a quandary," said her husband. "It's not as bad as you think. Now, could you please get out of the way? I've got a game going on here."

"I just don't understand how you can be so calm in the face of such adversity," said Medina as she placed herself on the couch next to her husband. Medina was beyond amazed at how her husband was able to concentrate on the circumstances of the videogame, with how much he was able to focus so intently on those circumstances mind you, whilst all of this was going on. Finally she came up with something that might provoke his interest.

"Ok then," she said, "if you can tell me where we are going to get the money from I'll leave you alone right now." At this her husband paused the game and sighed. He looked at his wife. Her face conveyed a sense of extreme concern. Right then, at that moment, he wished that he could give her some of the assurance that he carried with him on a daily basis. If I could just infuse her with a little of what I've got our marriage would be harmonious, he thought.

"Well," said Medina, "can't you even think of something?" He looked at her pensively for a short while. This was--of course--familiar territory for them. It was always brought up by Medina about the lack of them possessing anything that might be considered luxurious or about them hardly even having the money to feed and clothe themselves. Despite being married for just a little over two years, she would have loved to be able to splurge at Christmas times (like her father and mother used to do at that time of the year), or buy things for one another come birthdays, but this was something that they both had to live with. He continued looking at her for some time until finally he decided on what had to be done, on what he thought might calm her. What he was going to say he knew there wasn't much truth to it but he felt that she needed something, something that only he could give her. He sighed and then spoke.

"Maybe I'll ask my dad for some money at the end of the month," he said. Medina arose, seemingly in perplexity. She waved her arms about her and looked up at the ceiling as if it was about to cave in on her. She was eccentric, or at least that's how her husband perceived it.

"Oh really? You expect me to believe that you'll just up and ask daddy for a couple hundred dollars so you can pay your rent? As much as you dislike borrowing money?" Now her husband wished he could take back what he said. He had hoped that it would help to calm her, but it had the opposite effect.

"It won't be borrowing," said her husband in a defensive manner. "Look, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving it to me. I am, afterall, his son."

"You are that indeed," said Medina as she tapped her foot and folded her arms, and who had by now calmed down only a slight notch. "What you fail to realize though is that you are a son who disavowed his father's wishes and married a woman when his father thought it wasn't time yet. You are a son who didn't go to college after countless attempts to get you enrolled in school by your father. You have acted positively like a stepson as opposed to a legitimate one, and now you expect me to believe that you'll just go to him and acknowledge all your faults?"

"Listen here missy," said her husband who was now standing, "I don't need to hear stuff like that from you. Did I force you into this marriage? You knew what I was about before you even said the word 'yes', so you can't start blaming all this stuff on me. You're not going to make me out to be bad guy, not today you won't, Dina. Now I've said what I had to say and that's going to be the end of it."

"Oh I'm sorry," she said in a sarcastic tone. "Have I struck a chord? And because of that you wan't to start displaying your manhood? Well we still have problems here, Mr. Clinton, and I want to know what you are planning to do about it."

"I already told you," said her husband, who had repositioned himself on the sofa with a controller in his hand. "I'll see if my father will give us the money. You don't have to worry about it anymore, I'm sure he will."

"Ok," said Medina, "and just what are we supposed to do about next month's rent? I think I can safely assume that you won't be making this a habit, becoming a recipient of lent money every month. And besides, I'm sure your father won't be willing to pitch in every month regardless. So what are we going to do?" Her husband let out a sigh once again. This was getting very monotonous for him. But he took it all (for the most part) in stride as he continued to play through his videogame. He then resorted to one of his patented remarks whenever they'd get in arguments concerning finances.

"Tomorrow isn't here yet. Stop worrying so much about it. When the time comes I'll figure something out."

"You're telling me, Mr. Clinton, that I have your assurance that the bills will be paid on time and that we won't end up out in the street? Or worse?"

"Yes. You have my assurance, Dina." Medina let slip a sigh herself and was somewhat relieved for the time being. All she really wanted from her husband was for him to carry an equal concern of their shared responsibilities. Granted, she didn't work and bring in any income (something that they have argued about a good deal), but she would still suffer the consequences of unpaid rent, and the last thing she wanted was to be put out on the street or even worse (at least in her mind) move back in with her parents. That would signal what they already foresaw to be true, neither Dina nor her husband were ready to get married. She was heading for her bedroom when a thought came to him and he, sensing that she had been calmed a great deal, thought that this might do even more for her. At first he was a little hesitant to share it with her, thinking that it might reignite her anger or show her that he didn't really have any legitimate plans, but he quickly sidestepped this and thought it would calm her greatly.

"What if I ask my boss for a raise next week?" he said. She looked at him with interest. He then paused his game and looked at her.

"Go on," said Medina, who had assumed that there was more to his statement.

"I mean, I've been making what I make for a year and a half now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving me an hourly increase." Now Medina seemed more relaxed. Her face was no more one of dismay, but one of possibility, limitless possibility.

"That sounds capital," said Medina. "You have been making that paltry sum for some time now. It's only natural to request and be given a raise at this juncture of your employment." He was a little put-off hearing her say 'paltry' but never let it be said that he was the one who began the arguments. He unpaused his game again and began playing.

"Then that's what I'll do. I'll ask him for a raise."

"I won't have to remind you, will I?" she said. "You'll remember all of this when the time comes, right?"

"Of course I will," he said. And now he saw the perfect opportunity to share the burden and responsibility with his wife. "I care just like you do Medina. I may not go into unholy ecstasy and flail about with such energy that one might be concerned for their safety, but in my own little way I care. You do know that, don't you?" At that moment Medina smiled to herself. She was vaguely aware of the way she behaved in front of her husband. It had--by now--become so commonplace as to evoke very little remorse. She walked over to him and sat in his lap. He wasn't expecting this, but he went along with it regardless. She kissed him, ever so passionately, on the lips.

