A Convenient Store Story Kyra Ballesteros She was a weekly regular at the last convenience store at the end

of a long, tiresome highway. Located parallel a wide U-turn, its windows illuminated the sharp corner opposite a tricycle station and played host to the tricycle drivers who meander in during all hours of the day and night for a pack of cigarettes, someone to talk about or ogle at, and cheap, hot meals. The store was a highway past her house; her boyfriend spotted it four weeks ago. It was, conveniently, far enough away that none of her neighbors thought to visit, not when a branch of the exact, same franchise had been erected more than halfway down the avenue. She shivered as a gust of air flew up her rough skirt, bouncing off the dirty white tiles. Tonight, the aisles were mercifully empty of small children with exhausted young mothers; standing by the store windows, some tricycle drivers licking ice cream. "Nagpapalamig lang," one of them smiled, when she looked over, the explanation not completely unwarranted. Grouped together, near the door, they sized her up. One of them clicked his tongue, as though expecting her to summon him. The one who spoke, coughed. The sound rang across the small space, too violent for the dirty floor and the exhausted racks of random goods. They turned back to each other and continued their slow conversation. Behind the counter, an older looking woman in her mid-thirties counted out bills beside Jason, the young male employee she met last week. The convenient store was cramped, longer than it was wide, and she headed towards the bags of chips to her far right. Two long racks divided the space into three aisles. At the far end stood three lonely refrigerators housing tube ice, beer, soda in cans or bottles, cold tea, and juice boxes. The short aisles seemed crooked and bent out of shape. She took her place in front of the slushee machine, facing bags of chips, where she found herself every week, now. Welcoming ten to fifteen minutes of comfort, she stopped for a moment. It was Thursday evening and she was grateful to be alone in a lit room. Her feet were cramping in her shoes but otherwise she felt calm in the familiar space. Kailangan ko bumili ng pagkain, manonood lang kami ng movie sa bahay. Sa kuwarto. Patay ang ilaw, walang tao. She doesnt believe it and no one asks to hear. There would be no need to talk, tonight. Maybe on Saturday, if she asks her boyfriend to dinner. Almost automatically, she picked out three bulging packs of chip. She hovered over the cheap chocolate bars and cookies, enjoying her indecision. For once, the store made her feel bone-tired as though she had gotten up from bed, after her boyfriend began snoring, to fold their clothes strewn over the floor and she wanted nothing else but a cup of cool water down her throat but sore thighs and the new bruise on the small of her back both ached. A family of four stepped into the convenience store and headed towards the steamer. She took half a step away from them. Their father, a short, stout man in a clean white shirt, pointed to a couple of siopao. His wife nodded and opened a thick purse. A girl of about thirteen hung back to allow her brother a better view of the siomai resting on the bottom rack. Both looked unimpressed. It seemed insensitive to intrude as their parents huddled. The father picked four large siopaos. The wife dislodged two hundred pesos from their wad of cash. The boy turned around to stare at her before she could move away. "Gusto ko noon, gusto ko noon!" His voice was still shrill and sharp. He tugged his mother's long shirt, pointing to her colorful bags of chips. She slipped over to the first aisle nearest the storefront window, avoiding the loitering tricycle drivers, who were licking their lips. One of them watched the little boy while the others leaned against the glass, staring at the opposite street, waiting for passengers. The family diffused into individuals; the stout father and his wife

