1000
By Savanna Stewert
Gaylord, Michigan was the cliche small town, one in a thousand. The theater had only two screens, the families had lived there for generations, and the installation of a traffic light on Main made the front page. No one could escape the vacuum of predictability that was Gaylord. The popular kids raised popular kids, who would rebel by drinking and sleeping around. One day these kids woke up and realized they lived just down the street from their parents. The weirdos would occasionally disappear, and later resurface in the outlying trailer parks. Everyone was content. Change was a possibility too daunting to face.
Phoebe Matthews was no exception. Both her parents had graduated from Gaylord High, where she was currently a senior. They had been prom king and queen; Phoebe was a shoo-in for her second year with the crown. Her father, Mr. Bert Matthews, owned a small grocery chain. Phoebe was currently working behind the counter of the Gaylord location. Bert sat her down at the beginning of the summer and said, “A job builds character.” Phoebe rightly took this to mean he found her lacking. So far, seven months into the job, she had gained little character. She had, however, acquired a genius for not getting caught while on the phone, and that is exactly what she was doing.
“Wes-Wes! Listen to me...” Wes did not listen. He continued his diatribe and Phoebe was forced to hear it. She made sure to audibly huff and let him know she did not like being ignored. Phoebe and Wes had always been the closest pair in the family. She could not remember a time when he was not her first call, and she his. Even now, when he had a girlfriend, he was on the phone with Phoebe.
Wes had been held back a year in school, so they were forced into the same classes. It had been this fact that drove their friendship until middle school. Once they hit 6th grade they silently decided to stick together amid their family. There was no conversation, just the mutual knowledge that they were the other’s number one. Everyone else figured it out when Wes punched Eric Powell in the nose. Eric had told Stacie that Phoebe had kissed him behind the PE building. No one believed Eric after the punch, and no one ever messed with either Phoebe or Wes. Gaylord knew that to get one sibling was to ask for the other as well.
“I don’t care what Collin said. Max isn’t here and I’m bored. Can’t you come into work?” Max was not the only one missing from Matty’s Groceries; Phoebe was the only living thing in the store. The lack of customers and coworkers allowed her to discard her navy-blue vest and sit in the alcove below the register. In the spirit of individualism, Phoebe hated the uniform vest that Bert had supplied. The nylon was scratchy, the Velcro useless, and the yellow Phoebe M embroidered on it was stained by coffee. No matter how many times she washed it, Phoebe could not remove the phantom smell of cigarettes from all the times Max wore hers instead of his. He always said it was an accident, but she knew it was spite.
A frown crossed Phoebe’s face at the response she received from her phone, and the look grew into a sigh as tires ground in the parking lot. “Fine.” Her remark was final and designed to cut Wes off. “Hang out with Collin and all his friends. There’s a customer, I have to go.” She did not wait for a response, just harshly tapped the red button, and shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans.
Phoebe stood slowly, her entire body protested the motion because of how stiff sitting under the register made her. This hiding spot was her favorite place in the entire store. Hidden from the sight of cameras, customers could not see her, but she could see the door monitor to know when they were approaching. The rest of the store was not secure enough for her forbidden phone calls and magazine perusing. For the sake of professionalism, Phoebe threw on her tatty vest and cursed as it snagged her ponytail. Several pieces of hair had already fallen out, so she did not bother redoing the look, and after glancing at the parking lot she was too distracted to pay attention to her appearance.
Phoebe had expected a customer to be coming through the gravel lot, but she was instead greeted by a teenage boy also clad in a navy Matty’s vest. Max Weeder was one of the other employees at the grocery store. He graduated high school the prior year and had not gone to college. Max was supposedly using the gap year to make money, but he never showed up on time for his shifts. Most of the time, Phoebe had to work alone or phone in a replacement because Max was AWOL.
The other problem Phoebe had with Max was his atrocious personality. Phoebe was someone who rarely struggled connecting, at least on a surface level, with others. Max was the exception to this rule. From the beginning of their joint employment, he had made it clear that Phoebe was an annoyance. To this day she did not know what she had done to offend him, but she refused to give him any deference.
The automatic door buzzer went off and Max locked eyes with Phoebe.
“Car troubles.” That was all Phoebe got in explanation for his late arrival, and it was more than she expected.
“Watch the counter. I’m going on break.” Phoebe did not allow any further conversation. She grabbed her worn backpack from one of the many cupboards situated under the main desk and made a beeline for the back room.
