That afternoon, the sun beat down and the humidity sucked away my will as I shoved our eco conscious push mower with my last reserves of strength. If I’d followed my dad’s advice, his, “It’s going to get hot today. You should mow before ten,” then I wouldn’t have nearly died of heat stroke and been a perspiring mess, but I wouldn’t have compiled my new favorite playlist to listen to while mowing, either. My dad didn’t exactly understand my priorities, then again, sometimes I didn’t either.
Later, before work, I almost skipped the shower. I hated showers anyway, but haunted from remnants of my dreams, the idea of voluntary immersion was almost too much. I saw in my mind the contemptuous curl of Sheila’s mouth if I didn’t take a shower. My coworker’s disgust would last my entire shift, far longer than the clawing fear of a two minute dunk.
I survived the trauma then rode my rusty trusty bike to work letting the sun and wind dry my boring brown hair on the way through the winding culdesacs to downtown, passing the smoothie place to pull up at the red brick two story stuck between a Chinese restaurant and a pet store.
The sign, ‘Jupiter’s Moon’ as far as I could tell, had nothing to do with the music shop that sold a little bit of sheet music, mostly CD’s and videos downstairs, while upstairs housed the massive record collection.
After I clocked in, I stood sorting the new music, the stuff that would sell from the ones I’d stick in a pile for people who’d be willing to dig for it, when the bell on the front door jangled.
I looked over at Sheila where she swayed with her iPod completely oblivious to the front door, blond hair swirling around her shoulders in a way that reminded me of my dream. Sheila was the pretty girl, hired to lure customers. I was the tough girl, hired to keep the customers from taking off with stock, at least that’s what Tuba said. That’s not his real name, obviously, it’s just what he’s called, a morph of his name from middle school when he was called Tubby. He still was Tuba Tubby when he jostled one of the players, you know, football.
“Can I help you?” I asked, hopefully loud enough that Sheila would hear and notice that I had more going on than she did, but as usual she was completely oblivious. I could only see the top of the customer’s blue hat with some sport insignia on it until he looked up.
Cole. My gut dropped into the basement. Cole was in my store. My brain stuttered, stopped then went into overdrive. I hadn’t seen him all summer since I’d been avoiding anywhere he might be like a plague, unlike the last five summers I’d spent semi-stalking him, and now all my work, my struggle to maintain sanity and distance was crushed when he came to my store, my turf and flashed his smile at me. Cole smiled at me. My brain shut off again.
“Hi. Do you have the new…” He named a generic almost death metal band while I nodded, blinked then lurched between the shelves of musicals towards the back wall. He followed close behind me. Not close enough that when I stopped he ran into me, but close enough that I could drop kick him if I wanted to. I wanted to. If I kicked him down, he’d sweep me right on top of him.
The warning tightness in my chest forced my eyes off his stomach, where I could practically see the muscles beneath the t-shirt. No thoughts of being on top of Cole. No martial arts or memories of any kind allowed to mess up my mind. I couldn’t think of the time before he played football when we were sparring partners and best friends. I couldn’t think of that first kiss by the lake and the way I’d never thought about another guy since.
“So, do you know when the next album comes out?”
How many times had he asked that? His face had that blank look he got when he realized that it was me in front of him, the one girl in the world who he couldn’t see, like I became a ghost that day in seventh grade.
“They spew that crap out every eighteen months. They don’t want to be replaced by another nameless, soulless moneymaker by actually taking the time to make something worth hearing.” Had I said that out loud? It was an almost intelligent thing to say. Maybe my summer avoiding him wasn’t wasted after all.
I veered around him, nearly running to the cashier desk where I could duck under the counter and take a deep breath before standing, not meeting Cole’s gaze when he handed me the death metal album. I rang him up and was giving him his receipt when the bell jangled again. I didn’t have to look up to know who the giggling wave of euphoric stupidity was. Apparently Cole needed some cheering from his cheerleader girlfriend to help him with his bad music purchase.
“Watergirl, have you got anything good for when we go to Ceramic Lake today?” Sharky’s tone was two octaves higher than mine, sweet enough it was almost forgivable when she giggled for no apparent reason. Seventh grade I’d fallen into the manatee pool on the school field trip and come out with a new name. Only in middle school would they use a near death experience against you.
I ignored her as I handed Cole his bag then grabbed an invoice sheet to stare at like I’d found a new religion. Her name was Sharly, but everyone I knew called her Sharky, just not to her face. It’s called self-preservation. I’d been composing something memorable for the last day of high school, but I still had two long years to work on it.
I tried as hard as I could not to notice the way she draped herself over Cole named after Cole Porter who he actually used to listen to, but now he was lost to whiny metallic, kill, die, torture, music. It probably soothed Sharky. I smiled, looking up at the two of them with a smirk on my face.
“Have a nice day,” I said with as much fake cheer as possible while Cole frowned, narrowing his eyes at me like he saw me, like he wondered what my smile hid, but of course that was giving him credit for more intellectual curiosity than he deserved. I ducked under the counter and marched myself into the New Age section to lose myself imposing order on chaos.
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