On My Greenlight by GS Jackson

TONGUE. I kissed her a little harder. I didn't like using my tongue, but Cindy did, so I had to. There it was running across the inside of my lips, brushing the tip of my tongue. I was on top of her, straddling over her stomach, kissing her forehead, and sucking on her left earlobe. It was the ear uncovered by her long, red hair. I held myself above her with my knees and elbows, but my elbows were beginning to burn, chafing against the gold carpet of my room. I kissed her mouth again. I never got tired of the thought of kissing her, but a few minutes of nonstop kissing would bore me. No, maybe it was because the tongue aggravated me. Using the tongue took away from the kiss. I could stand it for a little while, but then I had to kiss something else. I pulled away gently with her bottom lip caught between mine, and it resounded with a soppy smack, feeling cool air come and stick to the spit we had left around my mouth. I took her freckled face between my hands, and paused, looking down on her. Her eyes slowly opened and showed their green. The morning light splashed in them, making a playful green light. We watched each other for a moment, not saying a word. Both of us were breathing heavy, and I was tingly all over and hot. "Have you ever kissed a stupid guy before?" I asked. Cindy grinned and pushed her head up and took my chin with her mouth, sucking on it, pulling it down so she could rest her head on the carpet. Then she went to my lips, then in my mouth for my tongue. She would always go for my tongue. I tried to keep kissing her as I moved down her, but finally, I had to break away so I could see how to move my left leg between her legs. I rested my knee just under her bottom and used the top of my thigh to rub her. She was fully dressed. I wasn't. She had on her Stone Mountain uniform, green cotton pull over shirt, Stone Mountain Park embroidered in dark, small letters on the left, a white T-shirt under that, and her khaki Duckhead shorts. I was still wearing what I had slept in, no shirt, bare chested, and my sweat pants. I had wanted her to awaken me that morning. But at ten minutes till eight, I had awakened myself and was too restless to wait for her, so I got up, brushed my teeth, made my bed, put some frozen waffles in the toaster, and started doing some of my exercises. Every thirty seconds I would glance out the window in my door to see if she was standing there. At eight thirty, I told myself that she wasn't coming. Maybe Cindy's parents had questioned where she was going so early and that frightened her from coming. Maybe she had woke up too late and had to go straight to Stone Mountain. But one more glance over at my outside door had her staring in, smiling, laughing when she saw me jump. She had startled me. I let her in. I was kind of nervous. I hugged her first and asked if she wanted anything to drink or if she wanted any breakfast. She shook her head and sat on my bed. I sat in the narrow, wooden chair to my desk. We laughed for a little bit, talking about really nothing. I asked what she had done yesterday, how her first week had been as a Senior, and about

church. I think she began it when she laughed and called me stupid when I said something to her. "Stupid? Who are you calling stupid?" I went across the room to her. She bowed back in a defensive manner. "Stupid, huh?" I said and playfully jabbed my fingers at her sides where she was ticklish. She fought me, swatting my hands away, kicking her legs, laughing. "Stop it, Chambers! You're gonna make me pee in my pants!" She snickered. She jerked up and ran to the corner of my room. I followed her. Back to the bed she went. I chased. I stopped there, and she and I tried to catch our breath. I looked at her, then pushed myself over on her in the bed, kissing her. The twin bed soon became too small, so we went to the floor. It was better on the floor. Rolling around on my papers I had spread out the night before to study, to finish my COBOL program for my class at college. She bumped her head against my COBOL book so I threw it across the room. My Tandy laptop sat on the floor at the foot of my bed, its screen standing up, lit, and with the cursor blinking. I hit it with my hand by accident, and it gave out two loud, long beeps. I shoved it away, and the power cord to it came undone, and it went dead with an electronic fart. I was on Cindy, kissing her, her kissing me, rubbing the top of my thigh between her legs, feeling her grow warmer there. Her hands were on my bare back, rubbing her fingernails up and down, outlining my spine. Certain places she touched made me lose my breath, and then I kissed her a little harder, and she kept on, caressing my shoulders, stroking my back. Slowly the kisses became less heated, and I pulled my knee out from between her legs. I whispered in her ear, in between sucking on it, "You've got to go to work." I pulled my head back to get some wandering strands of hair out of my mouth. We went to kissing again, but finally, we just laid there, quietly looking at each other. "You've got to go to work." I repeated quietly. She just stared back. Then she blinked and asked, "What time is it?" I turned and looked at the digital clock on my floor next to the wall. "Five minutes after nine. You're late." "That's alright. They don't mind." Her voice came soft like she was breathing deep and slow, maybe still trying to catch her breath. I poked my fingers in her ribcage and she buckled up, laughing. "Quit!" she cried. "Get up." I stood, reached down my hand, and helped pull her up. Then we stood together, face to face. "Well, I hope you learned who the stupid one was." She smiled. I thought to myself: she is so pretty. "Okay, you need one more..." I took her around the waist, drew her to me, and kissed her again. Finally she pulled away. "I do have to go." She said sadly. We grabbed hands as she began to walk towards the outside door that was in my bedroom. "Are you going to be home tonight?" "Should." She turned to me. "What time do you go into work today?" "Twelve." I let out a sigh. I already dreaded it. "Twelve until ten."

