Quick Harvest

By Donna Gum

At the Orange Sparrow Grocers, Shanda saw with dread that the people in the blue and purple robes focused their attention on her. I don’t have any money for them. She felt uncomfortable. They collected donations about once a week. Thus far, Shanda had evaded them. As she neared the entrance, the pair pursued her for money.

The man smiled as the woman swooped in with a cheap flower to pin on her blouse. Shanda stepped back, but the woman followed and fastened the red flower.

“Would you like to donate for the pretty flower?” The woman asked.

Stepping away again, Shanda said, “N-No, I can’t. I only have enough for the groceries.”

Shanda tried to increase the distance between them, but the woman followed her step by step through the crowd of shoppers entering the store, watching her with piercing eyes. 

“Just a little? Would you like to come for a visit with us?” The woman placed a pamphlet in Shanda’s hands. Shanda felt the brick wall press against her shoulders. 

“No, I’m sorry, I have nothing.”

“No? Not a dollar?” The woman’s voice took on a wheedling tone. Shanda could back up no further and felt her anger erupt. 

“No! I don’t!”

Shanda jerked away from the woman, escaping into the grocery store. She had few things to purchase but stayed longer to avoid them. Shanda shoved the flower in her jeans pocket with the pamphlet. She’d toss them later.

Upon paying and walking to the exit where the help wanted signs hung on a bulletin board, she saw the couple were there but did not approach. Shanda was relieved.

In the car, Shanda glanced at the pamphlet printed on glossy paper. It described a society where all were equal and contributed to the good of their community. Shanda wondered at being taken seriously in a community, an equal. A pang of loneliness struck her. This would never happen to her. People may think the strangers in the colorful robes odd, but their way of life sounded best to Shanda. Trying to raise money with flowers didn’t seem like the greatest idea. The experience had been annoying. Shanda put the pamphlet aside and started her car. She turned on her beloved radio.

Shanda drove home singing Creedence Clearwater’s Proud Mary on the radio. The windows were down, and the wind whipped through her light brown hair. Shanda loved singing in the car. She relied on the vibrant song to boost her mood.

The song didn’t prevent her sorrow when she arrived home, however. She opened her bag of chips in silence on the kitchen table. Her brothers helped themselves. 

Without greeting her, Shanda’s mother said, “You have to watch the boys this afternoon.”

Shanda stomped her foot. It was like babysitting brats. 

“I already had plans, and you know it!”

Shanda’s mother whipped her head around on her slight frame to motion for Shanda’s father to address their daughter’s behavior.

Maury’s face and bald head reddened, as he said, “You’ll do as your mother says. Besides, you don’t have friends. Your ‘plans’ are to go for a drive.” His voice rose. “You don’t have a job. You’ll never have a job. The least you can do is your part here! You’re eighteen!”

Shanda and her father glared at one another until her eyes dropped. The tirades wore her down with their frequency. Gathering a watery sense of courage, she decided to wobble toward the front door on uncertain steps knowing the price, and slammed it behind her, tears stinging her eyes as she ignored their shouts.

Shanda got into her yellow car trying to calm her jitters at having walked out on her parents. She cringed at the thought of her father’s response when she returned home. One reason she didn’t have friends was the bruises she hid. No one would understand.

Her father was right though. Shanda had no job. I can prove them wrong. I’ll fill out an application. I can hide the marks at work with make-up. Truth be known, her father didn’t want her to work. It would give him less control. With a sense of satisfaction at the thought, Shanda turned the keys in the ignition.

Within a few minutes, she arrived at the large plaza with the Orange Sparrow. Parking the car in the lot, she glanced down at the pamphlet on the seat beside her. Should I apply for a job or should I ask to join their community? If I joined, I wouldn’t have to live at home anymore. I’d be treated with respect and could contribute to the group. What if they aren’t there? Shanda hurried toward the grocery store. There, the couple still asked for donations. 

Her mind made up, Shanda approached. “Can I go with you? I want to join!”

In a blunt tone, the man said, “You don’t have any money.”

“I have a car! Please!” Her application was forgotten.  Shanda would do anything to keep from going home.

The couple exchanged looks. The man spoke, “Come, we are finished here. The car will be good for everyone. You can follow us in our van.”

Shanda, feeling excited and proud, slid back into her car. I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad.  She began tailing the rusted van, as colorful as their robes. They headed toward the countryside. 

They traveled for what seemed like hours. Her gas gauge dipped low. As Shanda worried about running out of fuel, she glimpsed a face leering from the van’s rear window. She sensed another red flag when they turned onto an unfamiliar dirt road. No houses were in sight. It looked like an empty field. Shanda pulled through a large gate and parked next to the waiting couple. She exited her car. I don’t know their names. The man who’d been sneaking glances stepped from the van’s back. Shanda’s hands grew icy, and her heart pounded as he burst into laughter at her. Behind her, Shanda heard the gate lock.

Donna Gum wrote non-fiction, including several published articles and ghostwriting. Unable to resist the call of fiction, she enjoys writing flash fiction in the Appalachian Mountains. Her most recent fiction was published by Borderline Tales, CafeLit, and Flash Phantom.