"Yes, my darling husband. I know you care. I just wished you'd show it a litle more often."

"So you want me to be more like you?" said her husband.

"No," said Medina as she shook her head. "You don't have to be like me. There isn't enough room for two Medina's in the Clinton household." She said this as she touched his nose. Her husband smiled at this, and she back at him.

"But I like what you just said, about caring. You should say that more often. It's hard to get that kind of aura from you while I'm sitting here losing my mind and you're playing a godforsaken videogame." He thought on this for a short while. She was right, in her own little way, just like he was right in his.

"But you know the story surrounding that," said her husband. "It helps me tell stories better. And plus it provides an excellent escape from the harsh realities I endure day in and day out."

"Ok," she said, standing up. "You don't have to reeducate me. Will you be coming to bed anytime soon?" she said. He looked at the cable box and read the time, it read 10:45.

"Give me fifteen more minutes," he said.

"Ok sweetie. I'll be waiting for you." Her face was one of anticipation and expectancy. They made love that night. It was sweet and passionate in every way. He genuinely cared about how she felt during love making, and that was one of the reasons why she had fallen so in love with him. Medina reflected on this for a short while as she watched the latest soap opera. She smiled to herself and put her right index finger to her lip. She wasn't particularly too keen on watching these kinds of shows, but she'd check in every once in a while to see how the storyline was progressing. At the moment, Paige and Alexi were on the verge of a breakup, thanks to the interference of Donna. She continued watching the soap opera for a short while. It was her three friends, Kathy, Carrol, and Regina that had got her watching soap operas. She could never see what it was that they saw in these shows, the plotting was sometimes so overblown and unrealistic as to induce headaches, at least she thought so. After a time, when she decided that she couldn't take anymore updates, she flipped through the channels again. Then the phone rang. She made her way to the receiver and answered the telephone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dina." It was April, her mother. Medina prevented herself from producing a sigh. Her mother was quite the persistent one, always busying herself by checking up on Medina whenever she felt the time was ripe for it. Medina tried to be civil with her, but inwardly she was very frustrated with the way her mother seemingly handled the fact that she was now married.

"I'm calling because I was heading to the supermarket and I was wondering if you needed anything." This was a relatively new tactic that her mother and father had used (though predominately her mother), going to the grocery store and buying groceries for Medina and her husband, with--seemingly--no strings attached. Medina was very appreciative of it though. Her husband barely made enough to pay the rent, let alone enough to buy groceries. Indeed, if her parents didn't know that the couple was suffering financially, Medina didn't know what they'd do in terms of feeding themselves.

"Yes mother, that would be lovely," said Medina. "And how's dad doing?"

"Oh," said April, "well, you know how much your father loves golf and, since his retirement, that's been taking up most of his time. Why, just this morning he went out to the golf course with his buddies and what have you, and I haven't seen or heard from him all day. You know the country club has a number of pool tables, so after play he might get in a game of that. Then--too--he is also quite stricken with playing card games, as you know, so he may have started a game of cards."

"Yes, mother, I know," said Medina. Now she felt the need to specify some of the items that she and her husband would like from the grocery store.

"Mother, about the items that you'll be purchasing for us?"

"Yes, Dina?"

"Well, you know I like beef, and of course a few packets of lunch meat would be nice. Will you also be going to the bread store?" This was something that her parents had made a habit of when she was very young. Instead of buying bakery items from a supermarket, they went to a specialty store.

"Yes, I can make a trip to the bread store. What will you be wanting?"

"Well, some bread, of course. And then you know how fond we are of doughnuts and what have you, so would it be too much of a problem for you to purchase some sweets?"

"I can get you some sweets, Dina, if that's what you really want," said her mother April who was taking all of this down. This was something that she could do for her daughter, even though she was an adult, and she was reveling in it. It was satisfying for April to be able to have some means of control over her daughter (there was no use denying what it was) even in her adult years. She made sure to copy everything down that Medina requested of her and before long she had two lists, one for her household and one for her daughter's.

"And some chicken wings. There, I think that should do it. Did you get it all down, mum?" asked Medina of her mother.

"Yes, Dina. I think I've copied it all. Are you sure that's all you'll be needing?"

"Yes, mum," said Medina. "That's all we'll be needing."

"Now Medina, I want you to know that your father and I will always be there for you in the event that you need us. Okay? And, just like the other times, you don't have to worry about paying us back. Okay?" April felt it necessary to convey this sentiment to her daughter just about each and every time that something monetarily was done for her and her husband. It was to reassure her that what she was doing out of the goodness of her heart, even though she had alterior motives.

"Thank you mum. I can assure you, I won't be losing sleep over it."

"Ok, Dina. I'll bring the food over as soon as I get from the supermarket. You'll be there, right?"

"Yes," said Dina. "In fact," and she thought on this for a short while, "both of us should be here by then. I'll be on the lookout for you."

"Ok, Dina. Bye-bye now."

"Good-bye, mum."

Medina placed the phone back on the receiver. It was a little past midday, being 1:30. He should be home any moment now, she thought to herself. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? If it was her husband then he would most surely be using his key. Maybe he lost it, she thought to herself as she sauntered toward the door and found the landlord Larry standing in the hall.

"Oh hi, Larry. I thought you were my husband, which is weird because you knocked and he would have used a key. But then too the thought came to me that he could have lost his key."

"Yep, it's just me alright. Larry the landlord. Wait. Let me check. Just to be sure." Larry commenced to looking himself up and down and all around, making sure that he was indeed himself. "Yep. I'm still good ol' Larry alright," said he with a smile.

