by Richard Fore
Condom-less, I decide to seek sanctuary in the form of the local comic book store. I’ve got an hour or so to kill if I’m to head to Applebee’s twenty minutes early. Only recently did this locale revert back to being allied territory, as a couple of months ago I foolishly turned myself into the pariah of The Vault by asking out its cute, genuinely nerdy and recently single store clerk Molly. After her rejection, I outright avoided going into the store at all for the first month or so, even in the company of friends. Only able to deflect their requests to go so many times, they finally confronted me and I had little choice but to explain that I had set ablaze the Bridge of Casual Friendship forged between Molly and me by asking her out. Refuting the assertion that I was overreacting, I finally relented to returning to the store after learning that Molly had returned to school and was now only working weekends.
Positive it is neither Saturday nor Sunday, I enter the store. Sabrina, the girl now covering Molly’s old shifts, greets me with a friendly hello. One to learn from his past mistakes, I give Sabrina a greeting in return, and a brief wave carefully executed to be done while I’m not actually looking at her. In my eagerness to avoid creating uneasiness with Sabrina as I did with Molly, I realized that the best way to deal with her would be to interact with her as little possible, avoiding any unnecessary conversation while always being civil. To be openly hostile could result in her complaining to the owner about a creepy customer which could result in him banning me from the store entirely, a wholly unacceptable situation.
I immediately head to the very back of the store, complimenting myself on the tactic, as it prevents Sabrina from asking me if I need help with anything or, perish the thought, attempting to begin an actual conversation about comics and such. Had the owner simply hired a male, it would all be so much simpler.
Flanked by the many more than six-sided die and the back issues stretching back to the Golden Age, I’m able to relax a little. Browsing the store will not only eat up some time I likely would have spent pacing back and forth in my dorm room, it serves a function regarding tonight. I can take solace that my girl problems are rather trivial compared to what’s been endured by the likes of characters such as Scott Summers, Peter Parker, Kyle Rayner, and the two tortured souls who share the first name Bruce.
In fact, solidarity with Mr. Wayne seems like a good idea, and having recently read The Long Halloween, I decide to pick up its sequel, Dark Victory. A backup plan, I’ll have something to do in the likely event that things go south with Sonya. Not being an absolute pessimist however, I’ll place it in my trunk lest Sonya spot it if she should get into my car for any after-dinner sojourn we may embark upon.
After some browsing of the discount bins, I make my way up to the counter and Sabrina. She is cute, slightly shorter than Jessica and with a shade darker hair. If she were to cosplay, she’d make a great Kitty Pryde. But our relationship needs to be all business, so I’m aiming to make this brief.
“Hello, again I guess, since I greeted you when you came in,” says Sabrina. “Did you find what you were looking for? You looked like you headed to the back with something specific in mind.” She doesn’t immediately begin to scan my book.
I remember the day I asked out Molly, and how I’d had to wait so long for some sweaty kid to decide whether he or not he was going to buy a poster of Hermione Granger that I’d actually started skimming a trade paperback of Aquaman just so I could be alone with her. (Never having really given Aquaman a chance before, I was pleasantly surprised to find out he’s not as lame as he’s made out to be, that he could even become a character to read occasionally.) Perhaps that will be Sonya’s appraisal of me: Yeah, I went out with him. He’s really not as lame as you’d think once you give him a chance. But what I wouldn’t give for that sweaty kid to be behind me right now, anxiously waiting to purchase his latest Hermione paraphernalia so Sabrina would let me be.
“Yeah, I wanted to pick up Dark Victory,” I say, picking up the book and turning it over to display its bar code.
“I totally have this book. Have you read The Long Halloween?” she asks, taking it from my hands and flipping through it.
“Yeah, I just finished it. That’s why I’m picking this up.”
“That’s cool. He’s my favorite superhero,” Sabrina says, tapping on the cover image of Batman. “Who’s your fav?” She looks at me expectantly, as if she will judge me by my answer.