"Well, I get off at four." She took the shiny golden knob in her hand and pulled the door open. It opened with a loud scrape, and the brisk air came in from the outside. "Okay." "Okay." She said to dally with me. She threw her grin to the corner of her face. A slight wind came up and jumped at her hair, throwing hair across her eyes and her mouth. She took her fingers and pressed it behind her ear. "Bye." She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and gave me a peck on my lips. Then she walked out into the dew of the backyard grass, onto the crumbling sidewalk that laid out beside the trampoline, and then she disappeared, a step at a time, on the black, narrow staircase that lead up to the open carport and out to the driveway. I stood there holding the spine of the door for a minute in my hand, smiling. I looked out across the little piece of yard I had, surrounded by a chain linked fence almost completely hidden by tangled vines of kudzu. A grove of lofty trees rose behind the fence. The kudzu clung to the them too, running green shoots up the bark and to the very ends of the branches. God, thank you for stopping us. I saw the brightness that the morning sun left, pouring over the roof of the house, on the trunks, the sagging limbs, and watched as the trees' own green leaves fluttered in the occasional wind. I never want to disappoint You. But sometimes, I can't deny that I just feel alone. Apart. The wind blew in my eyes and made them water. I feel like I don't belong, God. Sometimes I don't like where I am, who I am, or what I'm doing, but I live just because I have to. There was a shadow outline of the roof on the ground a couple of feet away from me. In that shadow the air was cooler and the dew stayed. I looked to the top of the nearest tree and into where the blue sky began. That's a beautiful tree. You put it there, Lord. I want that. If I could belong like that tree. Belong where You want me, God. And not just because I have to. The crisp air bit at my nipples so I turned and went back into my room to get ready for work.

LIP. I took a couple of boxes of 3M computer diskettes and filled my arms. I was trying to straighten the computer diskette aisle to make it seem like I was working. That's all I could do, appear to be busy. Why do I even come to this job? Then I remembered, Because I have to. I have to have this money to pay for college. I have to have this money to live. But I hate this. I don't think I do anything. I just stand around and answer questions. "Excuse me." I turned and saw a tall man wearing a Braves baseball hat, white Braves T-shirt, and cut off jean shorts. Trying to quickly return the disk boxes that were in my arms to the shelf, I dropped three, then finally four to the shiny, waxed floor. "Excuse me." I said leaning over, taking them up in my hands, and shoving them on the shelf anywhere. The customer gave a strange look. "Well," his eyes glanced down on my name tag, "Chambers. I was just wondering. What's the difference between double density disks and high density?" Do I have to answer this question again? "Well, double density disks hold up to 720K of disk space where as high density holds up to 2 Megs. That means you could put more information on a double density disk as opposed to a high density." "You mean, you could put more information on a high density." "Yes, that's what I meant. What did I say?" "Double density." the man said. "Oh, I'm sorry." I paused and watched his face. "I meant to say high density. But remember, after you format high density disks, there is only 1.4 megs of space that you can actually use. And you do you know what a meg is, right?" "Of course. Yeah, I know what a meg is!" He nodded his head furiously, then turned and began to walk away. "Thank you." he said quietly. He seemed a little mad. "Sure. Anytime. If you need anything else, sir, just yell at me." I went back to straightening my diskettes. I looked up and saw that the store was crowded which was typical of a sunny Saturday afternoon. Customers were everywhere. An occasional red shirted employee mixed into the mass, darting here, running there, leading multiple customers and their families across the sales floor to merchandise, or to other employees that knew more than they did about a particular product. People were talking loudly, laughing, and discussing purchases. There was a multimedia demonstration near the back that pounded out music and echoed across the floor. Then there were the three blaring monitors that hung out over software displaying new video game releases. The software guys always turned the monitor speakers up in hopes to drown out the multimedia system that the hardware guys had running. Instead, it just added to the drone. It was a noisy place, and the building was huge. The walls reverberated from the sounds because nothing stood high enough to stop them. None of the aisle shelves were taller than chest height. The store was patterned in such a way that a customer could walk in and see to all ends of the giant building, seeing aisle after aisle of computer stock, and either be impressed or intimidated.