"Well, now that we've established that you're Larry, may I ask why it is that you're visiting the Clinton household?"

"Yeah," said Larry. "I was getting ta dat. Ya see, last week I sent out a flyer stating that the rent due for this month would be increased a tad bit. Now, what I'm doing today is going out to all the tenants and making sure that they didn't just throw it out with the rest of the junk mail."

"Well, you don't have to worry about us," said Medina. "We read over the flyer in full, so we know about the rate increases." Here Larry noticed a downtrodden air about Medina that wasn't there when she first opened the door. He blamed it on him bringing up the fact that rent would be higher this month than previous months and sought to rectify it by presenting his explanation.

"Now, I don't want you to think that I'm getting any more of a percentage of you and your husband's rent money. It's just that the utility companies are requiring more from me and I have to require more from you. You do understand that, don't you?"

"You don't have to worry about us," said Medina. "My husband and I came up with a solution that will get you your money on time. And we're already working on one that will do it for future months." It seemed to Larry that a small weight had been lifted from off of Medina's shoulders and he was glad because of it.

"Well now, I'm glad to hear it. I'd better get on with alerting the tenants about this month's rate increases. You take care now, Mrs. Clinton."

"You too, Larry." Medina closed and locked the door and made her way back to the sofa. Before she could fully situate herself there was a rattling with the doorknob and her husband entered the apartment.

"Hi, sweetie," said he. "I just saw Larry walking from our apartment. What did he want?"

"Oh, he just came by to make sure we didn't throw away the flyer that he put in our mailbox and that we knew about the rate increases for this month's rent."

"I see," replied her husband as he sat down beside her.

"So," began Medina, "did anything noteworthy happen at work today?"

"What do you mean by that?" said her husband with a sly smirk on his face.

"You know what I mean," said Medina. "Tell me about what happened at work today."

"Well, there was one something that I could perhaps share with you," said he as he flipped through the channels.

"Start sharing," said Medina.

Chapter Two

A Proper Introduction to Christopher

Christopher awoke to the beeping sound of the alarm clock. He hastily pushed the button to turn it off. He didn't want to awaken Dina in the slightest. He had already seen an instance of her stirring on the spot next to him while the alarm was buzzing. He looked at the clock and it read 5:47. He had to be at work at 6:45. On days in which he had to open he always had the alarm clock set for 5:45, just in case he needed a little more sleep. He got out of the bed and went into the bathroom and quickly began to wash himself out of the faucet. He washed all of the primary areas and changed his underwear. When time pressed him, Christopher almost always opted to wash out of the faucet instead of taking a shower or bath. It was this philosophy--too--that he passed on to his wife. But this was only a portion of the things that had become amalgamated between the two of them since their marriage. Christopher had, on many occasions, requested raisins in his oatmeal whenever it was served for breakfast. He thought on this occurrence while he prepared himself for work. The couple had just about always ate breakfast with one another as Chris almost always closed at the golf course, thus opening up the avenue. His thoughts were particularly centered around food as he went back into the room to change into his uniform because his stomach began to let him know that it was time to eat. Hopefully his boss, Stan the caddy master, would allow someone from the opening crew to leave for Burger King or Mcdonalds for breakfast. Before he left the room he kissed Medina on the cheek and inwardly wondered if she would remember that he had to open today. She'd find out soon enough, he thought to himself and left the apartment.

Christopher had, as his vehicle, a somewhat new Kia Spectra. It was white and a 2002 edition. It was parked in the parking lot with all of the other tenants vehicles. He ambled his way toward his vehicle and pulled out his keys. The temperature was perfect for a day at the golf course, it being an early Spring period. He started the ignition and began pulling out of the parking space. There was a gatekeeper that gave access to and from the parking lot. Usually two men would take turns throughout the day guarding the entrance from possible theft. The gatekeeper saw that Christopher was leaving and opened the gate as he waved goodbye to him. Chris waved as well.

He pulled out onto the street and drove away. While driving (and really during almost anytime), Chris had a habit of listening to classical music. It was a trait that he had picked up during his younger years when he took piano lessons. To be quite honest, the young man was absolutely stricken with it, particularly Russian Classical and Rachmaninoff. He even went so far as to assign themes to characters in his fantasy novel. For instance, Pagannini's Violin Concerto #1 was assigned as the theme of one of his villains who went by the name of Ranmah. Currently, the station that he was listening to was playing some Prokofiev.

Christopher was always on time. Punctuality was a motto that he practiced religiously and he had to, because Stan the caddy master was watching the performance of his staff like a hawk. It also didn't hurt matters much either that there was a freeway which led to his destination. He almost always used the freeway, unless there was a burger joint like Burger King on another route and he was hungry before his afternoon shift. But on this Monday morning there was a traffic jam that plagued the Southfield Freeway here in metro Detroit.

"What the freak!" began Christopher as he got an idea of how far the traffic lagged. Chris made his way through the jam amidst much honking of the horns from other patrons (which is understandable, considering that none of them wanted to be late for work), until he noticed that toward the horizon there were police lights flashing and as he came closer to his exit he heard the sirens. It turned out that the police had been involved in a chase with a stolen truck that was supplied with money for an ATM machine. Christopher looked in wonderment as the cops rounded up the suspects in handcuffs and it took the honking of a horn behind him to get him to realize that there were many people coupled at his behind before he began to move on.