“I don’t know.” Be civil. “I mean, I used to be really into Marvel with Spider-Man and X-Men. I haven’t really read anything new from Marvel in a long time, though. Disillusioned, I guess. Still read a lot of classic stuff. But lately I’ve been reading Batman because of Batman Begins. I’m just a poser because of the movie. I was never really that big into DC in my younger glory days.”
“Yeah, there’s been a lot of newbies in here because of the movie over the past year. But that’s a good thing. More bat-fans, right? But you’re not really a newbie, just a defector. Did you watch the nineties animated series?”
“Of course.”
“Then I can forgive you, Marvel-Boy.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to think that we have to be like the Capulets and Montagues.”
“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t. And it was a great movie, much better than anything Marvel’s churned out. I’m not surprised it has won so many of you over.”
“Yeah, my friend Chris who’s always been a bat-fan, he treats his DVD like he’s Moses carrying the Ten Commandments.”
“He smashed those though, didn’t he?”
“He did. But Chris will probably find something so wrong with the sequel that he’ll wind up smashing Begins for ever having liked it in the first place.”
Sabrina laughs. “I know fans like that. Actually, I know who you’re talking about because I remember seeing you in here with him before. He comes in a lot to play Magic with the guys. Always plays an all black deck and brags about it.” She places both hands on the counter and tilts her head. “I’m Sabrina, by the way.”
“I know. It’s on your big button.” Sabrina has a button with her name written in crayon pinned to her Green Lantern t-shirt.
“Oh, do you like that? I’m supposed to get an actual nametag soon, but I’m starting to like this. I wrote my name myself.”
“I like that you stylized the S like Superman’s emblem. And it’s good you wrote it in such big letters. Every guy who comes in here is going to want to know your name.”
“Aw, you’re going to make me blush. You wouldn’t like me when I’m blushing.”
“I think I would.”
She looks away then smiles. Finally she scans my book. “That’ll be sixteen seventy-eight. And you, sweet sir, are?” she asks, bagging my purchase.
Enveloped in the conversation, it now occurs to me that I wasn’t supposed to be having a conversation with her to begin with. A more gullible fellow might confuse her friendliness with flirting. While she didn’t specifically mention a boyfriend, fiancé, husband, or impending arranged marriage, she could have easily lied by omission and kept such a thing to herself. Surely there must be some male presence acting the part of her significant other. But regardless, I believe only things related to the comic industry were discussed, keeping it all professional. I’d be more comfortable if our conversation had been featured on Nightline and I could order a transcript of it for study later, but I’m stuck with my own memory. Luckily, I’m a reliable narrator.
Sabrina’s still waiting to hear my name. Giving it to her puts us on the yellow brick road to friendship, but the wizard at the end was just a crock, just as my eventual conviction that Sabrina’s flirting with me will be if we keep on chatting, and I need this place too much to create another disaster like what happened with Molly.
“If you want to know you’ll have to ask Chris,” I say. “Then I’ll be able to know if you’re asking about me.”
“All right, I enjoy a challenge. That’s why I play Ninja Gaiden. So till next week, same bat-t
ime, same bat-store.”
Sabrina definitely isn’t just a girl. But it is time to get out of here. A cold wind is blowing and the time is nigh for the climatic meeting between XX and XY.
It is 7:45 when I pull into the Applebee’s parking lot. Jessica had suggested getting here at 7:40, but then again she also suggested I get a condom. Actually, I’ve spent the past few minutes driving in circles, not wanting to wait an entire twenty minutes inside waiting for Sonya. Fifteen minutes is more manageable.
A Tuesday night, the place isn’t particularly crowded. This is to my advantage. I won’t have to struggle to hear Sonya talk over any overbearing voices. A ponytailed hostess sees me enter. “Hello, would you like a table?” she asks. Her nametag, which lacks the creative adornments of Sabrina’s, identifies her as Brittany. “Not yet. I’m waiting for someone,” I say. There was a pause between the two sentences, although I’m not sure if it was pride at the fact, or that I’m simply not used to saying it. “All right, whenever you’re ready,” says Brittany, who has no identifiable reaction.
