Shades of Black Friday

She was late to the bargains, of all nights for her young child to climb into bed and turn off the alarm. She knew the best deals were on the “front line,” that’s where it happens, the push/pull, the get out of my face. The "head bob" or the "snap and extend" would be passé on a day like this. Today you don’t flinch or its coal in a stocking, at least for “The Brain Dead Demons-350,” that not only annihilates zombies, but can kill at a rate of fifty per second, collect their brains and transform them back to their living state.

She hurried to the cue and took her place at the end; behind a guy she thought shouldn’t be there. He was alone and she thought, “This is woman’s work, beating the hell out of someone for toy. What the hell is this guy looking for?”

He was dashing in his uniform, the military look, fatigues that made her think he just came back from the war.  Standing in the garden section he could blend right in. Then she overheard him mention to the couple in front that he was just back from fighting in Afghanistan. Tilting her ear she caught it was brutal, lots of anxiety, and he had lost three very close friends.

A bit cold, moments later, hands in his pockets, he nonchalantly turned to her and asked, “You’re alone today, too?”

“Yeah, I would have gotten here sooner but my alarm didn’t ring, long story.”

"What are you here for?”  

“Brain Dead.”

“No kidding, the 350?”

“Oh Yea,” She smiled. “The 350… gotta have it… transforms them zom-bos back to themselves and all.”

“Must have a son, huh?”

“No. It’s a little girl. Believe it or not she loves pink, Barbie and decapitated zombies… all nice… sugar and spice.”

“You’re funny.” He said and extended his hand “My name is Cahjay… I know it’s weird.”

“My name is Laverne. And don’t even go there.”
He chuckled and asked, “So, a little girl who likes to fight, huh?”

“Yeah… go “action” figure.”

With the smiles now lingering, the seconds felt extended waiting for someone to say the next words, but just then, the doors opened and the line erupted into mayhem, the people making a mad dash for all the things that make Christmas special, the hustle, the bustle, the “gettin’ while the gettin’s good”, the gifts from Santa, the reason, the rhyme, the want of everything, if only we could.

Oddly, the young soldier took a small step toward the wall and it puzzled her, just as the crowd behind them started forcing their way past, bumping her, pushing her aside. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close just before the exhilarated mob would have knocked her down.

“My goodness,” She said, looking into his eyes, “Thank you… They could have hurt me.”

“Well you got to get that 350.”
Upon realizing she didn’t know why he was there, she asked, “Are you getting a present for a girlfriend?”
“I wish. I’m here for the quiet!”