by Danda K.
”QVC is holding their breath in anticipation of your call,” I tease.
Camilla is obsessed with all things on the QVC Channel. And she always ends up buying the most absurd, yet thoughtful, gadgets. Things that only a generous, albeit slightly gullible, girl like my best friend would be inclined to “need.” I’m sure they know her by name now. She always told me they gave her two of whatever she ordered by accident as an excuse to give me one. But I knew the truth.
She playfully scolds me, “Oh shut up, you wench. You love it.”
Changing the subject, I ask, “So, how’s Harvard treating you?”
I hear a low sigh, “It’s amazing but brutal, and these new courses are no joke. I’m lucky I have time to shower lately.” My eyebrows scrunch together in disgust at the idea.
“And Shane?”
She stays quiet a minute, and I hear a door slam in the background. She speaks quieter now, almost in a whisper, “We’re great. Just extremely busy. Balancing school and our relationship does have its challenges. But we’re making it work.”
“That’s great, Milla. He’s a great guy. And you know how hard that is for me to admit.” She chuckles through the phone.
“He really is, and I adore him. He just drives me a little crazy--” she’s interrupted by loud knocks on the door that she must have closed for some privacy.
“Oh no, no, you are NOT wearing that shirt! Change it! You look like the purple Teletubbie, babe!” I hear Shane defending his outfit of choice, but, as usual, my best friend wins the argument.
Laughing now, she brings her focus back to me. “Anyway, we’re doing date night. Shane insists it’s important for us to go out at least once a month no matter how busy we get.” She sighs in contentment. “I can’t wait for us to unwind. But, he chose an Indian place, and I don’t even know where to begin figuring out what to wear to an Indian restaurant.”
I shake my head and smile at their antics.
“I hate to cut you off Cam, but I need to figure out my outfit! I love you, my badass best friend!” Milla hangs up immediately after, never waiting for me to say it back. Because she knows I won’t.
She knows I can’t.
Just when I feel like my day is turning out to be pretty awesome, the realization of how I reacted to my father crashes into me like a Mack Truck on a highway. I can’t believe I actually said all that to him. Consequences be damned.
But what’s the worst he can do? Kick me out? I probably could have afforded to live on my own for a while now; I save almost everything I earn.
The house has been paid off since I was a kid so I don’t pay rent, just the gas bill, which is cheap for our small house. Surprisingly, my dad pays the electric and other bills. I’m really just left with my cell phone and a credit card I rarely use. I receive financial aid for my online college courses, so I’m not buried in student loan debt either. Then why don’t I just take the leap? Be on my own?
Well, because the thought alone petrifies me.
I need to do something.
I spot a gas station across the street, and my feet carry me to it so I can escape these invisible walls I feel closing in on me.
Three
Cameron
I head into the store, desperate to be alone. My black boots soundlessly trek ahead as I keep my head down and wander around aimlessly. Why I feel like a tiny 7-Eleven is an answer, I’ll never know. For the most part, it’s quiet. A few teenagers are huddled together as if they’re conspiring.
I try to listen as I stand in the card aisle right next to theirs. I peek through the top and notice one of the guys, a tall, lanky blonde with a red Nike tee, pointing behind himself to the refrigerator of beer. He whispers, “I’ll grab it while you two go to the register and distract the guy.”
The kid next to him, much shorter and wider with darker hair, nods in agreement. “It’s definitely a good conversation starter.”
They both snicker quietly to each other. They’re trying to steal beer. A third walks over, holding a box of tampons. Real original.
He speaks unnecessarily loud, “I don’t know why I have to be the one to get her damn plugs! I’m not the one who needs them!”
An older man at the other end of the aisle looks over at him in disgust, shakes his head, and then continues about his business.
I look down at the cards again, trying to get a handle on my anxiety. I pick up a pink birthday card, reading the kind words for someone’s daughter. My parents never gave me a birthday card or even wished me a happy birthday.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by loud voices again, except they’re closer now. I look up, and two of the boys are in the aisle with me now, one of them kicking a Hacky Sack between his feet like a soccer ball.
I hear a small thud by my foot and quickly jump back before looking down to find the knitted ball.
Before I know it, the tall blonde guy is bending over next to me, reaching for it. On instinct, I shield my face with my arms protectively, and step out of the way as if it was a bomb he was picking up instead of a toy.
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted two heads. “Uhh, sorry?” Giving me a sideways glance, he walks away.
What the hell, Cam? You’re acting like you’re standing in a field of landmines. Get it together!
I inwardly scold myself as I discreetly eye their next move and watch as they return to the beer aisle. Whatever. I was their age not too long ago.
I just turned twenty-one, so I could do the “cool” thing and offer to help these clueless, somewhat innocent-looking, kids by offering to buy the damn forties.
The selfless part of me wants to help them just so they can have a good time and enjoy their youth.
