by Karmon Kuhn
She lowered her hands and her eyes sparkled at the sight of the bundle of money from my satchel, “I’ll start you a fitting room with a few things! What size do you need?”
My lips dripped down around my teeth, and my brows furrowed. Unsure of how to proceed, I asked again, “What would you suggest?”
“Hm . . .” For the third time, she stared at my body and then raised her hands, making a clicking sound with her thumb and middle finger, “I get it! Foreign sizing to American sucks! I should’ve guessed from the accent. You look like you’ll be about my size, so I’ll start there. Also, we’ll definitely get you some makeup, okay?”
“Makeup?”
She pressed a fingertip against the arch of her lips. “We have a great brand for scar coverup.”
She whirled around the shop, leaving me touching my one true insecurity and chose this and that from the shelves and limbs of metal displays. She placed everything in a single-person partitioned area with a curtain pulled aside. Then, she added a few shoes.
“Why don’t you try those on and let me know if you need something bigger or smaller."
I was ushered into the small room and the curtain was shut. I pondered this all for a moment. A small room called a fitting room. Alone. Surrounded by clothing. I was told to “try those on.”
Aha! The shop allowed me to try items before committing to them. It made sense. As most personal items were custom made at home, we didn’t need to worry about a good fit or appropriate function, but I supposed that here, where everything was mass produced, checking to be sure that things were appropriate was useful.
As I undressed, I caught a glimpse of the expression that had frozen on my face and was horrified. I shook my head from side to side and felt my hair brush against my back. I practiced smiles until my brow smoothed out and the edges of my lips were upturned. I wasn’t sure that this was right, but I wanted to make a connection with this human if bonding was possible. It felt so unnatural compared to my interaction with Penny, though. Perhaps, it would be harder to attract an unlikable female than a likeable one.
“Everything okay in there?” I heard from outside the curtain.
“Yes!” I startled and chose a random article from the “fitting room.”
Each piece was dark and fitted, much like the dress of the attendant. I preferred bright colors like my sea glass collection, but I supposed that a human knew human style better than I did. So, I tried on each piece, and they hugged my body comfortably. The fabrics were soft except for the shoes which were sturdy and structured. After trying on a few pieces, I came out with the clothing on to ask the attendant some questions. Before I could speak, she bolted over.
“You look great!” she said, “Those Doc Martens really make the outfit too. Very minimal 90’s grunge.”
“Doc Martens?”
“The boots,” She answered. “They look great on you. The distressed skinny jeans are perfect too.”
I was satisfied with her comments and decided to purchase the clothing she had chosen. Back at the counter, she looked at my chest and asked, “Do you want to get measured for bras? I can do that too?”
“Yes.” I answered, unsure of what a bra was.
She leaned below the counter and out of sight and came back up with a line of rolled material covered in numbers. She came back around to my side of the counter and instructed me to hold my arms up. She connected the end of the roll to a number in a few different positions over my body and concluded, “You’re a B. I’ll go get you a 34 to try on. Or would you prefer bralettes?”
“What is a bralette?” I asked.
She hesitated for a moment with a look that I couldn’t gauge. “They’re like bras. They provide some support, but they’re more comfortable.”
“A bralette please.” I stood at the counter and watched her scuttle around again. All of the choices were becoming tiresome. After a few moments, she brought me three choices. I had to keep my eyes neutral as I tried to understand how these all fit into the same category of item and in what way they should be worn.
“These all come with matching panties too! My boyfriend loves the white ones especially!” she said, closing one of her eyes in a wink.
“These are unisex articles?”
She looked at me blankly and then laughed. “Ha! You’re funny.”
“I will just have them all, please.”
I left the shop with both hands full of bags, and walked back to the inn. I noticed many others with such bags on the sidewalk. Were any of them tsuṣuṣe like me, buying what they needed for their missions? How many others were just acquisitive humans creating waste and over purchasing?
Chapter 5
B
ack in the room, I unpacked the bags and placed the articles in the storage furniture. I stood back and marveled at all of the fabric and stitching. The time and resources spent on these items was nearly upsetting. Given that I’d never worn clothing except suits for temperature regulation during long travel, I had no point of reference for owning these kinds of items. I wondered how this kind of need or worse, desire, could be sustained. Such waste.
I folded the bags and put them beside the articles. Rather than throwing them away as the foolish humans did and waiting for them to swirl in the Pacific, I would bring them directly to the tsez̈ø for repurposing.
For the appointment with Penny, I chose a soft, dark shirt and gray pants, called jeans, along with the flesh toned bralette and panties, a pair of plain, black socks, and the deep red Doc Martens. While they were heavy, I appreciated that they were colorful. I had to fight with the bralette to find a suitable fit and nearly fell over the bed trying to balance while I clasped it around my back. When I looked in the mirror, I felt that perhaps I’d put it on incorrectly. I hadn’t noticed any such article on the women I’d seen.