pulled a loaf of bread from the shelf. They moved towards the canned goods while their children ranged over the aisles. She spied her boyfriend in her car, chatting on his mobile and smoking her last stick. The windows of the car were all half-way down. She thought: at least he remembered to turn off the engine. He spotted her staring. Through the slightly smudged windows, she focused on her appearance for a split second, and frowned: hair still in a tight bun on her head and a heavily creased brown blouse. Nevertheless, he smiled gently, pausing mid-conversation. He smiled, almost lazily. He inclined his head, beckoning: "Bilisan mo. Halika na." She hoped the tricycle drivers did not notice. Above her, the lights flickered as the air conditioner surged and she grew cold. She bowed her head, frowning at her shoes, the convenience store offering little protection. He was no patient man. Last week, she made him wait nearly twenty minutes. She had examined different brands before settling reluctantly on the unreasonably priced ribbed condoms that he wanted, instead of their usual flavored ones. He called her, asking if there was a problem. Wala, she said, she wasn't finished yet, she just found them. Silence on the other line. She had been in the middle aisle, her back to the window, and she didn't look. She would see him, they would lock eyes, he would ask whats wrong and not be convinced. If she looked back to see him, he would ask her: anong ginawa mo doon? And she had no real answer: naghintay lang, nagpalipas oras. Her boyfriend had insisted they play the field. She did not tell him she read the label on the ribbed condoms at least thrice: drive her wild. She shook her head, full of disbelief. She wasnt afraid; she could not speak. There was no time for speaking. She cannot even see him in the dark. How does she ask, Is this how it is supposed to feel? Is this good? Her boyfriend murmured something that sounded like a wary grumble, Kung ayaw mo talaga, ayos lang sa akin. She was afraid he would hang up as he waited for her reply. Whenever he asked her what she wanted, okay ba to, gusto mo ba to? struggling over her, she felt more and more that she didn't want anything. Not for herself, not anymore. Everything had been taken over by compromise and she could not decide if this was a personal defeat or something to celebrate because she hadn't asked him. They always decided together, now. She did not know if the soreness she felt was painful but it felt right, like it was supposed to be there with her. She didn't know so much of herself now. Secretly, she hoped he felt the same. Hindi. Sige, heto na. Babayaran ko na lang. She relented. Except, it was the right thing to do. Last week, thankfully, only the matronly supervisor had been manning the counter. The supervisor had slipped the small, black boxes inconspicuously into a miniature plastic bag and pushed the food into a larger package. Now, she lingered, looking over the cans of tuna, the packs of noodles, and biscuits, thinking if she needed to buy more food, imagining her boyfriend staring at her from behind. When she glanced back, he was texting, a loose grin on his face. When she spotted Jason restocking the plastic cups underneath the slushee machine, she headed to the refrigerators. After four weeks, she had learnt to look properly, watching and waiting for what she enjoyed, the way her boyfriends body taught. As Jason bent over, uniform stretched over his wide back, she admired the shape of him: nape of his neck, a soft sweet valley between sharp shoulder blades, a tapered waist, a lean ass tight in dirty, blue slacks. And as she stared, she almost imagined the strong muscles of his thighs. When he straightened up, she was behind him. It seemed that the store was full of bright, yellow light; somewhere beyond her vision, the little boy squealed. The matronly supervisor finished microwaving a hot meal for one of the tricycle drivers. Somewhere, the thirteen year old girl was looking at Jason, too.

