The Record Store

The Record Store
By Mark Edwards

Jeremy and Mark, who had known each other for about a year now and had grown very close, walked into a record store they had never been to before. They began meandering around the store, flipping through the records randomly, simply looking at nameless records without thinking about it. Every once in a while one of them would think about a CD, that they heard a song from and thought they would want to buy, and would flip through it looking for that particular one, even though they had no intention at all to buy it. One of them would find the CD, flip it over in their hands, and look at the song titles acting as if they knew what they were looking for.
Mark held one of the CD’s labeled “The Bleeders,” in his right hand. His eyes flowed over the colors and items. The compact disc cover was cold, the store had just opened and the heater hadn’t quite kicked in yet. After he felt the cold plastic in his hand he realized that the entire store was rather cold and uncomfortable, not just the case. He studied the case again; it had a picture of a man lying, obviously dead, on the sidewalk of an empty city street. It was a drawing and the art was magnificent, or at least Mark thought so. The colors were different from most drawings. The artist had used only shades of blue on the man, but used regular colors on the rest of the drawing. Although he liked the picture very much it filled him with feelings of disdain and contempt. It was quite queer because he had never gotten these types of emotions from something he liked.
After spending some time in this nameless record store, looking through nameless records Mark heard a familiar song on the loud speaker. He listened to the song intently for a moment searching through the music files in his brain trying to remember the artist. Finally, after about a minute or so, he looked at Jeremy and said very seriously and with some caution, “This is your music?” Jeremy looked up at him. After he thought about what Mark had said Jeremy’s attention went to the music. He listened for an instant. A stern and concerned look fell onto Jeremy’s face. “What’s your deal?” Mark asked.
Jeremy, his attention back on Mark, replied with concern in his voice as well as his face, “Well, I’m not quite sure I like hearing my music on the intercom because I don’t really think it’s ready for others to hear yet,” his tone changed a bit, “Don’t get me wrong it’s pretty fucking cool, but I just don’t think it’s ready.”
“Alright dude,” Mark said, “let me take care of it.” Mark walked briskly to the front of the store where an over weight man, with blonde hair, and a greasy smile sat. The man noticed Mark walking towards him and lifted his fat face from the comic book he was reading and said in a cynical tone, “What can I help you with?” Mark began to tell the man how his friend felt about the music and why in a very understanding and inviting tone.
“So you see my friend back there,” he pointed to Jeremy and Jeremy gave a little wave, “just doesn’t think his music is quite ready to be heard by others yet.” Mark gave the man a nervous smile and left a wanting look on his face as if to say ‘So what do you think?’
The man looked back down at his comic book and said in a dismissing tone, “Sorry, but no.” He didn’t look back up at Mark and Mark being very surprised at this looked back at Jeremy. Jeremy lifted both his hands to shoulder height as if he had two pancakes in them, a gesture that clearly meant, ‘So?’
Mark looked back at the greasy man and said with questioning disbelief, “NO? Are you joking or something?” The man didn’t look up from his comic book and said again, “No, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that!”
“Can’t or won’t?” Mark said in a very short voice. The man looked, quickly up at Mark with a snide and very scowling look on his face. Mark no longer saw this man as a greasy faced, overweight man who could help him, but saw him as a big, fat, greasy, stupid-ass, bastard, who just wouldn’t be a little empathetic or humanistic. “No, I mean…I don’t mean to be a dick or anything, but he really doesn’t want his music to be played for the world to hear quite yet. Can’t you understand that?”
The expression on the man’s face went from a scowl to absolute anger. His face turned burning bright red and Mark worried for a second that the grease on the man’s face was going to start sizzling and spitting. He opened his fat face and said, “NO, but can you understand that I own this store and I will play whatever the fuck I want and I don’t need some dumb assed punk kid telling me what to do? Can you understand that you…you…you little mother fucker!” At this Mark’s entire body went from being understanding and inviting, to angry and vengeful. He looked at the fat, greasy man with more anger than he had ever felt in all of his life. He felt angry, insulted, the man was now being not only rude to him, but to his very close friend. Mark realized that he would get nowhere with anger, took a few deep breaths, and with pleading in his voice said “Please?”
The man looked up again mildly annoyed, reached up to the stereo receiver, and turned the knob. The music went dead silent. Mark smiled and started to turn his head to Jeremy. Right as his eyes reached Jeremy the music boomed. Mark realized that the man had actually turned the music up and the silence was actually just an ellipsis in the music. He jolted his head back to that son of a bitch with more anger than he had originally felt. Mark felt his whole body throbbing with anger, his heart started to beat harder and faster. All logical and rational thought dropped out of his body like an atom bomb. The man was smiling from ear to ear, absolutely pleased with what he’d done.
Mark looked around like he was looking for something, though he didn’t know what he was looking for. Finally, his eyes stopped. He had found his broad sword. He found his battle axe. He found his persuasion. He reached down and picked up a wooden stool. Mark lifted his sword above his head and said with all the passion in his body, “Now listen hear you fat fuck. If you don’t turn off that damn music I swear to you I will bust your fucking stereo so hard you could do coke lines with it.” Mark’s rib cage was pounding in and out. Jeremy, who had been quiet as to not involve himself anymore than he already had, was now speaking with fear in his voice, “Mark, come on. It’s not worth it man. Mark, are you listening to me, MARK!” Mark knew Jeremy was speaking, but in all this excitement could only hear a muffled voice as if he were under water. He looked back at Jeremy, Mark could tell he was shouting, but couldn’t hear him. He turned back to his enemy.
The oily, heavy man looked at Mark, with little concern and little worry, and said with calm anger “If you don’t put that God damn stool down and leave my fucking store I am going to call the cops.” Mark’s shoulders dropped a little bit, as if he was going to back down. The man inquired, “What are ya gonna do? Eh?” the man chuckled a little bit, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Mark wasn’t going to be pushed around by this asshole any longer. He lifted the stool a little higher -the man’s eyes flashed at Jeremy and then back to Mark- and swung down with all his force and all his power, but he didn’t hit the stereo. The man dropped off his stool and onto the ground. Mark lifted the stool again and slammed it onto the man’s fetal positioned body. He lifted and hit, lifted and hit, and did so until the stool broke and the man was whimpering.
Mark looked at the man with some satisfaction for a moment while he calmed his breathing and controlled his thought again. He finally realized, after everything was pretty much over, what he had done. He looked at his hands for a minute and then turned to see where Jeremy was. Jeremy was standing in one of the aisles with a CD in one of his hands and his other hand dropped to his side, frozen with amazement and shock. Mark looked back down at the man.
Panic struck. Mark spoke quietly, now with a quivering voice, “Jeremy,” he paused, “I think…I think maybe it’s time to go.” Jeremy walked briskly to the door and opened it. He looked back to see if Mark was behind him, but he was still standing over the man.
“Mark!” Jeremy called, “Let’s go…Come on!” Mark walked slowly and calmly to the door. Jeremy and Mark left the record store. “Wild World,” by Cat Stevens boomed on the radio.

THE END