He had been keeping tabs on the clock ever since he got into the traffic jam and it took a whopping twenty minutes before he made it out alive, which left the clock at 6:23. It never hurts to be prepared for the unexpected, thought Chris to himself as he drove onward down the street of 8 Mile. From this point on it would take about five to ten minutes before he made it to his place of employ. He didn't rush though. He took his time, feeling confident that he'd punch in before 6:30, and he did. He made it to the parking lot of the caddy shack at 6:29. He found himself a parking place and speedily made his way to the caddy office where the timer was. While he was running, he noticed that the bag room wasn't opened yet. He punched in at exactly 6:30 and let loose a sigh of relief. Some of his co workers had already punched in. Stan wasn't there yet, but he knew that he'd be taking a look at the timecards and corroborating them with the schedules. If someone had been late for an obscence amount of days, Stan would have a talk with them. If it continued, Stan would suspend them. And if continued after that--well--there was the possibility that you could get fired.

Chris took a seat inside of the office. There was a great counter that had itself situated into the wall in which he could rest his arms. Also, there was a clear view from the window which sat before him allowing one to see the pro shop and the newly cut green grass as well as get a glimpse of when memebers were on their way down to the bag room. Moe "Schmo" (as he was nicknamed) Bellian came waltzing into the caddy office from the caddy shack (which was a recreation room for the caddies that housed such things as a video arcade and a few tables which were usually used for playing cards). He came from the caddy shack zipping up his pants, which Christopher noticed. It would be unfair to say that Christopher disliked Moe, it was just that there were some aspects of his character that served as breeding grounds for conflict. Moe was caucasian and somewhat chubby. He was either Irish or Scottish, Christopher could never tell. He was generally seen as the leader of Stan the caddy master's staff, and for this very reason drew the ire of many of his co workers, save Christopher and perhaps another staff member here or there. The thought of the bag room still being locked came to Christopher's mind and he decided to air it to Moe.

"The bag room is still locked. We can't get the morning started without access to the front cart barn."

"I know," said Moe. "I just had to take a leak before I got started. Man, I partied until I couldn't party anymore last night."

"I see. So you were drinking? Are you feeling all right?"

"Man, I've got it bad. But I've been worse. I'll be all right." Christopher followed Moe to the locked entrance to the bag room and watched as he first undid the lock on the gate. Next he began to undo the locks on the door itself.

"Who else are we working with today?" asked a folded arms Christopher as he watched Moe undo the last lock.

"Gregory," said Moe. "I think that's it. It'll be just us three, The Three Amigos."

"Either that or The Three Musketeers," said Christopher.

"Whatever," was Moe's reply. Moe Schmo undid the final lock on the door and Chris followed him inside. If one were to describe the characteristics of the bag room, they'd find that there wasn't really much of anything to tell. There were four racks in which the bags could be placed and these racks extended from one end of the room to another. Each rack was labeled with one letter between and including the letters A through D. There were also numbers on the top and bottom of the racks which numbered from anywhere to one all the way into the early hundreds. At the front of the room there was a list on the wall with a member's name as well as their rack number. This list had to be updated constantly as there were many instances of the club accepting new members.

There was also a movable podium inside of the bag room that the next day's tee times were always placed on. The tee times were placed on and with a clip board. The floor of the bag room was painted burgundy but there was chipped paint in many places. Also, there was a golf bag in the corner of the room that housed missing clubs and two garbage cans in the front of the structure that housed missing items like head covers and the like. There was one last door that Moe Schmo had to unlock, which led to the cart barn. Christopher waited patiently as he looked for the right key. Moe Schmo opened the door just as Gregory came into the bag room after punching in. He was black and tall and somewhat chubby

"What's up, doggy?" said Chris to Gregory upon seeing him enter the bag room. The term 'doggy' was slang for buddy around Crick Hollow Golf Course. It was mostly reserved for the African American staffers. Chris' visage was notably brighter at the sight of his co worker Gregory.

"What's up, Chris," said Gregory, who was also beaming at the sight of Chris. It must be noted here that both Chris and Gregory were quite close. The two possessed a common trait of wanting a better life, not just now, but later on during adulthood. And despite the fact that Chris was about four years older than him they still managed to hit it off like they were around the same age. As soon as Moe saw that Gregory had arrived he expressed his desire to see him go set up the range, which was where the golfers practiced using their clubs. Gregory, however, saw this as a personal insult and sought to state his case with Stan's leading staffer.

"Wait a minute. Just because I come in late I have to go and set up the range? Naw doggy, it don't work like that. Why don't you go set up the range."

"Look, I'm not going to argue with you. The range needs to be set up. Chris and I were here on time which leaves you as the obvious candidate."

"So what? I was a few minutes late. It's not like I was thirty minutes late. You're just using that as an excuse to get me over there. But I'm not going, doggy. You go set up the range."

"All right. Well, I'll just tell Stan that the range didn't get set up today because Gregory didn't want to do his job."

"I don't care, Moe. You tell him whatcha gotta tell him. But I'm not settin' up the range." The two continued back and forth for a protracted while, and Chris--seeing where it was going, or rather where it had gone--decided to help alleviate the matter.

"Cool it, guys," he said with a motion of his hands. "I'll set up the range."

"That's great, Chris," said Moe Schmo. "We've got a team player in you, buddy, which is unlike some people I know." Moe gave Gregory an accusatory look while he said this. Gregory rolled his eyes at it. Moe Schmo opened the garage door that blocked the passage of the golf carts to the outside world as he watched Chris move toward the movable bin that housed a plethora of golfballs.

"Don't forget to change the stands," said Moe. "That is, of course, if yesterday's closers forgot to do it."

"Right," said Chris as he began moving the bin out of the cart barn. Chris could've mentioned here how he had been working here longer than Moe Schmo himself and that he knew what he was doing but he kept on truckin'. He rolled the bin toward the range as he took one last look at Moe and Gregory driving the carts out of the barn and parking them on the tournament grass. The tournament grass lay to the side of the paved path linking the pro shop with the caddy office and it was termed the tournament grass because that's where the carts were parked during tournaments or even a regular day's activities. On the other side of the path and across from the tournament grass lay the chipping green. This is where golfers practiced putting and also short golf shots.