Bert Matthews prided himself on keeping his stores quaint. He claimed that since he came from small beginnings in Northern Michigan, his stores would reflect this charm. While Phoebe hated her uniform, she was assuaged by the fact that she did not have to wear dirndl or lederhosen. Even though the employees did not honor the Germanic roots of Gaylord, the store’s design did. Its roof was piqued, and the siding was intricate. Inside, there were ten isles divided between dry, fresh, and refrigerated goods. Behind these isles, there was a door marked “Employees Only: See Customer Service for Assistance.” Phoebe found customer service a very generous term for cramped counter that also doubled as the sole register.
The usual inspirational pictures promoting teamwork and diligence hung around a foldout card table and four chairs. There was no kitchen. If an employee needed to refrigerate something, they could hide it in the dairy isle. If they needed to microwave something, tough luck. Phoebe chose a chair that faced the door, in case Max came in and tried to snoop on her phone. If she could see him coming, he would not be able to catch a glimpse. It was a silly precaution, but after working at Matty’s for seven months it was a necessary habit.
The first thing Phoebe did, once she got herself situated in her spot, was open her Messages app. Phoebe always had exactly 1,000 unread messages. She made sure that it stayed constantly at this number because she liked how it looked on her screen. This obsession had started two years ago when she had seen how her older brother Collin’s friend left his messages unread. Phoebe had even asked him about it, and he had told her that he always meant to get back to them and answer. Sophomore Phoebe knew then that it was cool to be too busy, and she had begun her own collection of unanswered messages.
Phoebe always knew when she had a new message to answer because the count was above her perfect 1,000. On this particular night, she swiped past her beach waves lock screen and found 1,005 messages. One was from her mother, Heather. She opened this one but did not bother reading it. Two more were from Wes:
I know you’re mad.
Maybe I’ll stop by later!
Phoebe rolled her eyes at those; she knew Wes would not be dropping by. Collin, the oldest Matthews sibling, and a bunch of his college buddies were back for the weekend and had invited Wes to hang with them. A night out was much better than a night at Matty’s with Max.
Don’t worry. Max is here.
Using both periods might have been a bit cold on Phoebe’s part, but she was still a bit upset about being stranded while her brothers hung out. To make it less rude, Phoebe added:
Who all is hanging out?
Wes probably would not answer for at least thirty minutes, so Phoebe did not bother waiting around in the text thread. Two messages left and then Phoebe would have her 1,000. The last two messages made her freeze. They were both from the same sender and had come through exactly one minute ago when she had been having her exchange with Max. The contact name of the sender was one Phoebe had not seen in over a year. To be exact, it had been sixteen and a half months since J. Cash had texted her. If you had asked Phoebe five minutes ago, she would have sworn that she had changed the name and deleted the contact picture, but the screen in front of her proved this false. Beside the name, a small picture showed a dark-haired boy smiling on a beach. She remembered exactly when he had sent her this picture, and she wished she did not remember the excitement she felt when she had added it to his contact information.
Phoebe did not know how she was supposed to open the messages, let alone read them. Sixteen months had not been enough to make her forget the feelings of a simple picture, and they had most definitely not been enough to let her forget her anger. Johnny Blake had been a senior when Phoebe was a sophomore. He had been friends with Collin and had been over at the Matthews’ residence on many occasions. Sophomore year was the year Phoebe had really started to mature. Her face had lost its childish roundness, and her track practices took effect to slim the rest of her. So, when Collin’s friends had invaded his house, they had been surprised by Phoebe. Johnny was the most surprised of all, and his surprise had turned into the two going on several dates. Bert and Heather had not known, and Phoebe hoped they never did. Bert would never have approved, and Heather would have had her baptized in holy water, as if they themselves had not done anything before they were married.
Things had been beyond great. Johnny would sneak Phoebe out and take her driving for hours when they were the only cars on the road. He would tell her about all his dreams of driving away. Phoebe sometimes wondered if he was the reason she dreamed of getting out, or if it was just part of the small-town cliché. After football games the two would go for food and talk about everything. Phoebe had never felt so known. Johnny knew exactly what to ask to get her to say everything on her mind. He was the one who instilled her desire for 1,000 texts. He had had so many unopened texts on his phone, and Phoebe looked to him for knowledge on how to properly exist.
The switch had occurred overnight, or it had seemed that way to Phoebe. On their last good day Johnny had taken her to his parents’ house, and they had hung out for hours in his room. Since then, she had wasted hours of her life going over those precious moments and in none of them could she find a reason for him going cold. The next day he had begun ignoring her messages. The next week was full of him just missing her at school. Phoebe had hoped his graduation party would bring her some clarity, whether good or bad. She would have been fine knowing he was seeing someone else if only she could have known for sure. The whole night he was polite to her, but not attentive. He did not give his attention to anyone else either. She had no peace.
