Author: Liz Harris
Summary: Lindsey can’t sleep. He does what any self respecting Southerner would do-he goes to Wal-Mart
Rating: G, veeery mild slash

There are so many things I could be-should be-doing. Responsibilities and obligations that need to be fulfilled. Sleep is a thing of the past but I could probably get some work done.

But no. Like some pathetic aging hippie instead of working I'm reliving the good old days. Only problem is the old days weren't so good. Not some cute little love in; my childhood was a dirty little struggle to stay clean and fed. The only good memory I have of my childhood is this place. Fucking Wal-Mart.

Every so often my dad would take a look at my clothes and how threadbare they were and say, "Son, I'm bettin you need a new pair of jeans. Those are looking a little worn in the seat." And off we'd go, happy as a goddamn lark, to Wal-Mart. I looked forward to it more than I'd now like to admit.

So here I am again. Hoping to find 'lost childhood' in the aisle between the artificial flowers and floor-to-ceiling selection of knitting yarn. I should just go home.

But the automatic doors slide open a little too quickly and a rush of ice-cold air hits my face, tousles my hair. It's a sharp but welcome contrast to the heat outside. Just like I remembered it.

I've pulled into the parking lot in my brand new Mercedes and walk into the store in a $400 dollar suit. In the land of $20 jeans and cheap knick-knacks I feel a little out of place. Awkward even. Haven't felt that in a long while. And the funny thing is, I know if I had my jeans and had pulled up in the pickup I'd be all right.

I spent all that time becoming a lawyer to make sure I was never ridiculed and degraded again. It worked but at this price. I feel out of place in an environment I grew up in.

I pick my way carefully past the taped off area being mopped. These shoes would ruin in dirty water. My boots wouldn't. I'm half tempted to go home and change but I know I'd feel just as strange in them as I do in this place. The boots, the clothes, the truck are all worn by someone else. A persona I can't access when I'm calm and in control and still possessing a sense of the class. It's not just something I can slip in and out of.

I walk around for a bit with no real purpose. Sam's cokes and Hallmark cards and cheap candles. Teenagers so excited at breaking curfew they run around bouncing balls and talking too loudly so that everyone will know. Men looking older than their years shuffling up and down the aisles leaning on their carts for support. Dirty construction workers coming in for something or other before rushing off to their jobs or parts unknown.

Funny how familiar things seem. Cappuccinos and business cards and altar candles. Rookies so excited by their first win they think they can take on the senior partners. Ancient lawyers after their fourth consecutive loss shuffling up stairs to the top floor, leaning heavily on the guards that are escorting them. Demons coming in to do business before hurrying off to kill or destroy again.

And an idiotic young lawyer with a fake hand and a too expensive tie wandering around like an asshole in both.

I walk over to the food place. This was something I never got to enjoy when I was little. The guy behind the counter is bored and distracted but friendly and he makes me a Coke Icee. My first. And he's cute. A little awkward but still attractive. I think for a second about flirting with him. Could take him home. Maybe he could make me tired.

But then he meets my eyes. There's no life in them. Nothing. He's only a few years older than I was when I left Oklahoma.

I walk away from the counter and realize my mouth is dry so I take a drink from the Icee. It tastes terrible and I throw it out before I even swallow. Wasting food. I never would have been able to do that before but I can now.

I've got to get out of here. This place is a disease, infecting anyone who enters it. Stay too long and you feet start to shuffle, you lean on things more, and your eyes...go dead.

I left Oklahoma at a fast pace so that that wouldn't happen to me.

But here I am again. Same situation, different clothes.

I fish my keys out of my pocket and head toward those doors that had seemed so inviting. The warmth I had been happy to escape floods my senses and it feels so much nicer than it did not more than an hour ago. Funny how perception can change things so dramatically. The temperature, the happiest memories, Coke Icees, and life plans...all changed by perception.

I try not to hurry to the car. I'm not running exactly, just driven by a need to get the fuck out of here. And I don't believe in the Fates or the Muses that bring epiphanies or any of that crap but I guess if I did...I'd thank them for tonight.

END