Chris made it to the range and saw that the golf bag stands hadn't been changed at all, so he went about changing them. The morning mists still lay limply on the grass and throughout the atmosphere. Chris started by pulling out one of the stands and looking for a fresh area of grass to place it on. Of course, all of the twelve stands had to be placed in a straight line for continuity's sake. When he found a chosen area that seemed good in his vision he dug the spikes of the stand into the earth. Next, he went after another stand and placed it four whole paces to the side of the other stand. He did this until he reached the twelfth and final stand and then he surveyed his work. He had chosen a good area. Now all that was left to do was to set boundaries on how much grass could be used to practice. The club did this by undoing wrapped up yellow cord and placing two strings of it on the grass, one to mark where to begin hitting and another to mark where to stop hitting, so that the two cords were parallel to each other. Chris began unwrapping the yellow cord and laid it out on the grass. He then walked four paces and laid the other yellow cord in front of the one he laid previously.

He was almost done. Next he had to set up the pyramids of balls. Crick Hollow had a plastic ball holder shaped like a pyramid. Chris began scooping up some of the golf balls and placed them in the plastic pyramid until it was full. He then placed a plastic holder on top of the balls, quickly carried the pyramid to one of the stands, flipped over the pyramid holder with his hands whilst still holding on to the plastic holder (so as not to spill balls all over the place), and laid it on the ground, producing a pyramid of golf balls. He did this for the next eleven stands and then he was done. A great majority of the staffers don't like doing the range. Chris thought on this as he reflected on Gregory becoming upset about Moe telling him to do the range and also as he began to survey his work for the final time. The reason most guys don't like doing the range, he surmised (and this is something that he has reflected on previously) is because it seperates you from the social enviornment of being a staffer. Becoming part of the staff changes you. It molds you as you become a part of an inner circle for perhaps the very first time in your life. The caddies of the club aspire to be like you, as the natural progression of becoming a caddy is to graduate to becoming on staff.

This is why so many people dislike doing the range, especially using the range cart to pick up all the balls, because you're isolated from the rest of your 'clique' so to speak. But I don't mind doing the range, thought Chris to himself. There's peace and serenity that comes with doing the range, as Chris could attest to, because all throughout his earlier years he did the range, and never minded it one bit. It gave him the time to think to himself, and for a creative mind like Chris' that was akin to joy unspeakable.

When Chris made it back to his co workers he found that the front cart barn had been pretty much emptied. He saw Schmo heading from the tournament grass and sought to question him.

"You got the keys for the back cart barn?" asked Chris.

"Yeah. You're about to go back there?"

"We gotta, man. Have you seen the list for today's shotgun?"

"Yeah, I've seen the list," said Moe Schmo. "And it's a biggie. Why don't you and Gregory take care of emptying out the back cart barn while I go and get some breakfast. Whaddaya want from McDonalds?" Schmo took the orders of both Christopher and Gregory and said that he'd be back in due time. Chris and Gregory made themselves busy by emptying out the back cart barn amidst talking to one another.

"Chris, doggy, I am so sick and tired of having to work with Schmo. Everyday he's got something to say that I don't like. Don't you get tired of people like that?"

"I just try and sidestep the issue when someone here has something to say that I don't like. Or I just don't get too uptight about it. This job is too stressful to get mad at your co workers. You already have the golfers to deal with. Why would you want to get into it with your co workers? Like today, earlier, Schmo told me not to forget to change the stands. Now, I could have went on and on about how I had been working there longer than even he has, but I just took it in stride and went my way. I'm telling you man, the day flows much better when you're not involved in all kinds of strife."

"Doggy, I wish I could be like you in that regard." Chris smiled at Gregory upon hearing this. He had, many times, attempted to caution Gregory about his anger, especially as it relates to his co workers. Sometimes it seemed like it was working, sometimes it didn't. Nevertheless, he wasn't too keen on forsaking his pal Gregory. The duo continued emptying out the barn until, at one point, they were approached by O' Mally, the head pro of Crick Hollow. He addressed Christopher, whom he had known longer.

"Has Stan come in yet," he said in his customary low tone.

"No. We haven't heard from Stan all morning. You want me to tell him you're looking for him when he comes in?"

"Yeah. Just tell him I want to talk to him about today's shotgun." O' Mally made his way back to the pro shop and Chris and Gregory finished off the back cart barn. While they were emptying out the barn they caught glance of Moe Schmo inside of the caddy office. However, they had decided to finish their work before they ate, and now they were finished. The duo entered the caddy office with anticipation.

"You did make sure they gave you everything we ordered, right Schmo?" said Gregory.

"Yeah. I paid special attention to your order, Gregory, because I knew you'd be all peeved about it if they got it wrong." Schmo handed Gregory the bag that held his order. Chris came in behind Gregory and waited for Schmo to give him his order.

"Here you go, Chris. They got your order right too."

"Thanks, Schmo," said Christopher. The three ate their food in the presence of one another and there was very little talking until Chris brought up the status of Stan.

"I wonder why Stan hasn't gotten in yet. He's usually here much earlier on Mondays, isn't he?"

"Yeah. You're right," said Schmo taking the last bite out of his breakfast sandwich. "My guess is that he's had as good a night as I did."

"That would make sense," said Chris as he thought on it for a short while. But before he could say anything else the trio caught glance of Stan coming from the direction of the parking lot and walking past the window of the caddy office. He entered into the office and said nothing at first. Instead, he gave each of his staffers a thorough glance and they tried to return the favor but it didn't come off as well as how Stand did it. He then looked inside of the McDonald's bag that was closest to Moe and said: "Nobody got me anything?"