I pounded on the device and searched for its information setting. After sufficient frustrated tapping, I found it. I typed in “bralette” to the search function and learned that bras and bralettes were meant to support breasts and were worn under other articles of clothing. My eyes widened. I’d almost left my room with a bralette on top of my shirt. If my “accent” wasn’t enough to establish that I was a foreigner, that would’ve clearly labeled me as other.
Again, I fought with the article, but the struggle was worth it in the end. The clothing looked similar to their fit on the artificial human figures in the clothing store, and I was satisfied. To my eyes, I was attractively dressed and clean. My features were mostly symmetrical, aside from the scar, and I looked healthy.
I tried out a few expressions in the mirror, from a toothy grin to a full-bellied laugh and a submissive, calling gesture. While I was shaken by Darius’s and the shop attendant’s comments about my appearance, I was still thankful. I might have attracted some negative attention, but there had been nothing to suggest that the humans knew just how different I was. There were horror stories about tails that hadn’t completely split or ears and noses that hadn’t protruded properly, and I was glad that my modification was seamless.
Rather than fight the device for directions, I slid downstairs and asked the desk attendant where I could find a ‘Mug and Muffins’. Just as gruff as before, he grunted, “Down the sidewalk to the right. Turn left on Marina Ave. You can’t miss it. Big sign.”
“Thank you.” I said, but he’d already gone back to his ‘reading’ as he’d been doing the day before.
***
As I walked down the sidewalk from the inn to the meeting place, the city was agreeable. Stagnant air whipped the buildings, unlike the blustery wind of the ocean air, but the sunshine felt glorious on my skin, and the reflection from the structures and vehicles was quite beautiful. I enjoyed seeing the elementary technologies as I passed by them. There were lights that instructed vehicles to stop or start, screens that displayed messages or images inside shop windows, and the handheld video boxes or virtual volumes that nearly everyone had as I passed
by.
Once at the cafe, I stood and took in the surroundings. The shop had a great deal of decor hung all around on the walls and displayed on every available surface. Signs with nonsensical mathematical equations like “Caffeine=life” and photos of cups filled with dark liquid were everywhere. The floor had a covering of seats and tables with people peppered throughout. And in the back corner, there were shelves of books.
A strange thin peep registered in my throat, and I nearly skipped to the shelf. I’d seen so few full human manuscripts in my life. Even in the libraries at the tsez̈ø, most of the collection lacked pages or was made up of pieces of separate volumes. But these, tattered and worn as some were, had bound spines with nothing missing! A sign atop the shelf read “lending library,” so with tender touch, I explored the choices.
I’m not sure how long I stood there, but eventually, I heard a gruff noise behind me, like a growl in someone’s throat. I turned to see that a tall male stood behind me and evidently waited to make a selection. I grabbed the book that my fingers were currently on and let out a sheepish apology, to which I received no response.
Thank oceans that I wasn’t hunting males. As much as my people could be cold and formal, these men were cold without the formality! Rude and so far malodorous, aside from the clean scent of Darius, my fellow tsuṣuṣe. I found a seat near the door where Penny would be able to find me and settled in to read Alice in Wonderland.
***
Several chapters into Alice’s adventure, I looked up and spotted Penny crossing the street. A few of the people around her stopped to look, their body language showed interest and attraction. She must have fit the cultural beauty standards. Another positive of discovering her.
She waved at me as she came into the store and sat down across from me, smiling. I understood the perception of her beauty. Her hair was shiny and strong, curling loosely and cut to frame her face. She’d painted her plump lips red and added some sort of tint over her eyelids and along her lashes. She also wore facial jewelry that dangled from her nose like the clothing store attendant’s. Her appearance was neat and seemed physically healthy, but there was something else about her. Something that I couldn’t immediately place. Something magnetic.
“Have you ever been to this place?” she asked me.
“No,” I answered.
“Oh, I love it here. It’s great for studying, and they have open mics where people do stand-up routines or perform original music and stuff. And the pastries are amazing! Lots of vegan stuff! Have you ordered yet?”
I stared. What did it mean to order? To offer some kind of response, I held up the book.“I’ve only read.”
“Do you know what you want? My treat,” she said, smiling again, showing her teeth this time.
“Your treat?” I tilted my head and again was unsure of what she meant.
“Sorry, I need to stop using weird phrases. I mean, I’ll pay for yours if you tell me what you’d like. A coffee or something to eat maybe? They also have Italian sodas here that are great!”
“I will have whatever you are having,” I answered. I had been given this tip by an instructor at the tsez̈ø. Because the human diet is so varied and culturally dependent, he stated it was best to eat like your tsùges̈ss until you became familiar with the foods of the people.
“I won’t let you down!” She turned and walked to the attendant behind the counter.
She returned with two golden, crispy puffs with a dark filling.
“Chocolate croissants! Vegan! I also ordered some cappuccinos, but I got them with oat milk. If you want some real food after, I don’t mind getting some sandwiches or whatever too. I just figured that you might like these. They’re excellent here!”
“What is vegan?” I asked.
“There I go again! Sorry! I’m a vegan, which means that I don’t eat, wear, or buy anything that comes from animals.”
