Paradise by the Heineken Light by Rob Lichter, inspired by a title by Brian Alleva

On his way home from work, Yves normally drove an extra half-mile out of his way just to get something from 7-11. It wasn’t always the same thing; it could be a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk. It could be an air freshener. It could be a pack of batteries. Tonight it would be a package of those shaped rubber bands that kids wear around their wrists. He would tell the girl behind the counter that it was for his nephews. The girl behind the counter. Yves wondered if she knew that he made the trip every night after work just to see her. Of course she knew; she was a chick. Chicks always know this kind of thing, but Yves was a dude and dudes are clueless. Ask any chick.
Yves parked the car and walked up to the register. The girl was texting. Her fingers flew in a flurry before snapping the phone shut and looking up at Yves.
“Help you?” she asked.
“Hey, yeah, do you have those rubber band things the kids like?” he asked, “I-i-it’s for my nephews.” She pointed to the open bowl of colorful packages next to the register.
“Yeah, great! Ok, let’s see, oh there’s different kinds, huh? Like themes or something ha ha. Hey, sports, huh? Yeah, my nephews are into sports. I should get them this one for when I go visit them. Yeah, I don’t have kids. Maybe someday. You never know what’s going to happen in the future, right? Haha,” He picked out a small package from the bowl a little too hard and it flew out of his hand and behind the counter. The girl shook her head, picked it up and rang it up.
“Anything else?” she asked, clearly not amused. Yves got the distinct feeling that he should leave now. He paid for his things and left. He got in his car and looked at the girl though the window (and his own windshield, so basically through two layers of glass. That’s not important, I’m just clarifying). She was texting again. Who was she texting? Who was the important person in her life? He looked at the worthless fruit of his surreptitious romantic excursion. He imagined himself going home and throwing it out, like he did most of his purchases. He suddenly wanted a drink.
“But if I go back in and buy a beer,” he said to himself, “she’ll get even more annoyed with me.” As he thought this, three men roughly Yves’ age walked into the 7-11, laughing. He watched through the window(s) as they picked up a six pack and brought it to the register. She was talking to them as she rang them up. They were all laughing. The guys left and Yves had had all he could stand. He left his car and burst through the door. The girl looked up, surprised.
“Look,” he said, breathing hard, “I like you. A lot. I come here almost every day just to see you. I’ve spent I don’t know how much here and it’s never on anything I want. I don’t shop at 7-11! I come here to see you for like 5 minutes before I go home. Plus, I don’t even know your name! So who are you texting anyway, your boyfriend?”
The only other person in the store was a man pouring coffee into a paper cup. He turned to watch the excitement.
The girl wrinkled her brow at Yves and said, “Dude, people come in here all the time. I don’t remember who they are as soon as they walk out that door. I hate this place. If I couldn’t text, I’d go crazy. And it’s none of your damn business who I’m texting!”
They regarded each other silently across the counter.
Suddenly, a deep rumble shook the store. A flash of purple light tore through them. The light quickly died down. Yves stole a look through squinted, watering eyes and saw a mushroom cloud slowly rising in the distance.
“Holy shit!” shouted Yves.
“Yeah, “ said the girl.
The rumbling continued. They watched, transfixed, as the trees in front of the store caught fire and the mushroom cloud continued rising into the blindingly bright night sky.
The man with the coffee dropped his cup and ran for the door. The girl behind the counter yelled to him to stop. He opened the door, shouting, “Olivia!” The moment he opened the door, he was vaporized. The door slammed closed, sending his ash up in a cloud.
“Holy SHIT!” shouted the girl.
“Yeah!” said Yves. The girl looked at him, rolled her eyes and walked to the register. Yves watched as she emptied all the cash and stuffed it into her pockets.
“What are you doing?!?” he shouted.
“Hey, numbnuts, the world just ended. My boss isn’t likely to ask where the money went,” she spat.
“What are you going to do with all that money when we can’t even go outside?!” Yves shouted. The girl thought about this for a moment. “Whatever,” she said and continued to empty the register, “there’s no downside to having a little extra money.” Yves remained quiet and continued to stare outside.
“Hey,” he said eventually, “How are we alive? I mean, that guy burned right up and we’re OK. How is that possible?”
“Polarized glass,” answered the girl, “The sun shines through the window all day so the people working the register would normally get sunburned, but they put this special polarizing stuff on it or whatever and it protects from harmful UV rays. I guess it protects against atomic radiation, too,” she shrugged.
“Jesus,” Yves whispered.
“I need a drink,” she said and came out from behind the counter. She walked past Yves to the beer case, opened the door, pulled out a sixpack and came back to the counter. She pulled off a can from the plastic ring and tossed it to Yves. She then hopped up onto the counter and pulled off another one. Yves stared at the can. The girl snapped hers open and took a gulp. Yves opened his can and hopped up onto the counter with the girl. They drank in silence and watched the earth die.
“So…DO you have a boyfriend?” asked Yves, looking down at the can in his hand. He was feeling bolder. After watching the world end, the question that he’d been too afraid to ask seemed pretty insignificant now. The girl didn’t answer right away.
“Even if I did, he’d probably be dead now anyway. But no, I didn’t. Don’t.” she said.
After Yves had a couple of beers in him, he began to fear the girl less. They talked about TV shows and music they liked. They flipped through the gossip rags and made fun of the celebrities and their ridiculous lives. The sixpack finished, Yves hopped down from the desk and went to get more beer, bumping into the donut case as he did so. He returned with another sixpack. He pulled one off the ring and threw it to the girl, missing her by three feet. It smashed into the cigarettes against the back wall and send dozens of packs tumbling to the floor. He looked wide-eyed at her, who looked back at him and they both howled with laughter. The beer cans piled up and they talked through the night before finally falling asleep.
Yves awoke the next morning to the beeping of the microwave.
“Hey. I made you breakfast,” she said, pulling out a breakfast burrito and handing it to him. He opened the paper and the smell of sausage made his stomach turn. “Thanks,” he said, “Maybe later.” Yves poured himself a cup of black coffee and took an apple from the fruit bin.
“You know what? I still don’t even know your name,” Yves said and bit into his apple. The girl was eating her own breakfast burrito, drinking a Red Bull, and staring out the window.
“Adamina,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Adamina,” said Yves and they both looked quietly out the window. Adamina put out her hand and Yves took it in his.