But the adult in me would never actually contribute to underage drinking.
And the selfish in me wants to revel in the idea that there’s one thing I’m sure I have that they don’t: a valid driver’s license I could use to buy beer. Legally.
Yet I imagine the life they’re living is carefree, and they’re just able to enjoy high school. Basically, the complete opposite of everything that was Cameron Jade Nasaro’s teenage years.
So, no, why should I help them?
A deep, dark place inside me that I don’t like to acknowledge wants to imagine everyone at that age has it as hard as I did, and life didn’t just decide to deal me such a shitty hand. Feeling guilty about thinking like that, I internally shake off my nerves and walk over to their aisle. I’ll just help them out.
Plus, I need them to get out of the way. For some reason, I’m considering buying one of those cheesy romance novels they’re currently blocking.
I slowly walk towards them, feeling my heartbeat grow more erratic with every step I take. Once I’m a few feet away, I freeze, just staring at them. I guess they sense me because all three turn around and eye me curiously.
After a few seconds of staring, they look between each other with confusion. Their curious eyes turn agitated as they look back at me once again.
“I...uh…” I try to muster up a coherent sentence, but all I feel is bile rising in my throat.
“You, what?” the short, stocky one interjects.
I forego my attempt to help and rush past instead.
I quickly grab the first book I get my hands on from the spinning stand next to them. Making a hasty decision, I grab myself a Colt 45 out of the fridge and head straight for the cash register. As I wait in the small line, my foot taps restlessly against the floor.
What the hell am I doing? Why am I so flustered?
It’s not like everyone who walks by can somehow hear the shit storm that goes on inside my brain. I’m out right now because being home arguing with my sperm donor while he throws a tantrum would make Chinese water torture feel like a spa treatment.
I just don’t want to do it anymore. It’s always another argument. Another day in my soul-numbing life that I continue to endure because I can’t put on my big girl panties and be on my own.
As I walk up to the counter, the
three guys from before walk out of the store behind me.
Releasing a breath, I look up and notice the cashier. He’s tall, maybe 6’4”, with broad shoulders. He looks early to mid-twenties and has what I can only assume is shaggy dirty blonde hair. It’s hard to tell under his beanie hat. His skin is light but has a hint of an olive tone, which somehow makes it look like he’s soft yet still masculine. He definitely drinks a ton of water with skin that smooth.
The fuck does that even mean?
I watch his hands as he counts some bills before placing them in the register, looking content with where his life is at the moment. What I wouldn’t give to ever feel anything like “content.”
That’s enough of that Cam, get your shit together! I argue with myself for the third time in less than ten minutes.
I place my items on the counter, not making eye contact. As I rock back and forth on my feet with my hands in my pockets, I spot a Snickers bar in the chocolate display on the counter and quickly place it on top.
Finally looking at the cashier, he gives me a kind and friendly smile. I don’t return it, though. I turn away and glance outside to where people are pumping gas.
Why is he smiling at me?
Hysteria builds in my gut, and I wanna rip my skin off to rid the pins and needles spreading all over my body. My brain feels fogged with anxiety, so I don’t hear the cashier’s question.
“Huh?” I ask, still dizzy from my crazy.
“Big plans?” he repeats with a grin.
Damn, those dimples. I feel vomit rise in the form of words when I blurt out, “I crave chocolate when I’m on my period!” The whole store appears to be still now, silent. I can’t tell if it’s because of what I announced or if my mind is playing tricks on me.
What the hell did I just say?!
He gets a kick out of my outburst, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head as he rings up my chocolate bar. I feel like I should just dig my grave right here.
The thing about social anxiety is it’s not always the inability to engage in social situations. It also comes in the form of spewing the most absurd comments, just to ease the barely held together tension coursing through your body.
I have the luxury of experiencing both.
He holds up my book, waving it in front of me. “I was talking about this.” He gestures with his other hand to the beer. “And this.” I do a double-take of the book I chose and squeeze my eyes shut. I open them again quickly, hoping that somehow the cover has changed in the seconds my eyes were closed.
My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. Of course, of course, the book I chose has a half-naked couple on the front touching and staring seductively at one another.
Oh, God. Out of all the books I could have grabbed, I would grab the one that looks like soft porn. Plus the forty. Yep, he’s definitely thinking I’m some love-torn masturbator who spends her Wednesdays hiding in her room drinking, crying, and getting herself off.
I’m like a deer in headlights, unable to move and just staring at him. C’mon Cam, think smart! Think smart! You can get yourself out of this!
I look at him with what I hope is an I’m not at all fazed by his comment look in my eyes, but damn. Blue eyes; of course, he has blue eyes. Not only are they a beautiful ocean blue...they seem to be piercing into me now with curiosity.
I say the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s for my brother!” And, this just keeps getting worse. That was the exact opposite of the first thing that came to mind.
