Hot Pot Magazine

By Kevin Hopson

“You want anything?” Liam asked.

I sat in the passenger seat of his car, staring through the windshield at the gas station
convenience store.

“Chase,” he said, stealing my attention.

I turned to look at him, and Liam’s blue eyes met my gaze.

“Do you want anything?” he repeated.

I shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t feel like going inside.”

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then come with me. What’s the big deal about going inside?”

I pursed my lips, uncertain what to say.

“What’s going on?” Liam said.

“I don’t know.”

“You do know. You just won’t tell me.”

I huffed and peered through the windshield again. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

Liam vehemently shook his head. “No, I won’t. I swear. Just tell me what’s going on.”

I let out another breath, taking a moment to ponder. “I have a fear of being forgotten,” I
finally confessed.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah. I did. But I don’t understand what that means.”

I swallowed, debating whether or not to reveal more.

“Please,” Liam said.

“Fine. Whenever I encounter a stranger, I have a fear that they won’t remember me.”

Liam hesitated. “Wait. So, let me get this straight. If you talk to a stranger, you’re afraid
they won’t remember you once the two of you part ways?”

I offered a weak nod.

“Okay,” Liam said. “I’ll admit I didn’t see that one coming.” He paused. “How long has
this been going on?”

“Ever since Brian’s death.”

An awkward silence followed.

“It makes sense now,” Liam said.

“What does?”

“Why you’re always reluctant to talk to others. Outside of family and friends,” he
elaborated. “I always thought you were an introvert.”

“I am in some ways, but it’s not the real reason I try to avoid strangers.”

Liam cleared his throat. “You realize that the majority of strangers we meet in our
lifetime will never remember us. Right?”

“Of course. That’s what scares me.”

“But why?”

“It’s an insecurity. The thought of being gone and forgotten.”

“What happens to you afterward?” Liam asked.

“After what?”

“After you have an encounter with a stranger?”

“I think about it non-stop. For the rest of the day, at least. And it usually leads to a bout of
nausea.”

“You actually vomit?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I wasn’t judging you,” Liam said. “I’m just saying.”

The two of us sat in silence again.

“How about this?” Liam said. “You go inside and steal something. The person working
behind the counter will definitely remember you then. And they may even have you on video.”

“Be serious.”

Liam chuckled. Then he bit his lip as he pondered. “Okay. I have an idea.”

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” I said. “Or anything that’s going to embarrass me.”

“No. It will be just the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still carry those cards in your wallet?”

It took me a few seconds to realize what he was talking about.

“Yeah,” I said. “What about them?”

I pulled the door ajar, a dinging noise announcing my arrival. A burly man with a dark
beard stood behind the convenience store counter, eyeing me as I entered. I turned to my right
and walked down the aisle, perusing the selection of snacks.

“Something I can help you with?” the man asked.

I shook my head. “Just browsing.”

“Let me know if there’s something you can’t find.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

I scanned the store, and I appeared to be the only customer inside.

After a few minutes, I approached the cashier with a couple of items in hand. I gently
rested them on the counter and pulled a wallet from the front pocket of my jeans.

“That will be seven dollars and eighty-two cents,” the man said. “Cash or charge?”

“Cash.” I snatched a few bills from the fold of my wallet, but I didn’t hand them over.

“Can I ask you something?”

The cashier arched an eyebrow.

“Are you an honest man?” I asked.

His brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

“Are you—”

“I caught it the first time,” he interrupted. “But why are you questioning my integrity?”

Given the way this conversation was going, the man would definitely remember me. But
not in a good way.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” I said. “I’m just curious.”

“And why do you care?”

I slid a couple of cards from my wallet, which resembled business cards. “Here’s thirty

dollars. Ten is for you. To cover my purchase, plus a tip. The other twenty is for the next
customer that buys something.” I handed him the cards and the money.

“I don’t understand.” He glimpsed one of the cards, reading the words aloud. “A random
act of kindness in memory of Brian Harrison.” He met my gaze. “Who’s Brian?”

“My younger brother,” I managed to spit out. “He died a few years ago.”

The man pursed his lips.

“Anyway,” I said. “Give one of the cards to the next customer who buys something. And
put the twenty dollars towards their purchase. If they don’t spend the entire twenty dollars, use
the remaining balance for other customers.”

The man shook his head, and I feared he was going to turn down my offer.

“I’ve never had anyone do this,” he said.

“I know it might seem strange, but it would mean a lot to me.”

The man nodded and extended a hand. “I’m Ross.”

“Chase,” I said, gripping his hand and briefly shaking it.

“It’s a pleasure, Chase.” He bagged my items and pushed the bag towards me. “Have a
good one.”

“Thanks,” I said, grasping the bag. “You, too.”

As I turned to walk away, Ross interrupted. “Chase.”

I spun around.

“I’m an honest man,” he said, “and I won’t let you down.”

My lips stretched into a grin. “I appreciate that.”

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Kevin’s work has appeared in a variety of anthologies, magazines, and e-zines, and he enjoys writing in multiple genres. You can learn more about Kevin by visiting his website at http://www.kmhopson.com.