Archives: June 11-June 17, 2006
June 11, 2006
“Man, I gotta say, I don't think I've ever seen somebody sell shirts here the way you're doing it,” Jermaine says, counting the bills from his register. “I think you're the reason why companies do contests like this.”
“Only reason I'm trying so hard is to beat out Anastasia—put her in her place.”
Jermaine laughs. “And that's the only reason I've been helping you out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you happen to notice that my jar is empty?” he asks, gesturing to the clear glass jars on the shelf behind us. Anastasia and I have about an equal number of blue tickets floating in our containers, and while other folks have at least a few in their jars, Jermaine's is completely empty.
“Guess I figured you weren't in the contest.”
“I'm not saying I'm going wild like your Annie, but for the shirts I do sell, all the tags are going straight to you?”
“Why's that?”
“I just told you—that Anastasia. You think you're the only one she goes around treating like crap? Sister's gotta learn some humility.”
“So why aren't you trying to beat her on your own?”
“I start flying solo, I'm cutting into her sales and yours. What's the point if I finish second and you finish third to her first place. Nah, I'd rather combine and concur—tag team it up,” he says. “Like I said, I ain't trying as hard as either of you—just giving you a little boost.”
“Well, I appreciate.”
Jermaine smiles and punches my arm lightly. “Just buy me a shirt with that $50 gift certificate, and we'll call it even."June 12, 2006
I lean against a rack of shorts and skirts as Julie hangs some up. “How do you suppose a girl with a personality that rancid makes friends?” I ask, looking on as Anastasia talks with a horde of seven girls, all about college age.
“People tend to make friends,” Julie says. “Anastasia's are probably just as bitchy as her—or, for whatever reason, like the abuse.”
“Sounds almost like you and Johnny.”
She blushes slightly. I've found over the last week that Julie has her own reservations about Johnny—that she realizes what an asshole he is, and won't repeat things to him, but that she still has a certain brand of loyalty to the guy. It's complicated. “Like Johnny, Anastasia not quite so bad if she likes you. You just have to get to know her first.”
“Right, because I was the one to pick a fight with her.”
“I didn't say you did. I'm just saying that sometimes people react to certain other people certain ways. It can be defense mechanism, or an instinct thing. But either way they see a benefit in not being nice.”
“Well all I know is that I'm going to beat her not so nice ass in this baby tee selling contest. I counted my tags when I was at the register before and I just passed fifty.”
“And how many does Anastasia have?” Julie asks, holding up one skirt with a floral pattern, looking at it, then modeling it over her own hips.
“Ah no, I'm not going to touch her tags and have her accuse me of cheating. But rest assured, my levels are looking a little higher.” I stop as we both look on in silence. The group of girls follow Anastasia to her register, each with two or three shirts in hand. One by one, she scans in their purchases, dropping the tags in her bag.
“She's having her friends buy the shirts. That bitch.”
Julie smirks. “Might not be the nicest girl, but she's smart.”
June 13, 2006
Veronica sighs over the phone. “I guess all I'm saying is that I don't see why you would care about what this Anastasia cares about. I get it—she's rude and annoying, and you want to beat her. But it's not like beating her is going to accomplish anything. If anything, she'll just be annoyed because she didn't get the prize herself and be more of a bitch.”
“But even if all that winning does is keep her from getting the gift certificate, that's accomplishing something. I just don't know if you get what a vile person she is.”
“No, Preston , I do get it.”
I'm sitting on the back porch, baking in the mid-afternoon sun. Seeing this is going no where, I deem it time to change the subject. “So the good news is that the contest is over in two days, so I won't have any seconds thoughts when I hit the road to come see you this weekend.
“So, what—you'd cancel our weekend if the contest was still going on?”
It's my turn to sigh. “That's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying how much I'm looking forward to next weekend—and that this competition will be one less hassle for me to have to worry about.”
“What did you want to do this weekend?” she asks.
“Didn't have anything particular in mind—just wanted to spend time with you really.”
“That's cute.”
“It's true.”
“Well I'm just thinking that you won't be able to go out to the bars because you're not 21.”
“Yeah, but like I told you, I have a good fake.”
“Right. And besides that, I don't really have any friends around town this summer, so it's not like we can go out with a bunch of people.”
“Veronica, for all I care, we can just stay in and talk, or watch movies. As long as I get to see you, I'll be content with that.”
There's a pause across the line. I flick my toes as fly lands on them, sending it scurrying off into the air.
“You're right,” Veronica says at last. As long as we're together, that's what really matters. And I can't wait to see you.”June 14, 2006
“‘Bout time you got here,” Matt says, tipping in a missed shot by Chang.
“Son of a bitch,” Chang says. In this every man for himself game of 21, Matt has just knocked his score down to zero.
Matt ignores him, trotting to the foul line. “We've been waiting on you to get this two-on-two game going.
“Some of us have to work.”
“Three jobs, Presto,” Chang says, holding up three digits. “Don't tell me about work, and don't use it as an excuse for being late to play ball.”
Matt's first free throw rattles down through the hoop. “So how goes the great contest?”
“Don't know. Anastasia's had her friends coming in the last few days to buy shirts, and we're looking pretty even. And no one was coming in today—I was actually working near the door and trying to talk people into coming into the store so I could sell them shirts.”
Matt misses the second foul shot and Joey snags the rebound.
“You should have tipped him,” Chang calls out, moving to defend him.
“How you doing Joey?” I ask. It's the first time I've seen Joey since last summer. Looks like he put on some muscle between now and then.
“Not bad,” he says and maneuvers past Chang, laying the ball in off the backboard.
“Working construction with the old man again?”