"We didn't know when you'd be coming in," said Moe. "Besides, we didn't know what you wanted."

"A breakfast sandwich or two would have been nice. You've gotten stuff for me before."

"That's true," said Gregory. "But you were here when we got you something and you gave us money. Who would've paid for your meal?"

"Haven't you ever heard of good will?" said Stan. "I would've reimbursed you." Gregory looked at Chris and rolled his eyes. Chris shrugged his shoulders. Stan smiled. He then turned his attention to Moe.

"Are all of the carts from the back barn out there?"

"Yeah," said Moe. "We managed to empty out both barns. It's a really big gun."

"Yeah it is," said Stan. Now Chris remembered what O' Mally had asked of him.

"Oh yeah! Stan, O' Mally wanted to talk to you about something."

"O' Mally, huh? Did he specify what he wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah. It's about the gun."

"Alright. Be on the lookout for the players. The gun starts at twelve o' clock. They should start showing up any minute now. Also, I want the front and back cart barns swept out. I don't care who does it, so long as it gets done." Stan left after instructing his men to seek O' Mally. His final instruction left his staffers looking at one another. It was common knowledge by everyone who opened on Mondays that the front and back cart barns were to be swept out as the staffers awaited the arrival of the guest players (guest players because on Mondays the club leased the course out to organizations and such that wished to hold golf specials). However, there were some days when the command was never executed, as Stan didn't communicate his wishes on that day. Chris, Gregory, and Moe were inwardly hoping that this would be one of those days, but alas fate had different plans for the trio. Gregory started for the exit of the caddy office and Schmo sought to question him.

"Where are you going?" Gregory turned towards Schmo.

"To get my CD player."

"Don't think you're gonna get out of this that easily, Gregory. You can't have your way all the time."

"Chill out, Schmo!" said Gregory with a motion of his hands, which Chris noticed. "I'm going to get my CD player so that I can have something to listen to while I sweep out the back cart barn." Schmo was at a loss for words at first as evidenced by his mouth being gaped wide open. He turned towards Chris and Chris shrugged his arms. Gregory winked at Chris and left.

"I didn't expect that," said Schmo.

"Yeah. Despite how he comes off sometimes, he tries to change. I'll be in the front cart barn if you need me."

"Ok." Chris left Schmo alone in the caddy office.

***

By the time Chris had finished sweeping out the front cart barn a good number of the players had shown up. Chris came out of the cart barn with a broom and dustpan in hand and placed them on their hooks in the bag room. He caught glance of Gregory and Moe taking golf bags out of cars that had pulled up to the bag drop and hurriedly made his way to join them.

"Go see if there are enough golf balls on the range," said Moe.

"Alright," replied Chris as he walked over to the range. Chris could see from a distance that the players had yet to get through even one-third of the golf balls, as a good many of the pyramids were still intact. As he was heading back toward his co workers a car pulled up into the bag drop and Chris' actions were thwarted. The man who pulled up into the bag drop drove a silver cadillac. He popped the trunk and got out of his car.

"Hey, how are you doing?" asked Chris.

"Hmm? Oh, fine. Fine. Listen, do you know where the pro shop is?" The man asked this as he was pulling out his wallet.

"Sure," said Chris. "See that path to the right of us? The pro shop is that building that's built just on the side of that path."

"Thank you," said the man. "And I'm guessing that I follow this path to the diverging left to get to the parking lot?"

"Yeah. You could do that if you wanted. But you could just stay on the path that you're on now and get to valet parking."

"That sounds like a good idea. Thanks a lot buddy." The man handed Chris three dollars and went back into his car. Chris was suddenly reminded that he didn't get the man's name.

"Excuse me, sir? Before you go, I need your name so I can find out which cart to put you on."

"Oh, right. Of course. Wellington. I think I'm playing with Jim Smits. Do you have a list with the names of the players and the tees they are scheduled to start on?"

"Yeah, I've got a list," said Chris as he pulled the list from the back of his pocket and began unfolding it. Mr. Wellington and Chris each looked over the list and Mr. Wellington confirmed that he was playing with Jim Smits.

"Ok. I'll park my car now. Thanks for the help."

"No problem." Chris went looking on the tournament grass for the cart numbered twenty-three, as that was the numbered cart that was supposed to house the clubs of Mr. Wellington and Mr. Smits. He found it and strapped Mr. Wellington's bag on the cart next to his partner's. Next he took a few steps back to look at all of the carts that were parked on the tournament grass. In his estimation a good quarter of the players had arrived. He also saw now that a few players were practicing on the chipping green. Another car pulled up in the bag drop and Gregory went to service the player. Moe Schmo came walking beside Chris after placing a player's clubs on a cart and Chris handed him the money that was given him by Mr. Wellington.

"All right," said Schmo. "That's what I'm talking about. Making money."

"How much do we have so far?"

"Ugh--let me see--" Schmo looked up into the air and began to ponder over the matter.

"I'd say about fourty bucks easy."

"Yeah, you're right. That's what I'm talking about! Making money!" Schmo smiled and went to take a load off on the bench that was embedded on the wall near the entrance to the bag room. Chris followed. The two of them watched as players moved from their carts to either the chipping green or the range. They spoke very little and were in no mood to move until they saw Stan making his way toward them from the pro shop and then they both stood, pretending to look busy. They both looked at each other and laughed. Stan came down from the pro shop to join his staff.

"Shouldn't they be heading out soon?" asked Chris.

"Yeah," said Stan. "Give it a few more minutes." Gregory strolled his way toward his co workers and suddenly Schmo was reminded of something.

"Oh Stan!" said Schmo. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Shoot," said Stan. Schmo looked at Gregory for just an instant and then replied.

"It's something private. Can we go in the caddy office?"

