Behind the Counter

As I handed the elderly couple their medications, I saw Carol approaching from the front of the store. She carried a pot of coffee in one hand, but her face was pale, her expression troubled. Setting the pot down on the counter, she leaned in close and whispered, “There’s a man with a knife up front. He’s scaring everyone.” I froze for a moment, processing her words. “A knife?” I repeated, my voice barely audible. She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. “Get the couple behind the counter,” I said quietly, motioning toward the elderly pair. “Use the phone at my desk to call for help.” Carol ushered the couple behind the pharmacy counter and quickly picked up the phone, her hands trembling as she dialed. I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I stepped out from behind the counter. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm. As I approached the front of the store, I saw him. He was young, disheveled, and clearly living rough. The smell of unwashed clothes and sweat hit me before I got close. His shirt was torn and hanging open, revealing his gaunt chest. His jeans were ripped in all the usual places, and leather straps were bound tightly around his wrists. Strapped to his leg was a large knife in a sheath—a Bowie knife, by the look of it. He held it loosely in his hand, the blade catching the light as he moved. He hadn’t seen me yet. I stayed close to the glass showcases, using them as a shield as I sized him up. Vera was near the front door, motioning for customers to stay outside. Her hands fluttered with urgency, her face pale as she mouthed to them, “Call for help.” The man turned, his wild eyes finally locking onto mine. His hair was long and stringy, his unshaven face framed by a patchy goatee. He shuffled toward me, the knife swinging lazily at his side. “I bet I can cut you,” he said, his voice low and menacing. I didn’t respond. My mind raced, trying to recall everything my brother Jerry, a police officer, had ever told me about situations like this. He had always said the same thing: “Never let a man with a knife get close to you. If he does, you’re dead before you even have a chance to react.” The man repeated himself, louder this time. “I bet I can cut you before you can do anything.” He shuffled closer, his eyes narrowing. I turned my body slightly, angling it away from him, and dipped my shoulder. My hand slid behind my back, resting near my belt as if I were reaching for a gun. It was a bluff—I didn’t carry a weapon—but I hoped it would give him pause. “Faster than a speeding bullet?” I asked, my voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding my system. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes flicking toward my hand. His expression changed, shifting from aggression to uncertainty. “You got a gun?” he asked, his voice wavering. “You’ve got a knife,” I replied, my tone calm but firm. For a moment, neither of us moved. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. The room felt impossibly quiet, every second stretching into an eternity. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tension broke. The man lowered the knife to his side and gave me a lopsided grin. “Man, I was just kidding,” he said, his tone light, as if we were old friends sharing a joke. I didn’t respond, afraid that anything I said might escalate the situation again. He turned and shuffled out the front door, disappearing into the street. “Which way did he go?” I called to Vera, who was still by the door. She pointed down the road, but I had no intention of following him. That was a job for the police. Moments later, High Sheriff Ford and Jailor Hargus burst through the door, their voices loud and commanding. “Is everyone alright?” Ford asked, scanning the store. I nodded, directing them toward the direction the man had gone. Several tense minutes passed before Ford returned, shaking his head. “He’s gone,” he said. “Probably down by the river. We’ll keep an eye out.” Hargus stayed behind for a while, keeping watch until things calmed down. I returned to my desk behind the pharmacy counter, my hands shaking as I replayed the encounter in my mind. It was only later, as I sat staring at the pile of paperwork in front of me, that I realized how close I’d come to disaster. When I got home that evening, I didn’t tell Velma what had happened. She didn’t need to know. It would only make her worry, and there was nothing to be gained by adding to her fears. As far as she knew, it had been just another day at the pharmacy.