She suffered three failed attempts to fill a twenty-two-ounce cup before Jason held out his hands with a wary grimace. "Excuse, po, Ma'm." She gave up the cup, and stepped aside as he adjusted nozzles, peeked into the engine of the machine. "Sorry po, ma'm. I-try niyo po uli." Jason glanced at his supervisor, who did not look at him, whose eyes were fixed on the little boy plucking chocolate bars from shelves. Jason stepped aside, wiping his hands on a dirty rag hanging off his belt. "Ayos lang, iba na lang." She half smiled, hoping to catch his eye. He grimaced, clearly uncomfortable, nodded his thanks, and returned quickly to his station behind the counter where the supervisor glanced at him, cutting short a proffered excuse. The white fluorescent light flickered and outside, the seven o'clock traffic stalled and carried on noisily. Her boyfriend texted: Matagal ka pa ba? A liter and a half of bottled tea, then, she thought, moving towards the refrigerators. The bags of chips, a pack of cookies, and three bars of cheap chocolate in her arms, she struggled to pull open the refrigerator door. Smirking at herself, she caught Jasons half glance as he doled out change, and cocked her head towards the double doors. Jason clapped his hands clean as he walked over, again. It was a pleasure to communicate nothing so complicated, for once. He was tall, at least six feet, and his broad shoulders sloped gently down to thick brown arms, rough shaped hands, long, blunt fingers. She was a small woman, barely five feet three inches, who relished any opportunity to stare up at him before slowly, carefully, averting her eyes. He bent over to pick out a random bottle. She was vicious; she wanted him to watch her but he handed her the bottle without as much as a grunt. His thick, brown lips were chapped from the cold. When she took it, the quiet embarrassment erupted in her: she did not flirt. Not really. She did not look at strange, tall boys. One of the chocolate bars slipped to the floor; Jason crouched to retrieve it. When he looked up, his eyes plainly fixed on the shape of her breasts, she felt the unfamiliar tightness coiled somewhere, as though her boyfriend had begun lightly rubbing her nipples. Unbidden, she imagined Jason hoisting her up, groping her breast, long fingers curled firm and insistent. She felt delicious warmth, her body reverberated an ache. She became some crass sound that needed to be recognized for what it was, then soothed and quieted. "Salamat ah," she said. Her high, cheerful voice cracked between them. Jason straightened up but bowed his head. He nodded, smiled without looking at her, and returned to his counter. He must have been younger, to feel ashamed of being caught looking. Or she had grown older. The little boy wandered over. He seemed to trace colors and shapes on the bright packaging. He craned his neck, his gentle eyebrows drawn together, scrutinizing the slim bars of chocolates. She moved towards the second aisle to avoid him. Convenient stores stacked condoms below shelves of baby powder, tissue paper, cotton balls, and band aids in an attempt to domesticate the sex act. She very nearly overlooked the baby blue packets of lubricant dwarfed beside sachets of shampoo and conditioner. Poised to take one, she allowed herself a moment of indecision, wondering if she would need it later tonight or tomorrow morning, if her boyfriend would approve. She caught herself: when did she start needing his approval? When the tricycle drivers left, shuffling out of the store, six teenage boys, all sharp bones and noise, replaced them. The supervisor stiffened where she stood, a heavy scowl severe upon her face. The thirteen year-old girl in the aisle looked up, at first expressionless, but her face seemed to expand and soften as she acquired a placid, shy smile. They were in the same aisle, now. Picking up a tube of lip-gloss, the young girl frowned, probably wondering if blunt pink will compliment her brown cheeks, her stringy black hair. She picked up another color, glancing at the boys. The young girl wore a smile now, her hair draped over her shoulder and

hung loose to cloud her vision: the badge of a secret. She recognized the young girl with staring eyes, recognized the shape of her smile. There were too many children. She ignored the vibrating mobile in her pocket; she had stalled too long. Staring at the usual army of colorful Frenzy packets, some Durex ribbed, the last box of Trust, some Premiere, but no Okamoto thins or 002s. She took two boxes of the Durex ribbed, biting her lip. "Malay natin, baka magustuhan mo," he smiled, laying a warm hand on her thigh as they drove to their usual convenience store. She glanced at him as he slipped his thumb up her skirt and between her legs. His eyes were on the road, a little frown on his face. "Paano kung masakit?" She was stiff with cold and her lips were dry. She wanted to pull her skirt over her knees but his hand lay on her lap, still warm. She didnt really care if it hurt but this concern was easier to handle