Archives: June 25-July 1, 2006
June 25, 2006
I spy Julie walking toward the counter from the office in Stephon's. I get a strange feeling when I see her. It's awkward. What do you say to a girl when, the last time you saw her, you were smashing a plastic beer pitcher over her boyfriend's head?
Julie smiles when she sees me, though. “How's it going, Preston ?” she asks, meeting me up behind the counter. “Is your hand okay?”
I raise it. There are a couple visible bruises, but the bandages are gone, and it's going to be fine. “Can't complain. How's Johnny doing?”
“More embarrassed than anything else. But don't worry, he's not going to be bugging you guys again anytime soon.”
“You sure about that?”
“I told him I'd break up with him if he ever started up with you guys again. That and,” she leans in close to me, whispering, “I think he was a little scared after you hit him.”
“Right. Like if I had hung around he wouldn't have pulverized me.”
“Johnny doesn't get into fights. He's big and all but the only reason he went after Matt was because he was so drunk and because I let it slip Matt had been IMing me before. Don't get me wrong—he'll bully people and all, but it's all bark. That, and he almost cried when I gave him the ultimatum. So like I said, you're safe.”
I smile and shake my head. “I'm safe until you actually do break up with him. But I guess I could always just kick his ass again.”
“Right,” she says with a smile of her own, setting up at her own register. “So about that—I haven't seen Matt online the last couple days. And I know he got a new cell phone during the year, but I don't have the number.
“Well I could give that to you, but you know Matt left town, right?”
“Come again?”
“He's working a camp job. He's going to be gone until August.”
“You're kidding.”
“Na. I'm sorry.” I say. The color is draining out of Julie's face. “Was there something going on with you guys—I mean, he didn't say anything—”
“We were just talking a lot again—that's all. I—I'm just surprised he didn't say he was leaving.”
We're both quiet for a minute. Julie looks down, while I look out at the store, wishing a customer would come to me. When none comes, I go on, “I can give you his number—or ask him to give you a call.”
“No, I think that's all right. I mean, he can call me if he wants, but whatever.”
June 26, 2006
I've been home for a month now, living in my room, half-unpacked. Between hanging out with Matt, working and visiting Veronica I just haven't gotten around to unpacking more than the necessities from the boxes around my room, and I can't say that my room was the neatest place to begin with.
I open one box, with all the textbooks I didn't sell back from the year. I find a set of novels from my American Literary Classics course—the one where I met Emma. Flipping through the pages of one of the books, I find underscored passages, and blue and black ink lining the margins.
Blue: He's an asshole
Black: Not as bad Evan
Blue: Does he ever shut up?
Black: Want food after this?
Blue: Sure
Emma and I used to kill full class sessions like that, writing notes back and forth in the margins of a book or in our notebooks. It makes me laugh reading them. We weren't on the worst of terms when we left school, but I can't imagine things will ever be able to really joke like that again, be it in a relationship, or even just as friends.
I sort of miss her.
I put the book on my bookcase by the window. By the time I unload the box, the whole case is going to be full. It's sort of symbolic as I feel like I'm outgrowing this room, this house, this town.
I guess I miss college.
“Finally unpacking?” my father asks. I turn to find him leaning in the doorway.
I glance at my watch, and it's only 3 in the afternoon. “What are you doing home already?”
“Slow day at the office for once. That and I didn't sleep well last night, so I thought I'd steal a nap.”
“You mean you sleep?”
“Only when the job permits,” Dad says with a chuckle. “Tough unpacking after that first year at school, huh?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Got a hell of a year behind you. That and you've got all of your old stuff from before you went away—all the memories from high school, from childhood.”
“Getting kind of heavy on me there, Dad.” I hate to admit he's right.
He laughs. “Maybe I'm just getting old. I'll let you get back to work.” He starts to leave then turns back. “You want to have dinner together tonight? Figure I can fire up the grill.”
“Sounds good.”
“All right, I'll be up around six.”June 27, 2006
Anastasia stands at her register, untangling a stack of plastic bags, while we don't have any customers. Meanwhile, I feed another roll of receipt paper into my own register. If anyone else was working by my side like this, I have no doubt we would be talking—idle chatter about the job or what we did over the weekend.
The receipt roll in place, I figure I'll give it a shot. “So are you in school?”
“Excuse me?”
“I asked if you were in school.”
“Yeah, I am,” she replies, still not looking at me.
