AnYi 安亦

Find a cliché you absolutely hate. Rewrite it while keeping the intended meaning intact.

While attempting to wrestle the coats back into their wardrobe, I hear the little bell tinkling in the front of the shop. “Be – urgh – be with you in a moment!” I call through the curtain, doing my best to sound professional despite the sleeves slapping me across the face. “Now then,” I grunt; focused once more upon the garments, “if you lot don’t get back in there right now, I’m tying you together and fetching the matches.” Their frantic flapping slows somewhat, but they don’t yield. “Don’t test me on this – you’re not even close to my best seller.” They pause a moment to deliberate amongst themselves, and I take the opportunity to shove them inside and lock the door. I’m leaning against the door to catch my breath when I spot the little teapot watching curiously from their shelf. I promptly apologise they had to witness such unpleasantness – apparently they’d’ve done the same, though, so they’ll let me off just this once. Breath caught and wrongs righted, I brush myself down and head to the front of the shop.

Only to stop in my tracks when I recognise the man waiting impatiently at the counter – I cast about for something to disguise myself with or, heck, I’d take something to hide behind right now – but he’s already spotted me. “Adam?” The surprise in his voice quickly gives way to anger. “What the hell is this?”

A lot of options jump to mind (Sorry, no Adam here – only me… er… James? Feign amnesia! Just play it cool, dude – he’ll calm down.) and are dismissed as failures just as quickly. Instead, as calmly and gently as I can manage with the shock coursing through me, I start to explain. “Hey, Cal. This is-”

“Seriously?!” He cuts in, “Nearly ten years and all you can come up with is ‘Hey’?”

At some point in those years I seem to have forgotten some of his worst habits. I also forgot how easily said habits could frustrate me. “If you’re not going to listen to me then-”

“Who’s not-”

“SHUT UP AND LET ME SPEAK, GODDAMMIT.” Despite his size advantage, he takes a worried step back at my outburst. I glare at him a moment before I start again – the ice in my voice working to stifle further interruptions. “If you’re not going to listen to what I have to say, then just leave. This is my shop; this is my life. You have as much say in the matter as I did: none. Accept it or piss off.”

And, after searching my face for the apology I’m succeeding in smothering, he does just that. His large frame folds in on itself as he turns toward the door – the tank of a man I remember replaced by a shuffling old lady. Hand on the doorknob, he looks back at me one more time. “You’re right, Adam: it is your life. Despite what you claim, you did have a say. You pretend otherwise because you can’t admit to yourself that you chose this over us.” The little bell tinkles once more.

I spend quite a while just staring at the place where he stood, mind reeling. (What does he mean? Surely he doesn’t think… He must know, right? They can’t have not told him all this time. But then why would he say those things? I have to-) The sound of a new customer entering the store pulls me out of my stupor. Before I even check who it is, I pull off my apron and say, “I’m sorry, but I have to close the shop for a little bit. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

I’m reaching for the front key when a familiarly affronted voice pipes up, “It’s the middle of the afternoon! Where can you possibly need to be right this instant?”

(Ah, Mrs. Finnigan. Suddenly I’m grateful to Cal for choosing today to blunder into my shop.) “Family emergency, I’m afraid; I’ll need you to leave the shop so I can lock up when I leave. Like I say, shouldn’t be more than an hour –” I have a thought then, and try to keep my voice neutral as I add, “maybe two.”

She huffs dramatically, but heads back towards the door. “This is terribly unprofessional, you know. I’ll be writing a letter to your manager.” I’ve had several of these, each including a variety of complaints – from the carpet being ugly to my extra potent potion components being ‘too potent’.

It’s roughly ten minutes before the shop’s secured enough that I can leave it. I pause for a moment on the pavement, wondering where he’d be headed, before I start jogging for the nearest tram station. Sure enough, when I round the corner and it comes into sight, I can spot his bulk within the small gaggle of passengers climbing onto the tram that just got in. Ah. I yell down the street – no reaction – and then start sprinting towards them. He’s stepped onto the vehicle to purchase his ticket by the time I reach the platform. I’m breathing so hard that I skip trying to speak and just grab his shoulder – he rips it out of my grasp as he spins around; attention acquired.

“What?” He demands. “You were pretty clear at the shop – this is me. Pissing off.”

Each word is a challenge, but I wheeze out, “I did… but… didn’t… know…”

The tram driver chimes in then, “Look, mate, I have to go – in or out.”

Cal looks down at me. “Well?”

I straighten to look him in the eye. “Dad didn’t… tell you… did he?” Confusion. Of course he didn’t – that arsehole. I place my hand back on his shoulder, “I didn’t… choose this… over you…” – deep breath so I can get the next part out in one – “Dad disowned me.”

His eyes flit between mine for a few seconds, and he steps back onto the platform.