With a wink, he says, “He should really stick to the classics.” What does he know about the classics? He’s resting one arm on the counter, and he taps on the book from hell before adding, “Chapter twenty-five is where it really gets steamy.”
He reads romance novels, too? I shake my head at the thought.
With a tight smile, I reply, “Yeah, uh, I’ll let him know.” How much worse can this get? He’s leaning towards me, both elbows on the counter, but I shy away from him, uncomfortable. His eyes immediately widen with concern, and he stands up straight.
His voice is much more professional now. “Your total comes to $13.50.”
I place a twenty on the counter and quickly remove my hand, placing it in my pocket. He takes the money, gets my change, and gently places it on the counter, stepping back when finished. I look at him, skeptical. I must have freaked him out so much he’s afraid to make contact with me.
I try to end this awkward interaction on a positive. “Thanks,” I say as I collect my money.
He responds sincerely, “No problem at all, and if you ever need--”
“I won’t. Goodnight,” I interrupt, then turn and burst through the glass door.
I’m speed walking down the street, clutching my green Jansport and the white plastic bag holding the contents of doom. I don’t stop until the gas station is several blocks behind me, and I’ve turned into an alleyway. I lean up against a wall until I feel my heart return to normal.
I take in the quiet and secluded alley, and it’s just what I need to feel like I’m away from any and all human life. Just me, and what I hope is a sweet little puppy rummaging through the dumpster I’m currently next to…
◆◆◆
I slowly back away from the dumpster because the “puppy” is starting to sound a lot more like a rat. I walk down the alley, looking up and admiring the sky above me.
It isn’t quite nighttime yet, but the sky is sporting a pink-orange hue, so I know it’s approaching. The light makes my long, unruly brown hair appear more golden as I look down and twist some in my fingers. It’s quiet and serene here; everything my life has never been, but exactly what I need.
The alley itself is mainly tall, white vinyl fences separating the backs of homes and a couple of stores with a small driveway area. Another large green dumpster is placed right beside a metal door that leads to “Bagels & More.”
As I walk deeper into the alley, I contemplate whether I should stay here and relax in my newfound zen, or go home, head straight for my room, and lock the door. Either way, this warming beer in my bag will be put to good use, and as much as I hate to admit it, so will the book.
I spot a plastic chair next to a white concrete wall with a brown garage door in the center and take it as a sign to sit down.
I sit in the chair for an hour and a half. The forty is almost done, and I’m knees deep into this damn book from hell.
Well, if hell consisted of two people who were once best friends but now hate each other and have so much sexual chemistry, the book is bound to burst into flames...then yes, from hell.
I never knew I could be a sucker for a steamy romance novel.
“So, how does your brother like the book?” I jump at the voice, looking up to find the cashier from the gas station standing over me.
Oh shit, not again...
Despite being alone in a dark alley with this strange man, my flight response doesn’t seem to be kicking in like it usually does.
“I, uh...” I can’t seem to find any words.
Damn my life to hell. Why can I never just make a coherent sentence when I’m around new people? You’d think I’m illiterate and not a girl who graduated high school with honors and is now working through her third round of business management courses.
“I told you Chapter 25 was a steamy one,” he indicates with his chin towards the book and waggles his eyebrows.
“What the hell do you want, and why are you following me?” I defensively cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Following you? You’re sitting in front of my apartment.”
Oh. Of course, I am.
He squints at me. “Are you always this snippy when trespassing on people’s property?”
“It’s hardly trespassing. I’m in a public alleyway.”
“Yes, and sitting on my chair,” he states matter-of-factly, pointing to where I’m parked.
“Oh...I...Uh...I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” Defeated, I stand and attempt to gather my things a
nd my bearings. I pick up my bag, put the book away, and grab the forty off the ground.
“You always drink and read in dark alleyways...?” He’s searching my face. I guess this is when I tell him my name. Fuck it. I’m all about doing new things today, I guess.
“Oh, I’m Cameron.” I pause and correct my statement. “Well, Cam for short.”
He huffs out a small chuckle and says, “Okay, Well-Cam.” There’s a pause for a minute before he continues, “My name’s Jaxon. You’re welcome to use my chair to read any time you want. However, I don’t suggest you sit out here by yourself in the dark, impairing your judgment with both alcohol and trashy romance novels. Nothing good can come from that.” He finishes his statement nonchalantly and begins to walk towards the gate to his backyard.
I stand there, frozen and surprisingly calm. Not a sound is going off in my head: no red flashing lights or warning signs. For once, a stranger being genuine actually feels genuine.
He stops before he closes his gate and says, “Oh, and Cam...?”
I stare at him and swallow hard, my mouth suddenly drier than a desert.
I clear my throat and answer him, “Uhmmm, yeah?”
“Your shoes are untied.”
I look down at my feet as I hear the click of his gate closing. Then the sounds of his boots on the concrete, keys jingling, and finally, the door closing.