“College?”
“What do you think?”
I lean against the counter. “So what college do you go to?”
“Stuck at SCC for one more semester,” she says, meaning Shermantown Community College .
“SCC's not so bad.”
She glances at me, putting the bags back on their rack between the two of us. “It's not bad if you're not going anywhere—if you want to spend the rest of your life in Shermantown.”
“What's so bad about that?”
“No one wants to end up in Shermantown,” she says, working her way around to the other side of the counter to look at the displays. “I'll have my associate's after three semesters, though. Then I'll save up money for a semester and go a real school next fall.”
“A buddy of mine's transferring. He just did one year at SCC, though, and now he's transferring to go to Taylor College —same school I go to.”
“Must be nice to have the money to go wherever you want.”
“You know there are financial aid programs, and there's scholarship money—”
“Which is how I'm funding my schooling now, while I work two jobs. But we don't all have parents who are lawyers.”
“How do you know about my father?”
Anastasia rolls her eyes and flips her hair over her shoulder. “His name's all over the news anytime there's a trial in town. What's he pull in each year? Must be six figures.”
“We don't talk about that sort of thing,” I say. A customer comes up and I ring her out for a couple pairs of jeans. When she's gone, I turn back to Anastasia. “So what do your folks do?”
“Mom's a manager at a grocery store. Haven't seen my father since I was six.”
“I'm sorry.”
“I'm not. He didn't want to live with us. We didn't want to live with him. All I miss about him is the extra income.”
Another customer comes, and while I'm dealing with this one, Anastasia heads off into the store.June 28, 2006
“Nice looking shirt,” I comment, folding a maroon long-sleeved t-shirt for one of the customers.
“Thanks,” he says. “I liked it.”
I set it in a bag and send him on his way. I'm thinking I might pick up a shirt like that of my own later in the summer, when it gets marked down a little bit.
“Were you kidding about the shirt?” Anastasia asks.
“Hmm?”
“That shirt—you told him it looked nice. Did you really think so?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised she's talking to me. “I like the color.”
“It's a good color, but that's not the right shirt for it.”
“How do you figure?”
“It's a smart looking color. It works on a button up, or a sweater. Maybe a polo or a nicer t-shirt. But on a shirt like that it's just not the right material.”
“I never gave that much thought to it.”
“No kidding.”
I smirk. “So what color would you pick for that shirt?”
“I wouldn't pick that shirt, period. It's too in-between. If it's summer, you want a t-shirt. If it's colder you want a hoodie or a fleece. The long-sleeved t-shirt is for guys who can't make a decision. It's never going to be comfortable, though, and it's never going to look right.” For the first time I can recall, I say the corner of one of her lips turn upward. “Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?”
“I probably should.” I smile back. “So you say it's not a good shirt for a guy. What about a girl?”
She shrugs. “Not my top pick. But I don't like long sleeves period.”
For just a second, I notice she has nice arms—real thin, but just a little defined.
It's not like I'm going to say anything. I just hadn't really noticed it before. I settle on, “Interesting,” and leave it at that.
June 29, 2006
“So how about you? How is camp?”
Matt hesitates. “It's pretty good, dude.”
“Sounds real convincing,” I say, flipping through one of the final boxes of stuff from school that I haven't opened up yet.
“Well the thing is, I think it's going to be a lot of fun. All of the counselors who have been here before say the kids who come here are great, and I think it's going to be a lot of fun playing sports with them and just hanging out with them and everything. That, and you oughta see some of the girls working here.”
“They meet expectations.”
“Exceed them, my good man. Granted, a couple are attached, but it's mostly single girls and we're getting along real well so far.”
“So what's the downside here?”
“Eh, it's just boring so far. Lots of training and half of it's state-mandated stuff. You know, stuff about how to touch the kids appropriately, and the point at which food's not safe to eat. They have to go over it, but it's all either common sense or stuff that no one's going to remember anyway.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Bottom line is I'm getting paid. And in two days, training ends, and the kids get here.”
I have to admit that, in that moment, I'm a little jealous of Matt. My gig at Stephon's has worked out well enough, but Matt sounds as though he's really on the cusp of something new—more than a job, but an experience.
And then I remember Julie.
“So dude, had you been talking to Julie a lot before you left?”
He hesitates again. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. We were starting talking on IM some almost every day.” He pauses. “Why, did she say something?”