"Sure," said Stan, and he followed Schmo into the office. Schmo closed the door. Gregory was somewhat exhausted as evidenced by his heavy breathing. He came and sat near Chris.

"You okay, doggy?" said Chris. "You look tired."

"I'll be okay," said Gregory. "These guys are just working me to the bone. They've got me switching bags and putting them on carts that they aren't assigned to."

"I don't think they're supposed to do that," said Chris.

"Yeah, well, they're doing it," said Gregory, then his attention moved toward the caddy office.

"What are they in there talking about?" Chris looked toward the caddy office.

"I don't know."

"I do," said Gregory. "They're in there talking about me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it's just like Schmo to do something like that. You act out of line in his sight and you're getting reported. You can't tell me that they're in there not talking about me."

"Well then, if they are, that's just all the more reason for you to change how you respond to people like Schmo, so you won't have to put up with scathing remarks from Stan." Gregory thought on this nugget of knowledge for a moment and then decided to air his feelings.

"Yeah--you're probably right, Chris."

"Of course I'm right," said Chris who was now smiling.

"Aww doggy, you gon play me like that, huh?"

"You know it," said Chris. Gregory smiled. The door to the caddy office opened and Stan came out with a very disappointed look on his face. Moe Schmo stayed inside of the office.

"Something bothering you Stan?" said Gregory.

"Yes there is. Schmo tells me that you refused to set up the range today when he asked you to do it. Now why is that?"

"Oh. I just thought that he was picking on me because I was the last one to arrive. That was my reasoning for not going over there."

"I shouldn't have to watch over you guys like little children. If you don't follow the orders of the lead man on staff then that's a slap in the face to the one who promoted him. That's an insult to me. Do you won't to go on insulting me, Gregory?" At this point in the conversation, Gregory was beyond upset. He started to tell Stan off right then and there. He started to express all of his frustrations at how Stan ran his operation. But, after looking at Chris (whom he could tell was pleading with him to hold his peace), he decided to just take it in stride.

"No, Stan. I don't want to go on insulting you. And I'm sorry if I did."

"Good," said Stan. "I'm going back up to the pro shop. You three stay on guard for any players who might have questions."
Stan walked briskly toward the pro shop.

"See, doggy? Was that so hard?"

"Chris, that was so hard to do. I could feel myself imploding. All I wanted to do was to get all in his face and state my case. But I'm probably better off because of it."

"Yeah you are. Trust me." While they were talking, a golfer had pulled up into the bag drop and the two of them hadn't noticed. Moe Schmo came out of the caddy office and was visibly upset that neither Chris nor Gregory had seen him pull into the bag drop.

"You guys, there's a car in the bag drop. Stop talking and get to work." Chris and Gregory stood up and got back in the groove of their job. Another thirty minutes of taking golfers golf bags out of their trunks and placing them with their partners and it was time for the shotgun to start. The voice of O' Mally rang throughout the range, the caddy office and shack, and also the tournament grass and chipping green. His voice was projected off a bull horn that was hooked up on the roof of the pro shop.

"Gentlemen, I'd like your attention please. The 5th Annual Lear Corporation Golf Outing will now begin. Please make sure to pick up your score cards at the pro shop. I repeat, the 5th Annual Lear Corporation Golf Outing will now begin. All players are now instructed to head out to their assigned holes."

Christopher and Gregory stood near the chipping green as they watched golfers come from the almost depleted range over to their carts. Players who were taking practice shots on the chipping green began heading toward their carts and then drove off toward their assigned holes. Schmo was talking to Stan near the first hole. The first hole was easily visible from the chipping green and Chris and Gregory could see them. It was 12:15. It was around this time when the players had for the most part thinned out that one of the closers showed up for work. His name was Jarius Barnett and he was quite the character. He often would say things that would make a person's heart drop and he would say these things with little or no regard for the feelings of said person. He had only been on the staff for about six months but Jarius and Chris had gotten into it a good deal. Chris felt, that with Jarius, he always had to be on guard in case he'd say something that would upset him.

"What's up, doggies?" said Jarius with a sly smirk. It perhaps should be noted here that the term 'doggy' was invented by Chris. This added even more insult to Christopher. Christopher thought that if you were going to use his term that you should at least treat him with a little respect.

"What's up, Jarius?" said Gregory. Jarius then went into the caddy office to clock in. Chris saw this as his opportunity to leave for the day.

"I think it's time for me to go," said Chris to Gregory. Gregory produced an awestruck look on his face and began to ask Chris why it was that he didn't take heed to his own advice.

"Aww doggy, what's this I hear? You don't like Jarius, he shows up, and you leave? Where's the sense of right and wrong?"

"Don't get me started, Gregory. I'm not leaving because Jarius showed up, I'm leaving because we don't need this many people on the clock at one time. It has absolutely nothing to do with me liking or disliking Jarius."

"Ok, doggy. If you say so." Gregory was smiling. Chris tried to produce one but it was difficult. Really difficult. Just then he was reminded of the conversation he had with his wife about asking Stan for a raise.

"But before I go I've got to talk to Stan." Chris walked up toward the pro shop. Stan was standing on the paved road that stood alongside the first tee, watching players tee off. Schmo was in the pro shop, probably talking to O' Mally and the other pros. Chris came alongside Stan and spoke softly to Stan, so as not to disturb the players.

"Stan, there was something that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Shoot."

"It's like this, they've increased my rent at the apartment complex, and I don't make enough money to cover it. The rate increase starts this month, and I've managed to borrow enough from my dad to pay for it, but I need a raise to pay for next month's rent. Do you think that I could maybe get that raise?" Stan stroked his chin and looked into the sky. Chris stood there, wondering what was going through his mind. He'd soon find out.