The store reminded me in size of a rather large high school gymnasium. The overhead intercom gave out three loud chimes, then said, "We need somebody from accessories to register two. Somebody from accessories to register two." The voice was feminine and loud. I looked across the shelves of the accessories department where I worked. Matt was using the computer terminal on aisle three, looking up a price for a customer who stood beside him. I saw James, a white, pale face with thick, jet black hair, who was about to drift up front. I waved him away, and mouthed the words, "I'll get it." He nodded his head and turned around. The cashier on register two was pushing numbers on her keyboard, typing in prices for the customer who waited next to her register, an older man of about fifty or more, dressed in a dark suit. I stopped at the shelves in front of her register. The cashier looked skinny and young, and probably had just graduated high school before the summer. She looked up and saw me. She pulled up a plastic cable bag from her counter. "I couldn't find the product code on this." she said. "Sure." I took it and quickly made my way toward the cable aisle. I kept my head down so my eyes wouldn't catch any customers' eyes. When you were wearing an employee uniform and if you made eye contact, customers were conditioned from birth to ask a question. I was almost to the aisle when I heard, "Excuse me." "Yes?" I turned and saw a man with dark hair and a gray mustache. I glanced to the front and saw the cashier and customer looking back at me, waiting, probably wondering why I had stopped. "Do you know anything about Novell networking?" No. I threw up my shoulders. "Uh, well, maybe just a little." As employees we were told to never say, "No." "Well, what I'm trying to do is: I run a financial firm, and we have three computers already. On each of them I have Lotus 1-2-3 Version 4, AmiPro, and Quicken. I want to add about five more computers, network them together, so I can use all the programs on all the computers." What's your question? I thought, but instead, I asked, "What kind of computers are they?" "Bell Packards." His turned his eyes up and then he shook his head. "No. I mean, Packard Bells." "What kind of Packard Bells? 486s? 386s?" "Oh," and a smile came across his face, making his gray mustache broad, "one 486 DX and two 386 SXs." "25, 33, 66 megahertz?" "33. I think." he answered, not to positive. "Well, I guess..." I have no idea, I wanted to say. "The question, I suppose, I'm asking is, would Novell do what I'm looking for? I also see LANtastic here. I've read a lot about LANtastic in PC Digest. But what about this CoActive Network that you have here?" His finger pointed down to the end of the aisle we were on where there was a CoActive Network display. "Is that any good? You see, I'm not necessarily looking for the cheapest, but just the best for the money." I glimpsed at register two again. The cashier and customer were still standing there, staring