I’d never heard of such a thing, but the food in front of me didn’t look as though it was made of any animal that I’d ever seen or learned about. I pushed it with my finger, and the food made a delicate crackle as pieces of the golden exterior fell onto the ceramic plate.
“Why do you eat this way? Is it common practice?” As I asked the question, Penny picked up the puff with her hands, pushing the end into her mouth and pulling off a bit with her teeth. She then covered her mouth with her other hand and sat the croissant back down on its dish. Even though her hand covered her face, I could still see tiny golden flakes sticking to the side of her lip. As if she knew what I was thinking, she picked up a piece of paper from under her dish and wiped the wisp of food away.
With her mouth still slightly full she answered me, “I stopped eating meat as a kid because it grossed me out, but I stopped eating eggs, milk, gelatin, and all of that stuff because of the animals. I don’t want any animals to suffer for my food.”
“I see.”
I was still curious but I was too excited about the food to continue talking. I picked up the croissant and mimicked the steps to eat it. The moment that it hit my tongue, I could understand why so many of my community members loved human food. I had heard about the nutrient-barren foods that humans ate being delicious, but this was beyond delicious. I’d never enjoyed food so much in my life, and I had to fight the urge to shove the whole confection in my mouth immediately.
On impulse, I smiled, and I was proud that I was already building some cultural reflexes. Hopefully, I could learn some colloquialisms as quickly so that I wouldn’t be as easily identified as a foreigner. So far, my missteps had been minor, but I needed to fit in to avoid discovery. No matter how short or rushed my training, I knew better than to reveal myself as strange.
“Do you like it?” Penny asked, excited to hear my answer.
“Yes. Very much.” I responded and then added, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I thought this might be a safe choice. Are you a coffee drinker?”
“No,” I said, “But, I like to try new things.”
“You haven’t had a cappuccino before?” she asked.
“No.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat. A cappuccino with a croissant is about as good as it gets!”
I assumed that she was being hyperbolic and was proud of myself for recognizing this. But, rather than congratulate myself on these small wins, I put my mental efforts into furthering the bonding process.
“I know that you are a nursing student. What else can you tell me?” I leaned forward and pulled my long dark hair away from my shoulder. I uncovered my neck to show interest and vulnerability as I’d learned.
“Hmm. I love to read, I’m a cat person . . .”
I interrupted her at this, startled. “What is a cat person?”
“Oh! Sorry, I meant that I like cats. People always say that they’re a dog person or a cat person depending on which one they like better. I like cats. I have two.”
“Two cats. They’re domesticated animals?” The clarification calmed me. She must be an appropriate human tsùges̈ss and not some “cat” species of which I wasn’t aware.
“Yeah! Pets! Here, let me show you pictures!”
At this, she pulled out her device and pressed it several times, progressing through a number of different visual displays. Then, she showed it to me with pictures of two hairy creatures. They both had four legs and long tails. Their hair was multicolored, one with light and dark gray stripes and the other dappled gray and orange. They pranced around or yawned lazily in their individual photos, and in some of the pictures they even laid next to each other for warmth or perhaps to show affection.
“Those are my babies,” she said, and again, I was confused and alarmed.
“You mean pets,” I clarified.
“Hahaha. Yes. Literally, they are my pets, but figuratively, they feel like my kids. I love them a lot.”
“They’re quite cute,” I commented, hoping that cats were in fact cute animals.
“Why do you miss them?”
“My apartment complex doesn’t allow pets, so I had to leave them with my dad in Indiana,” she answered. The sides of her mouth began to point downward and her eyes glittered a little with moisture.
“I’m sorry that you are far from them,” I said and boldly placed my fingers atop the hand that she kept folded on the table.
She looked up at me, and her lips spread across her cheeks in a pleasant grin until the counter attendant yelled our names, and Penny left to get our cappuccinos. As she stood, I detected a hint of musk, the fragrance of budding attraction. As well as I could attract with close proximity through air, skin contact was better, and fluid transfer even more effective still.
She came back with two cups full of a frothy, white liquid with a deep brown pattern on the top, like ripples of water. It was so hot that the air over it unfurled visibly in cloudy whisps.
I watched as she blew air over it and then, carefully took a drink.
“Mmm,” she moaned. “Try dipping a bit of the croissant in.”
I tore a corner of the croissant off and dipped it into the cappuccino, swirling the pattern away, and then put it into my mouth. I had never had flavors quite like these before, and again, I better appreciated human food as many of my people did. The sensation was warm and welcoming. The flavors gave me so many elements to focus on. I closed my eyes and simply enjoyed it.
“What do you think?”
“These are both delicious. Thank you.”
“Absolutely,” Penny said, and then continued, “So, tell me more about you!”
“I also like to read. I find books and language to be great tools for understanding the human mind,” I was unsure if I should share so honestly or if I should create a persona separate from myself instead.
“I completely agree. What kind of books do you like to read?” She mirrored my behavior from earlier and showed me her neck and clavicle. I silently congratulated myself on how quickly the bonding process was progressing.