"How much do you make now?"

"$7.50."

"And how long have you been making that amount?"

"For about a year and a half."

"Hmm--I think I could give you a two dollar raise at the least. You do good work here, Christopher. I'd like to keep you here as long as I can."

"Thank you," said Chris. "You won't regret it. I won't slack off because of it or anything." Stan just nodded his head and smiled.

"Oh, there's was one more thing. Jarius just arrived and I was thinking that I could maybe leave now, since I know you don't like it when so many people are on the clock at the same time and with there being nothing to do and all."

"You could leave now if you wish," said Stan. "Just tell Gregory to wait until someone else shows up before he leaves."

"I will," said Chris. And he left.

***
When Chris got back home he saw Larry leaving his apartment.

"Hi, Larry. How're you doing?"

"Oh, I'm making it."

"That's good to hear." Chris pulled out his key and let it rattle inside of the keyhole. Upon entering he saw Medina sitting on the couch.

"Hi, sweetie," said he. "I just saw Larry walking from our apartment. What did he want?"

"Oh, he just came by to make sure we didn't throw away the flyer that he put in our mailbox and that we knew about the rate increases for this month's rent."

"I see," replied Chris as he sat down beside her.

"So," began Medina, "did anything noteworthy happen at work today?"

"What do you mean by that?" said Chris with a sly smirk on his face.

"You know what I mean," said Medina. "Tell me about what happened at work today."

"Well, there was one something that I could perhaps share with you," said he as he flipped through the channels.

"Start sharing," said Medina.

"I asked Stan about that raise, and he said that it was a done deal. So now you don't have to worry about where we're going to get our rent money from."

"So it's all taken care of?" asked Medina.

"It's all taken care of." Medina let loose a sigh of relief. At least she had less to worry about, now that she knew they'd be making enough money to pay for their rent.

"And how was your day today, sweetie?"

"Oh, I saw a roach today!"

"A roach?"

"Yes! And I got so mad that I threw my oatmeal at the television screen."

"My, my," said Chris. "We just have to do something about those roaches. Anything else happen today?"

"Well, my mom called. And she's going to the grocery store for us."

"That sounds swell," said Christopher who was now watching Starz! "At least we'll have something in the fridge."

"Yeah. That's true. But then baby cockroaches will just crawl up and down the television screen and ruin our appetites." Medina was so distraught over the entirety of their situation that even the news that they were able to pay for their rent didn't completely lift her spirits.

The next few hours went predictably enough. Christopher watched his favorite premium channel, Starz!, while Medina waited downstairs in the lobby for her mother to arrive. It can perhaps be mentioned here that Christopher had secured an unheard of deal with Comcast Cablevision to pay the paltry sum of one hundred dollars a month for complete access to all of the premium channels. When he and Medina had first gotten cable, the bill was somewhere in the one hundred and fifties range, but then he stopped paying the bills and they shut off the service. That is when Christopher got a call one day and it was during this call that the operator mentioned that if he wanted he could get all of the channels for just one hundred dollars a month. Well, Chris--being wise beyond his years--couldn't let this opportunity pass and he signed up for a renewal of his cable service.

Chris--as perhaps should be noted--was quite stricken with the way Starz! promoted their programming. He was so stricken in fact that he had committed to memory a good many of the Starz! specific phrases and he would repeat them whenever they'd be broadcast on the channel. For instance, at the very beginning of the transition to show a new movie (and after the credits would be shown) the announcer would say regarding the next movie, "Here's what's coming up next, on Starz!" Christopher would repeat this phrase as it was broadcast on television. Similarly, whenever Starz! would broadcast the next four movies to be premiered on the network, Christopher would repeat this phrase outloud: "Starz!, premieres a new hit movie, every Saturday night, only on Starz! Saturday Premiere!" He just simply loved the way they promoted their movies. There was, perhaps, a streak of advertising genius lying dormant within his cranium for him to recognize the brilliance of how the channel plugged itself. There was too perhaps a good deal of his childhood still left inside of him, which is a somewhat strange occurrence
considering he was twenty years old. But then he was only recently removed from his teens and perhaps thus could not be wholly blamed for his actions. But getting to the core of the matter, if you were to confront Chris with this outlined scenario he would probably downplay it as insignificant as there was plenty of grownup idiosyncrasies inside of him and this was to him just a bit of fun.

Chris was watching Finding Nemo when Medina and April came into the door with grocery bags in hand. Christopher stood up and offered to take the bags. But April declined.

"We've got these taken care of. Why don't you go into the car and pick up some of the bags that are in the trunk. All of the bags that are in the trunk are yours."

"Ok," said Chris. He went down to the lobby and then out the door onto the sidewalk. April drove a beige Mercury Sable. It was a fairly recent model, 2003 to be exact. Chris saw that there were groceries not only in the trunk but also in the backseat of the car itself. Those must be for her and her husband, he thought. He grabbed the remaining four grocery bags from the trunk and slammed it shut. When he made it all the way back to the apartment he saw that April and Medina were putting up some of the groceries.

"Ok," said Chris, "I got all of the bags out of the trunk. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Yes," said April as she took the bags out of his hands. "Now go have a seat while we put up the groceries."

"Can I at least get an idea what we'll be eating today?"

"Probably just lunchmeat sandwiches with cheese," said Medina. "I really don't feel like cooking today."

"Ok," said Chris. "I can go to the store and get a family size bag of Frito Lays. That'll go wonderful with ham or bologna sandwiches. Thanks again, granny." Chris walked out the front door and left April and her daughter to themselves.

"Thank again, mum," said Medina. "Christopher and I would be lost without you."

"Oh, don't worry yourself over it, Dina. Now let's put up these groceries speedily. I've got to get back home to cook dinner for your father."