back at me, both looking impatient. "Well, sir, let me check the price on this and I'll be right back. I have a customer waiting at the register." "Well, just tell me before you go, which one do you prefer?" I thought for a moment. I haven't a clue. "Sir, I don't know. You see, my department is Accessories. I don't know much about networking." "It seems that nobody does." He was a little annoyed. "You're the fourth person who has blown me off. Why don't you hire some more people? From the looks of it, you're making enough money to." I gave a fake, congenial smile. "I don't know, sir. Let me get this, and I promise I'll be right back." I didn't run away, but I wanted to. I quickened my pace this time, hoping there were no customers waiting for me on the cable aisle. But there were. There were four customers. I kept my head down, and went directly to the cable bins. I looked down at the plastic package I had in my hand and read the sticker on it: 6 foot VGA monitor cable. I scanned the bins on the right side, knowing that's where they were usually put. "Could you tell me where the straight through printer cables are? I'm looking for a male 25 pin to a Centronics." I turned to the customer and his wife. "They're right here, sir." I pointed my finger to the other side of the aisle, near the top bin. He poked his hand inside and pulled out a plastic bag. He investigated the ends of the cable through the plastic and nodded his head. "Thanks." "No problem." I turned back around and began shifting through the bags in one of the bins. "If you need anything else, just yell at me." "I will." he said and walked away, his wife following close behind. "What about keyboard extension cables?" Another asked. I looked up. This was a fat, bald man, his bald head reflecting the white lights from above. His white button down and gray Dockers were smudged with brown stains, probably dirt, and both his shirt and pants bulged, from his bloated stomach and his swollen thighs. He had thick, plastic frames on his nose, hanging crooked. "Right there in front of you, sir." I said. He looked, and his face crinkled up like he was confused or either was looking too hard and not seeing anything. "Where?" I stopped and went to the keyboard extension cables. I pulled one out and said, "They only come in 6 foot, and we only have the coiled. No uncoiled." "Wow. Right there in front of my face. That's great. Just what I was looking for." He took it and smiled. His teeth were yellow and I could smell the tobacco on his breath. "You were a great help." He laughed a heavy laugh. "Like you have already heard me say, if you need me, yell." He let out a quick, but mildly muffled shout, and cackled. I faked a laugh. "You did say, `yell.'" He chuckled, and his throat began to sputter, so he coughed. I went back to searching, and he walked out of the aisle. I had already found six of the same cables I had been given to search for, but none of them had a product code sticker. Who does this aisle? It looks like crap. All the VGA monitor cables were mixed with the super VGA monitor

cables, so it made it difficult to find anything. Finally, I found one. It was simply a bag without a cable, probably a customer had tore the cable out to see if it had the right ends. And luckily, the product number was on a little white sticker still stuck to the bag. 8-7-6, 4-4-2. I looked at the number again. 8-7-6, 4-4-2. I began to repeat it so I wouldn't forget it. 8-7-6, 4-4-2. 8-7-6, 4-4-2. I hurried out of the aisle and towards the front of the store, my head down looking at my feet. I wanted to get there before another customer asked me another question, and I forgot, 8-7-6, 4-4-2. I had passed the big furniture display when someone said behind me, "Can I ask you something?" I stopped and was slow about turning around. I had almost made it. 8-7-6, 4-4-2. "Yes?" "I was wondering if any of these desks have come in yet? I bought one a couple of weeks ago, and they told me they would call me when it came in. But I haven't heard anything yet." 8-7-6, 4-4-2. "I can look for you, sir." This shouldn't take too long, I thought. "Which one did you say it was?" 8-7-6, 4-4-2. "It was this one." He put his hand down on the large desk in the corner. I think your number for it is 8-4-4, 2-7-6." 8-4-4, 2-7-6. I went to the computer terminal on aisle three which was now empty, and put the plastic bag with the cable on top of the monitor. 8-4-4, 2-7-6. I began to type on the keyboard, going through the menu on the screen, and then punched in the number, 8-4-4, 2-7-6. "Sir?" The customer walked over and stood beside me, his hand holding the little hand of his sandy blonde six year old boy. "The computer shows that right now, we are out of stock, but we have 30 on order." My finger pushed up under the small, green 30 that showed. "But they have been on order for about four months. When are they coming in?" He was irritated. "Don't you have some in your warehouse in the back?" "No, sir. The floor is our warehouse. You see," I began with the lines I was taught by my supervisor to say in a situation like this, "We don't have a warehouse where we can get our merchandise. We get it directly from the distributor. That's why our prices are lower than anybody else. So what we have to do is, make an order, send it, and we wait until the distributor feels like shipping it to us. That's what we're having to do now. Wait." "You're prices aren't that much lower." He shot back. "I saw this same desk at Office Max for about two bucks more. And they have plenty in stock." I stood there for a moment, swallowing the thought of saying, Why don't you go there then? "Yes, sir." I said. He walked away heading across the building toward the software department, dragging his little boy behind him. "I'm sorry, sir." And I watched him go. I looked around. What had I been doing? Then I saw the plastic bag hanging off the top of the monitor and suddenly remembered. It was then that I heard overhead, "Chambers from accessories to register two. Chambers from accessories to register two please." The cashier's voice was louder than the previous time, maybe even with a twinge of anger. What had been the number? 8-6-7, 4-2-4? 8-4-4, 7-6-2? I couldn't remember. I headed back toward the cable aisle with the plastic bag in my hand, hoping there would be