I take a seat in the waiting area. Fortunately, I have the bench to myself. It’s the 11th hour, and I don’t know if I want Sonya to come in right now or not come in at all. There is such a thing as over-rehearsing, so I tried to limit myself as to how much conversation planning I’d be doing, but if she were to walk in this very second, I’m not sure if I could think of anything coherent to say to her. I don’t know how to flirt. I don’t know how to be interesting. Guy or girl, I’m sure everyone else in here will be wondering what a girl like her is doing with a guy like me when they see her. No. I don’t need to be like this. Let them wonder. Let a guy remark to his girlfriend that we’re mismatched, and she’ll counter that maybe I just treat Sonya like a princess. I would. I will.
She’ll be here in ten minutes, give or take. Maybe she’ll actually be easy to talk to. Maybe she has a nerdy father who exposed her to a lot of my world when she was young. Maybe she’s tired of overconfident jerks that only want to sleep with her, and will find my nervousness cute. Maybe she’ll actually be relieved when I don’t try and make a move on her. I just hope she won’t be giving me some kind of Zen test which I would pass because I won’t try to have sex with her, and the reward is for her to actually offer sex.
No, I just need to focus on dinner right now. I should go to the restroom. Then come out and see Sonya waiting and give her a hello wave and see how eager she is to wave back. I’d avoid the sudden panic I might feel when she walks in and sees me sitting like this. Restroom, that’s a good idea. Yeah.
It is much cleaner than the one in my dorm lobby. It also lacks a condom machine. Sex again, bad line of thinking. I run cold water over my hands longer than needed and blow dry excessively. I look at myself in the mirror and imagine Sonya standing next to me holding my hand. I imagine walking into The Vault with her. Would Sonya get jealous if she felt Sabrina was talking with me too enthusiastically? Would she give me a good-natured chiding about how I’m not allowed to go there anymore unless she accompanies me?
I open the restroom door with the gusto of Mega Man leaping into a boss room. But I don’t see Sonya in the waiting area. She’s not at the bar either, or sitting alone at one of the tables. I return to the bench and wait. She should be here by now. She’s on her way. She’ll be here.
I exchange a glance with Brittany, though I’m trying to avoid doing so. I wonder if she’s wondering if I’m going to be stood up. I wonder if she’s wondering if I deserve to be stood up. Should I apologize to her for lying about meeting someone? It’s 8:05 now, time enough to start worrying. She could be running late, though experience says she’s just not coming. It’s like what happened with Molly all over again. No. This is worse than what happened with Molly. With Molly there was simply rejection. No false hope, no initial sense of having succeeded. There was purity in her rejection.
Molly had broken up with her boyfriend, or he had broken up with her. I wasn’t entirely sure who ended it. I assumed it was Molly, as I was having difficulty envisioning such a scenario that would allow for a guy to willingly leave a girl like Molly. There’s a tremendous population disparity between the number of nerdy guys and girls out there. I remember being in kindergarten and being taught the alphabet with the help of the Letter People, who were humanoid letters. Consonants were male. Vowels were female. That equaled out to there being 21 males and 5 females. 21 male nerds for every 5 female nerds seems about right. And while certainly Molly must have some flaws, as no one is perfect, how could they outweigh her desire to attend midnight releases of comic-based films in costume and a willingness to keep around a VCR just so she can watch Star Wars and see Han fire first?
Logically, it made no sense for Molly’s boyfriend to have broken up with her. But Molly had been distraught, that’s how I learned of the breakup. A guy, not un-Harry Potter-like, had entered The Vault with a bouquet of flowers for Molly, and she mentioned the breakup while they were talking. Ostensibly, the flowers were to cheer her up, although it was obvious he was simply making a preemptive strike against Molly’s cabal of other suitors. The Vault has a clientele approximately 95% male, around 90% of which are single and interested in Molly. I was no different. I counted myself among the numbers of the Friends of Molly fraternity.