After two weeks of his odd behavior, Phoebe had called Johnny and asked him what was going on. At the end of the call, they decided to be just friends. Phoebe was not dumb; she had known that they would not talk after that, and she was right.
Curiosity took control of Phoebe’s thumb and directed it to the unopened messages.
Hey.
Phoebe was underwhelmed by the first message, but the second did not disappoint.
We need to talk. I have a lot to explain.
Phoebe could not agree more with the second half of that sentence. She had a thousand questions about Johnny’s strange behavior. She wanted to know if she had done something to push him away. However, she did not know if she could agree with the first sentence. She did not know if the weight of her questions was heavy enough to convince her to see him again.
Max bust through the door and interrupted Phoebe’s thoughts. If she had not hated him so much, she might have smiled at him. He had relieved her of the burden of deciding how to answer Johnny. She did have to answer him. She just was not sure what she would say to the first boy who broke her heart.
“What, Max?”
“Harsh much?” He only received a glare in response. “Whatever, I’m sick of doing all the work and you’ve been gone for over thirty minutes.”
Phoebe could not believe that she had been sitting, lost in her memories, for over a half hour. Generally, Matty’s employees were only allowed a fifteen-minute break. She guessed Max had not come for her sooner to make up for his late arrival.
Phoebe glanced at her watch and saw that they would need to begin closing up soon. Thirty more minutes and she would be free. “I’ll be back up in a sec.” Max did not wait for her to say anything else, he just headed for the front.
With an exhausted groan, Phoebe was up and making her way after him. There were still no customers in the store, but that was not a surprise. Gaylord was a quiet town where the lights went yellow after 8 p.m. and no one was active after 9 p.m. It was currently 9:32 p.m. by the clock above the register. Matty’s closed at 9:45, and Phoebe would have the place cleaned up by 10:00.
The late hour, by Gaylord standards, was the reason Phoebe missed the truck when she first walked out of the back room. A light switched on inside of the truck, illuminating the interior and drawing Phoebe’s eyes to it. It was Johnny, or at least his truck. It was too far away for her to distinguish the identity of the driver, but she knew that truck. She loved that truck.
She must have inhaled upon the revelation of the truck’s existence because Max glanced between her and the vehicle before speaking.
“Showed up not long after you went on break. Hasn’t come in, but I figured he was waiting for you.”
“He?” Phoebe heard the quaver in her voice and knew Max had too. She did not care. For once, she needed him to keep talking.
“Yeah, Johnny Blake. You two used to hang out or whatever.” There was a question in the gaze Max fixed her with. He knew that Phoebe and Johnny had hung out a while back, but his not so subtle whatever exposed his nosiness.
Phoebe did not give Max the satisfaction of an answer, and she definitely did not rush out to see Johnny. If he really wanted to talk to her, he could wait till she got off. If he left before that, then she knew he was only messing with her for perhaps the second time. Phoebe did not know what she would do if he indeed stayed, but she had half an hour to figure it out.
The thirty minutes it took Phoebe and Max to lock up the store were the fastest of her life. She had been hoping they would drag and give her time to think out a plan. However, between Max’s curious gaze and Johnny’s steady presence in the parking lot, she had no time to think. She let Max leave first, even though he did not want to. Phoebe refused to cave to his curiosity. So, she found herself alone with Max’s parting words hanging over her.
“He’s been out there a while, must really wanna see you.”
Phoebe had not answered him, but she had heard him, and she agreed. Something about the figure called to her. Johnny was leaning his back against the hood of the truck, head down cast, and arms crossed. Phoebe opened her phone and read the messages one more time.
I have a lot to explain.
Phoebe could not help the yeah, no shit that ran through her brain. And she spent a few more seconds contemplating if she really wanted to know what his explanations would be. Finally, she looked at her 1,000 unread messages and decided to answer.
You really do.
Keys in hand, Phoebe exited Matty’s. The noise of the lock clicking into place, or the scuff of sneaker on gravel must have alerted the waiting boy. His head was up, eyes locked with hers as she continued toward him. Phoebe came to a stop a few feet in front of him and refused to say the first words. When she glanced down, overwhelmed by his gaze, she saw her messages open on his phone. She knew it was hers because she clearly saw her last text. She saw one last detail before meeting Johnny’s eyes again. In the top left corner, where the number of unread messages sat, there was no number. Johnny had read all 1,000 messages.
“Hey Phoebs.” He still sounded the same, and he called her Phoebs again.
She met his gaze. “Hey Johnny.”
Savanna Stewert: A 20 year old, who is pursuing a Master’s degree in Professional Writing. Writes daily and hopes to become a full time author eventually.