no customers waiting for me there. But there were. There were three. A customer began to ask me a question. I watched their lips move, but didn't listen and heard nothing. I quickly glanced down at my watch. It was only one. Four more hours until my break. I sighed quietly. Why do I even come to this job? But I remembered. Because I have to.

THIRST. I drove to McDonald's for my hour break. I was thirsty, but not hungry. I only had three bucks in my wallet. Waiting in line took a couple of minutes. There was an Asian couple with their black, short haired little boy who was unsure if he wanted a burger or chicken McNuggets in his Happy Meal. Next was an old man wearing a brightly colored Polo shirt, white shorts that showed the elastic around his Jockey underwear, and white socks that rose knee high, who had to ask twice about something that was on the menu because, as I heard him mumble under his breath, "I didn't understand a damn thing she said." He took his finger and pushed in on his hearing aid. "Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order?" The black cashier said in a low voice, not even looking at me. She was staring down at the counter, and then staring at someone or something behind me. I smiled and it caught her eye. She looked at me and smiled back. "A large sweet tea." I began to dig in the back pocket of my black pants for my wallet. I already knew the price: a dollar five. I took a wrinkled dollar out and found underneath the pocket lint of my front pocket, a nickel and two pennies. I kept the nickel. I heard her fingers make the cash register beep. "A dollar-o-five." She said and waited looking to the side. Then she looked at me. I smiled and looked down at the money already laying on the counter. "Oh. I'm sorry." She took the dollar and slid the nickel off the counter into her palm. I slouched over on the counter to take the weight off my feet. My feet hurt. My smile had quickly gone away. I was tired, and I was thirsty. Quit your job, Chambers. And what about school? How could I pay for college? I could get another job somewhere. Go and put my notice in today. Stand it today. Stand it for two weeks, and then find another job. Don't worry. Quit your job, Chambers. I thought about it for a minute. I was afraid. I can't just quit. God, is that You? "Here's you order, sir." The cashier held out the cup for me to take. "Thank you." I did my customary wink and went over to the booth that held the napkins, pepper, and sugar. I took a straw from the dispenser and stabbed the hole in the middle of the plastic lid. I took a sip and frowned. The tea tasted terrible. It was bitter, almost not worth drinking. But I sipped on it anyway because I was thirsty. My throat was raw and dry. I walked toward the sitting booths and it seemed like the people around me were staring. I first thought it was just me imagining things. But then I caught an older lady glancing me over. Perhaps it was my uniform or possibly, my thoughts were written on my facial expression. Or what if they were seeing the person I couldn't see. The person who was there, walking behind me, whispering, Quit Chambers. I hate it when you're unhappy. God, is that You? Something bumped my shoulder. I looked behind me and saw a man with receding, brown curly hair in a white shirt and dark navy tie walking quickly. He moved on without apologizing. I must have wandered in front of him as he walked inside. It made me a little angry, but I let it go. Even McDonald's was busy and noisy. There were a lot of mothers with their children, and each child, it seemed, was saying something, either crying, yelling, or just garbling. They heard the noise and wanted to be apart of it. Then there were the two televisions mounted in the corners, one