And when Molly became single, we all thought our time had come. Ordinarily, it would be proper protocol to give Molly some time to grieve and move on, lest you become the discarded rebound guy. But given the specifics of the situation, the sheer number of salivating comic book geeks already sketching out designs of costumes they hoped Molly would wear when they took her to Comic-Con, quick action was necessary. Flower Boy was already making his move. I decided to make mine before it was too late.
The next day, after the sweaty kid crushing on Hermione had left the store (he did ultimately buy the poster) I had resolved to ask Molly out. Grabbing a few comics at random from the discount bins, I approached the counter.
“Hey, Molly,” I said.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Not much. How are you?”
“Just call me Ms. Fantastic.” Molly counted out my selections. “What have we here? Stocking up on X-Men? Oh look, there’s Psylocke. Tits, ass, legs, purple hair, part Asian, what more could you want?”
I looked down and saw Betsy Braddock adorning one of the covers. But was this Molly’s usual sparring sarcasm, or a denouncement of the entire male species? I was tempted to abort the entire operation then and there. But that day I displayed out of character courage and pressed on. “Actually, I don’t really need these. I just wanted an excuse to come up and talk to you. Would you like to go out sometime?”
Molly looked at me the way a vet would at a cherished pet that was about to be put down. “Oh. Well, you know my boyfriend Scott and I broke up recently. And the way I’m feeling right now, I’d probably just bring you back to my house to poison you and bury you in the crawl space. So I wouldn’t be very good company right now. I’ve been giving all my guy friends a pretty hard time, too. Maybe some other time.”
Scott. Molly’s boyfriend was actually named Scott. I considered the possibility he was the same Scott that Jessica was engaged to. It would have made sense. Jessica’s Scott was not above such behavior. Molly could have found out Scott was engaged to another woman and then broken up with him. It would have explained why she was so upset. Perhaps Molly possessed the Solomon-like wisdom to leave and not take back a guy who cheated on her. I could give Jessica a manila envelope filled with photos of Scott cheating on her with her two best friends and her reaction would only be to become angry with me for making her aware of the situation and to blame her girlfriends for seducing her pure-hearted fiancé and then deciding that with them it was only about sex, whereas she and Scott actually made love, with her solution being to give Scott sex whenever and wherever he wanted, so he wouldn’t have a need to get it from someone else.
But they were not the same Scott. I remembered Molly had once ment
ioned her boyfriend studied graphic design, and Jessica’s Scott had never studied anything. That actually made things worse, as if there was a Scott Squadron out there, banded together from remote galaxies systematically involving themselves with any woman I became or could become interested in. Scott the bad boy. Scott the jock. Scott the graphic designer. A perfect, unique Scott would exist for all different types of women, dispatched to a specific girl all in a grand scheme of targeted cockblocking.
“I understand,” I told Molly. After that I started avoiding the store, not so much for my benefit but for hers. I didn’t want her to have to be continually exposed to someone she rejected and always put into an uncomfortable situation. It was best for both of us that way.
It’s 8:30 now. Painful flashbacks do pass the time. I know Sonya isn’t coming. I’m tempted for a moment to wait and leave when Brittany is out of sight, but think better of it. With her hosting experience Brittany could spot a guy who’s about to be stood up the moment he walks in the door. She never wondered if, only when, I’d be stood up. With one look at me she had seen everything. Sonya, Molly, Jessica, perhaps all the way back to prom night. It was probably to her credit that she kept from laughing at me when I walked in thinking I’d actually be having someone join me.
I get into my car and push the seat back, closing my eyes and wondering whether I should call Jessica. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d want to talk to about it, or even worse, she’d want to come over and talk. And it would probably help me to see her. But that isn’t what I want, to have to be helped.