The Stranger

The Stranger
by:
Heather McAdory

I was only seventeen years old, but one night turned into mystery that has never been solved. My night began as many nights began twelve years ago. I was working at a convenient store. I was alone. The security guard had left around 2;00 a.m. I had prepped for my breakfast menu and had just placed a large pan of biscuits into the stainless steel oven when I heard the familiar ding of the shiny bell above one of the doors.Mornings were slow, but customers drifted in and out at various times.
After wiping my hands I went to stand at the register. Two men had entered the store and were pacing up and down the aisles. Immediately, I knew that something was wrong. They were looking around nervously and whispering to each other. I had never seen them before. One man had his hands thrust deep inside his pockets. My heart fluttered. Tension filled the air.
One man began to speak, asking questions. "Are you alone?" "Does this little town have any cops?" "Do many people come in?"
The other man began grumbling about losing all of his money at a casino located approximately 45 miles away. He said that they had traveled a long way for nothing. My fluttering heart began to thud. I knew that they wanted to rob me. I was too far away from the telephone. There was a pistol underneath the counter, but I knew that any quick movement would worsen the situation, so I began to speak.
I began to lie, actually. I knew it was wrong, but at the time, my words were my only weapon. "No, I'm never alone. We have a security guard. He is in the office watching the monitors." I gestured toward a door between the drink coolers. "Yes, we have policemen. They come in throughout the morning for fresh cups of coffee." "My regular customers will be flocking in requesting breakfast at any moment." They were all lies. I was scared and utterly alone.
My words made the two men more nervous than they already were. They looked up at the cameras and mirrors positioned throughout the store. They glanced toward the parking lot. Finally, they purchased a twenty-five cent pack of gum and left.
I was still uncomfortable. I felt as if they were still watching me. I tried to focus my attention on preparing breakfast. As I took the pan of golden biscuits from the oven, my potholder slipped. To prevent from dropping the biscuits, I tried to quickly transfer the pan to the counter. The biscuits were unharmed, but my hand was not. A red mark immediately appeared across the palm of my right hand.
I still had a job to do, so I quickly tore a leaf from the aloe plant and began to doctor my burn. It was painful. I did not know how I was going to be able to wrap biscuits and cook the remainder of the breakfast.
Suddenly, the door bell sounded again. A lump formed in my throat.I watched as a man entered the store. He headed straight for the pot of coffee brewing on the counter. I was afraid. This man was dressed in a long, army green trench coat. His hair was white and tinted yellow. His face was covered with stubble. He looked like the homeless people that I had seen on television. Fear wrapped its icy talons around me once again.
I tried to hide my uneasiness behind a mask of calmness as the man approached the cash register. He pulled out a crumpled dollar to pay for his coffee. As I reached into the register to retrieve his changed, my burned hand scraped against the side. Immediately, I flinched, drew my injured hand to my chest, and clumsily drew the change out with my left hand.
"What happened?" the stranger inquired.
"I accidentally burned my hand." I replied calmly.
"Let me see." he requested, reaching for my hand.
"This is it." I thought. "He's going to pull me over the counter, grab the cash, and run for it."
A strange feeling overcame me. I felt my hand slowly unfold and lay palm-up on the counter. It was if my mind no longer had any control.
The stranger took my hand. He looked into my eyes with his own eyes of a pale blue and said softly, "This is going to hurt you, but it is going to hurt me worse. Trust me."
My mind raced. It began planning my funeral, but it could not force me to move my hand. I was frozen.
The stranger took my hand and clasped it in his own. He did not try to pull me. He simply held my hand. When he tightend his grip, I winced. The pain was excruciating. I watched his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. His face reddened as if he was in pain. I suddenly noticed that my own pain was gone.How was that possible?
The stranger released my hand and turned his own hand palmside up on the counter next to mine. The red whelp had left my hand and was clearly on his. I felt a warm feeling. How could someone take my pain? I was confused, but at peace.
I can not remember if I thanked the stranger. I was speechless. He asked if he could sit at a booth and drink coffee. I readily assured him that it would be fine, and he settled into a seat near the window.
I continued with my duties.As I was placing the last pans of biscuits into the warmer, I heard the door bell. Customers flooded in. I looked, but the stranger was gone.
He never said goodbye. I never saw him again. Who was the stranger? Was he an angel sent to protect me? Was he just a passerby? Did he prevent the other two men from returning by keeping vigil near the window? Will these questions ever be answered? I don't know, but I do know that over the years I have whispered "thank you" into the breeze in hopes that the stranger may hear or feel.