“You know it,” he says, heading to the foul line himself. He's a horrible free throw shooter and Matt positions himself to collect the rebound. “The old man wouldn't have it any other way.”
Chang gets the rebound, but Matt steals the ball as he tries to dribble away. “Don't let him do that to you,” I call out.
“What, he can't stop this,” Matt calls back as he drives toward the basket. He gets past Chang, but as he goes up for the lay up, Chang swipes the ball away, before tossing in a short jump shot himself. “Where's the foul?”
“Looked clean to me,” I say.
Matt shakes his head, positioning himself for the rebound. “Some best friend.”June 15, 2006
Anastasia and I are on the registers as Jermaine and Julie approach the front. “What's going on?” I ask Julie, while scanning in the t-shirts a woman is getting for her early-teenaged son, who clearly doesn't want any of them.
“Lois told us to come up front. Said she had an announcement.”
I cast a glance at Anastasia and think I spot her looking at me—but it might just be a random glare. You can't really know with her. In any case, the jars have been gone since this morning, marking the end of the competition. I can only assume that the results are in.
A moment later, Lois is there, sipping from a bottled water. She waits while Anastasia and I finish up with our customers, making small talk with Jermaine. Then the moment arrives.
“So first off, I would like to congratulate most of you for trying so hard in this competition,” Lois says. She darts a look at Jermaine for his empty jar, and he slips me a wink. “Usually this kind of thing doesn't have much of an effect in our store,” Lois goes on, “but you guys changed up that trend. And most of the credit for that goes to Preston and Anastasia.
“Because the two of you each cleared 60 shirts, the company has authorized me to award you both gift certificates for the effort,” Lois says and extends an envelope to each of us. There's something really unsatisfying about a tie. But then, she hasn't said it's a tie yet—only that we each did well. “With the prizes out of the way,” she continues, there is still the issue of bragging rights. And Preston , you edged it out by two shirts.”
I can't help but smile and Jermaine pats me on the back. I turn and reach out a hand to Anastasia. “It was a good contest.”
She meets my hand limply, meeting my eyes for just a second. Even her hand is cold to the touch, as if it's defying the heat of the day. “Yeah, congratulations,” she says. In this instant, I almost miss her venom. I could laugh at her if she was being a bitch me, and while she's not exactly being friendly right now, I can't justify laughing in her face.June 16, 2006
I'm closing in on my third hour on the road, nearly half of it on this highway. The route to Veronica's is pretty straight forward, and I appreciate that—meaning I don't have to stress out about missing a turn, just hitting the cruise control and rolling through the summer afternoon.
I think about the last time I saw Veronica, at the festival. It was the perfect day, and the perfect night. The town was all new to me, and it was just foreign enough to her to still be fun, even though she knew where she was going and what we should do.
I think further back, to how we wrapped up the year. I think about the way she told me about Jimbo and her eating disorder. It was really personal stuff. I regret that we haven't hit on anything like that since summer hit. It's harder for us to really talk over the phone—without a stroke of the arm to reassure her, without the promise of a kiss after one of our harder talks. We didn't get into anything like that when we visited Duncanville . That day was like an escape from our lives, and from anything hard. As fun as it was, I'm hoping that this weekend—this trip to her home—might help me uncover something new and meaningful.
It's been harder for this last week or so. I hate being away from her, but we've been talking less lately, and not really arguing but not having our most pleasant talks. At first I was kind of flattered that she seemed jealous of Anastasia, and the attention I've given to the contest. But it's starting to seem like more than just idle jealousy.
It's probably nothing.
I can't wait to see her.
I push my foot down on the accelerator. Traveling this road, southbound, I'll get off the highway after another two exits. Then I'll be heading east for an hour or so, before hitting Veronica's town.
I turn down the AC and roll down the windows, letting the hot summer air rush in, letting the wind pound against my face.
I can't wait to see her.June 17, 2006
Veronica insists on driving me to the theater, since I already drove all the way to see her. Her Malibu 's a smoother ride than my dad's Oldsmobile. He could afford a nicer vehicle, but he has a certain ethic that goes against him—he's partial to driving a practical car and driving it until it's problems get out of control. Veronica got her car brand new just a few years ago—a gift they sent her to college with.
I'm surprised I haven't seen Veronica's parents much. Her mother leaned against the counter, talking to us for maybe five to ten minutes while we ate spaghetti and meatballs yesterday. I spotted her dad on his computer in his home office last night, and heard him leaving the house early this morning, out for a day of golf, Veronica said.
The car is a mix of Veronica's scent and the leather interior. I want her to pull over and kiss me. I think maybe I'll kiss her if we hit a red light, or when she parks the car.
“It's a nice night out,” I say.
Veronica shrugs, leaning her head in her hand, her elbow pressing against the window. “It's like any summer night. It's too hot.”
I'm not sure when Veronica has actually braved elements to find the heat uncomfortable. Her house has central air and she cranked the AC the second we got in. I have to admit that she hasn't been in a great mood since I came. With her parents so aloof, I half-expected it wouldn't be an issue for me to stay in her room. Nonetheless, without a word about it, she set me up in the guest bed downstairs, said she was tired at about 11:30 , leaving me down there to myself. From before that night, to today, she just hasn't seemed that excited to see me.
Veronica pulls to a red light. I think going in for the kiss, then think better of it. No point in pressing my luck when, especially when I'm visiting her here—when, for better or worse, I don't have the ability to part ways, because I'm bound to her, her house, her car for the weekend.
And so we ride on in silence, before hitting the theater. In a black tank top and Capri pants, she's looking really good. The best I can do is take her hand as we walk from the parking lot. She doesn't pull her hand away, but she doesn't look at me either.