than the truth: that she didnt want it, any of it, there was no pleasure in it, any of it, and she was simply tired, and she wanted some rest, or to talk. But he had other uses for her mouth, now. "Edi sabihin mo, 'tas papalitan," he said, instantly irritable. She wrapped her arms around her; her flesh goosepimpled under his hand. He glanced over, eyes soft, "Sorry, nilalamig ka pala. Iadjust mo na lang yung aircon." Reaching into the backseat, he produced a small, neat bundle, and handed a new blanket to her, tagprice still attached. "Binili ko last week, kasi napansin ko ang bilis mo lamigin, eh malakas ako mag-aircon." She had forgotten this. She had forgotten there was more to them than Thursday night and the ride towards the convenience store, the slow climb to her empty room where she always reached for the light switch or the bedside lamp but he guided her away, into the dark corner where her bed crouched, unmade. When they were finished, they sometimes made it together. He folded her blankets the wrong way, but she never said anything, content that they were picking up after themselves. Isang pack lang muna bibilhin ko. Now, she held three. She wondered what it meant. Sometimes, she forgot if she made the decision for herself or to make him proud. When she turned around, the little boy was standing by her elbow. "Ano yan, ano yan?" He repeated his questions, insistent upon the answer. She jumped a little in her surprise, clutching the food and boxes of condoms, free hand ready to strike, her face hard with guilt and anxiety. He bolted from her, back to his mother, who had lined up by the counter. He swung from her arm. The stout father emerged from the back of the shop, clutching the same bottle of tea. Swaying slightly, he stood beside his siopao-laden wife. His rotund gut protruded from the garter of his pants, massive enough to obstruct his view of his own blunt toes, and an obscene, crass thought croaked in her mind: how long has it been since hes seen himself jerk off. She stepped in line, behind the mother, her son, and her husband. Before them, their young girl stood, tapping her foot, already impatient, a cone of soft-serve ice cream in her hand. The supervisor tapped the same string of keys thrice before the register opened with a satisfying little jiggle. The young girl moved to the tables near the glass window, flipping her hair over her shoulder as two teenage boys fell in line, each with a large cup of slushee. Jason moved away from the machine, after wiping the nozzles clean of bright blue and green slush. The boys had no trouble with them and she wondered if she was bad luck, if there was something wrong with her. The little boy was still looking at her fearfully. She couldnt look down at him or rest her eyes on the incomplete family. The mother was counting out their change, her husband picking his nose. This week, it was Jason who greeted her with a scanner ready. He scanned chips, the liter of tea, her chocolates, cookies, and even the sachets of lubricant quickly, but the machine refused to acknowledge the condoms. A large plastic bag already beside her, it declared: Error in green, remorseless letters.

Anong nangyari? His supervisor stole a glance at her. Experience had taught the supervisor caution. She was already late. Ayaw ho guman ng scanner, Mam. Jason reported. Pero kanina, wala namang problema. Itry mo na lang sa ibang brand, and she plucked an expensive looking black box from the row behind her. Ayaw ho talaga, kahit anong brand ng condom. She clutched the nearby plastic bag, packed full of food and lube, as though claiming it would lessen her embarrassment. Nearby, the family watched her. The little girls face was a mask, unreadable, as though painted. The boys holding slushees and waiting behind her were grinning. One of them mouthed condom to his fellow and they slapped each others hands, looking towards her. They looked pleased, like they won something. One of them winked at her. Miss? Jason was holding up three boxes of expensive Durex, Premiere, and Frenzy. Gumana naman po rito yung scanner. Puwede niyo ba hintayin habang inaayos saglit yung cash register? And he looked at her, straight at her, and she felt the phone in her pocket vibrate insistently, where she had been ignoring it for the last five minutes. The boys unnerved her but Jason was staring at her, staring not at her breasts or her poorly shaped body, staring at all the nights she had spent, panting her boyfriends name. Huwag na, ayos na yan. She shoved a hundred peso bill towards him, looking back. Clutching the boxes tightly in her right hand, she walked quickly back to her car where her boyfriend rounded on her for ignoring his calls. Anong nangyari sayo? Bat ang tagal-tagal mo? Her face burned and she refused to answer. Her boyfriend pulled the heavy plastic bag towards him, grumbling about his hunger. He stopped looking for the cookies when he saw the three boxes she had thrown into the pile of food. Tatlo? He said, with what looked like a scowl. Ang libog mo naman.