“Sort of. She was just really surprised that you had left town—surprised in a sad way.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Well that's sort of what I was going for—get something going, then leave her wanting more. But I figured after our whole incident at The Palace that was going to be that. So, I don't know, that's interesting.”
“She said you were welcome to call her.”
“Geez dude, where was this when I was in Shermantown?”
“What can I say? When you're infinitely more attractive when you're in another zip code.”
“Very funny.”
“Call it like I see it.”
“All right man, let me know if she says anything else. In the meantime, I've gotta get over to another training session.
“Gotcha. I'll talk to you later man.”
“See ya Preston .”
June 30, 2006
As I'm ringing in an order, I see a man walking straight from an entrance to the store toward the back. He's a big dude with tattoos on his arms, a plain white t-shirt on and a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. You don't see many guys like that around Stephon's. By the time I'm done the customer, he's mere steps from the office door. “Excuse me sir,” I call back.
“Relax, Preston ,” Jermaine says. The man doesn't respond to me, going on and opening the door. Lois pops out, jumping onto him and kissing him. He wraps his arms around her waist to hold her up, then lets her back down. They exchange a few words, then both go into the office, closing the door. “That's Carl.”
“Who's Carl?”
“Lois's boyfriend. Lives in Pennsylvania , visits once every month or two, and that's what happens.”
“Huh. Didn't know she had a boyfriend.”
“Disappointed?”
I smirk. “She's thirty.”
Jermaine shrugs. “Still got a fine looking ass. And besides, you're single now, right?”
“How do you know that?” I know I mentioned Veronica to Julie, and maybe Jermaine before my weekend away to visit her, but I haven't said a word about the break up. Actually, Matt's the only one I've really talked to about it.
Of course, Matt was having some long talks with Julie.
Jermaine laughs. “Word travels fast around a little store like this.” He squirts the counter with his spray bottle, then rubs at it with a square of Bounty . “By the way, you probably don't want to go to the office for at least a half hour.”
“In the store?”
“Man, you see how Lois works. Girl needs to unwind when she's got the chance.”
“I guess so.” For a second, it makes me remember how I felt when I was driving to see Veronica in Duncanville , or to see her at home. On one hand, I'm a little jealous of Lois and Carl. On the other hand, it makes me sort of happy that they're making it work.
On the other hand, I think of how I'll want to use Jermaine's spray on the office desk before I do any work there again.
July 1, 2006
Presto-Chango, there you guys are,” Joey says as we approach him outside the mall's movie theater.
“Hey Joey,” Chang says. “Had to stop off for gas on the way here, sorry we're late.”
“Well come on, the movie started five minutes ago.”
“So it's still in previews,” I put in. “I'm gonna get a soda. You guys want anything?” I'm going for the drink as much because I'm thirsty as to bust Joey's balls. Joey loves the previews.
Chang and Joey head into the theater while I order my coke. It's not until I leave the counter that I feel a certain sting of nostalgia. I remember the last time I was at the movies, just a couple weeks ago, when I visited Veronica.
It's funny, the things you'll remember. She was off all weekend. I remember going to get a soda. “Hey, wait up, will ya?” I asked, one of the few times I confronted her, as she started to walk away from me. She did wait, quiet, and looking around at the movie posters. Like every the theater, the sodas are overpriced and huge, and a small is usually more than enough for me. I ordered a medium, though, figuring we would share. When I offered her a sip, waved me off, reminding me she only drinks diet.
The previews are in full swing as I make my way into the theater. I close my eyes for a second, to help adjust them to the dark. In a moment, I can see again, and spot Chang waving me over.
I remember sitting next to Veronica in the dark of the theater, only the glow of the screen shining on us. I had the soda between us, just in case she changed her mind. I left a hand by the drink, on the arm rest, in case she wanted to hold my hand. When she didn't take it, I brushed my forearm against her upper arm, before slipping my hand down to take hers. She didn't push me off, but she didn't really react either. I looked at her and she didn't even smile.
I look at Chang and Joey, each with their eyes glued on the screen. I suppose I'm lucky to still have them around to go to kill time with, to join me for a movie. I can't talk to either of them about Veronica. I'm not going to be that guy—the one who can't talk about anything other than his ex. I can't help thinking about her, though, and wishing I had a hand to hold, even if that hand was disinterested.
I take a sip from my drink and turn to the screen myself, hoping to forget, if just for a couple hours.