played CNN, the other was on Nickelodeon. But I wandered away from all this. I found an empty table in the corner of the restaurant near the window facing the parking lot. I sat down and watched the people as they got in and out of their cars. It was there I thought, and drank my sour tea, grimacing each time I swallowed. I want to be somebody else. Live another life. Why do I have to live this life? I guess because You've already started it, so I can't stop it. No. Live another life, Chambers. Be happy. Quit your job. God? God, was that Your voice? Or was that mine? I felt a touch on my back. I turned and saw a rather large Hispanic boy dressed in a McDonald's uniform. He was bigger than me in size and shape, but his face betrayed him. It looked about sixteen from the acne. But there was a strangeness about it, his face was drawn to one side and his lips looked swollen making him appear stupid. "Hey, uh, um do you work at that computer store down here on Venture Drive?" The boy seemed a little nervous speaking. He pointed his finger in the direction of the door. "Yeah." I smiled. "Are they hiring?" He took his broom and put it in the hand with his dust pan. "Yeah, they are. I think." I paused and looked at him. "What's your name?" "Roger." He bit his big, bottom lip. "How much do you get paid?" "Seven an hour." "Seven? Wow! They only pay me four thirty five here. I bet its a great job. Probably better than this stupid damn job." He smiled and I noticed his two front teeth were crooked. "Yeah, I suppose." I faked a smile. "Hey, I won't talk to you anymore. I don't want to get you in trouble." He stood up a little straighter and quickly glanced around to see if he saw a manager. "They can kiss my ass. They only pay me four thirty five. What do you have to do at that job?" "Mostly answer questions." I was tired of Roger's company. "Put in your application. I'll put in a good word for you. But you better get back to work. You don't want to get fired." "They won't fire me. Screw them." But he did look around to see if a manager was watching. "But I do have to sweep. Thanks," and he looked down at my shirt, "Chambers. I'll put my application in." He made me remember I was still wearing my name tag. "Sure." He swept his broom a couple of times where he stood and then walked away. I turned back to the window. Cars were filing in the McDonald's parking lot. And then there were those who were left waiting to get out onto Pleasant Hill Road, but all four lanes were full when the light was red. And when the light was green, the cars moved too fast. But some people got frustrated after a couple of minutes of waiting and I watched them jerk out in front of oncoming cars. I found that every third car blew its horn that was cut off by those trying to get out of the McDonald's parking lot. I took a sip of tea and cringed. It tasted awful. My stomach quivered because I was now upset. God, give me a sign to leave. I want to make sure You want me to quit before I do it. I have no money, God. But I hate my job. I'm tired of living my life because I have to. I want to live and want to. I want to belong. But I'm not going to do it without You. Give me a sign, Lord. Just one sign. I sat there with tears swelling up in my eyes. I rubbed them away with my knuckles and took a sip of tea. Nearer to the bottom of the cup, the taste became worse. I sat there quietly. No

thoughts came to me. No voice spoke. I watched outside and there was no sign. No flood. No parting of the sea. Just people. All kinds of people coming in, going out, sitting in the heat of the summer traffic waiting for the red light to turn green. That's what I was doing, waiting. Waiting on my green light. But all things were quiet. I was disappointed. Why God? Just show me something. Anything. I'm hurting and You're quiet. I accidentally let a tear fall, and I tasted the salt of it on my lips. I wiped my hand across my cheek to dry the wetness. I looked down at my watch. I only had twenty minutes or so before I had to go back to work. I stood up, began to walk out, and put the remainder of my bitter tea in the trash. I walked out and got in my car. I had to go. But it wasn't to work. "I quit," I said aloud. I put my Dodge Shadow in reverse and backed up. I drove and stopped to wait by the rushing traffic, hoping someone would let me in. The light turned red. A woman in a Ford Taurus slowed down and motioned for me to pull out. I waved to thank her. And a funny thing happened once I straightened my car out in the lane, the light turned green. I thought it had just turned red. Green. Thank you, God. I do have to go. I yielded right and drove down the ramp onto 85 South. I was going home. I didn't have to go there. I didn't have to go anywhere. But there was something leading me. Something new in me. I want to.