The Laugh. Part Three.

If circumstances were different, she might have been a cowgirl, crashing up over brown dusty hills, giant blue sky behind her, the scent of leather and straw rope on her hands. But, instead, she had been born here in this little city, to Sam and Judy Carter. Nights after school were spent stocking shelves at the local grocery store, slicing open boxes, and whistling to songs like the irritatingly catchy "Hotel California". It wasn't that working in the store was all bad, but there was no thrill there. Her father had not instilled in her a pleasure for thrills, yet she possessed one.

Sometimes while she was working, she'd let herself imagine about different kinds of adventures - a summer traveling in South America, or becoming a sort of outdoor activity enthusiast. But her dreaming was always tentative. There was no realness to it, nothing tangible. The truth is, she never had a good, clear idea about what she wanted to do or "be". Maybe it never crossed her mind, maybe she didn't measure life in those terms.

She first started shop-lifting at work, because it was so easy. She had a good reputation at her job, and had been there several years before she ever took anything. And she wasn't stupid about it. She didn't take typical things like junk-food or stuff from the sections she worked in. And she didn't steal while she was working, either. It was always on an off-shift, when she was picking up groceries for her mom, or stopping in to get something quick.

Because she knew the layout of the store so well, and where the security cameras were placed, she always planned her route beforehand. She knew who would be working in what section when, and could easily stuff a package of dryer sheets into her jacket as he was reaching for laundry soap, or a package of lunch meat - one for the basket, one for her pocket. There was simply no feeling comparable to standing at the checkout, having a casual conversation with the cashier, and then walking out with something she had not worked for, something that no one may even realize was missing.

Predictably, however, she began seeking bigger thrills, riskier situations. Life was dull unless she was plotting. Soon, she had no more time for vague dreaming, all was taken up with her next score. She liked to "case a joint" now, and skipped ridiculously obvious chances in pursuit of a challenge.