I walked outside to see if the warmth of the sun could somehow offset the coldness in my bones from being inside my house with no heat. Even the 50-degree weather outside felt better than the 59-degree awfulness in my lair.
How long had it been since I’d felt the touch of another? Any gap is too long, but this one is ridiculous. As my 40th birthday approaches, I wonder openly how easy it would be to get a hooker or some bar floozy to give me a blowjob in the alley while my friends think I’m in the bathroom?
It’s come to that.
The mirror screams back at me now. It’s been six days since I last shaved. No one at work seems to car anymore. But hell, when someone wears the same jeans for three weeks in a row and has holes in just about every shirt he owns, the stubble on his face might not be the thing one notices.
Buying a frozen pizza and some blueberries at the Food Lion last night, the girl at the cash register kept looking at me. She followed me around the store with her eyes. She’s unattractive and unkempt, much like myself. When I finally go to the cash register, she perks up and says “Hello!” just a little too enthusiastically. I chock it up to loneliness. Something that I can relate to and recognize. I respond with a “Hello” as well, continuing it with “how are you doing this evening.” I can honestly never remember me saying “this evening” to anyone at any other time in my life. I wonder if that’s what happens when you pass the threshold?
“I’m pretty good,” she says as she scans my frozen pizza, blueberries, grape soda and potato chips. I wonder if she thinks the blueberries are a bit of an oddity in this basket? The total comes out to $14.20. I chuckle.
“420?” she says lightly with a little giggle.
I see where this is going now. We’re on the same wavelength humor-wise, at least. I hand over three five-dollar bills. She counts out the change and puts it in my hand, taking just long enough to touch my hand a little longer than she probably should have.
I look up into her eyes. They’re blue. A very subtle shade of blue. Mixed with a lot of gray. Just like mine. Except hers have something else. Maybe it’s just me looking for something in them. A reason. An excuse?
“I see you’ve got some big plans tonight?” she says, rather desperately, but kind of cute. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
“Yeah, another rocking night at my place. Frozen pizza and downloaded movies…”
There’s a little bit of awkward silence before I hear myself say “You wanna join me?”
I feel a little repulsed by those words coming from me. I don’t want to be this kind of person. Yeah, I’m lonely. But I used to have some kind of standards. I catch myself feeling sorry for myself and being a cruel person all at once. I smile and look at her. She looks scared. Or horrified, even. Guess I overestimated even my lagging talents.
“Mary, you have another customer,” a voice says from behind me.
I turn my head slightly to see who it is that said this. There is the short, bald guy who usually rings me up on my late night trips to the Lion. He always comes up with stilted, awful conversations. I loathe them. It’s one of the few times I wish the automated lines existed here. I make it a habit of never using them. I look at it as 1/a job lost and 2/them having me do their job, and not paying me for it. So fuck the automatic lines!
“How are you tonight, sir?” he says in a derisive tone. Is he mad at me for talking to Mary and never talking to him? Or does he think I’m a creepy, poor, desperate to have companionship loser who is attempting to pick up his cashier. Rather poorly, I might say.
“Yes,” Mary finally says. It doesn’t register immediately that she’s talking to me. I hear beeps from items being scanned. I pick up my two plastic bags worth of junk that will lead to my eventually heart attack -- except for the blueberries -- and begin to leave.
“Yes I would!” she says a little louder this time. It registers finally that she’s speaking to me.
“Cool,” I say. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I go outside. The automated doors whoosh open and the cold air from outside hits me. Hard. “This is your chance to just go!” the little voice of reason inside me says. “But you shop here almost every day. You’ll have to see her and avoid her forever.” The another, more soft voice says. “Dude, you can finally get some” still another voice says. I have too many voices in my head, I think to myself in my own voice.
The key to my car is always a pain. Mainly because I never remember which pocket I have it in. I don’t keep it on my lanyard since the car is so small now that it bonks my knee when driving if I do. So, I put my hand in one pocket. Nothing but a cell phone. Switching the pocket awkwardly, I find the key. Push the unlock button and open the door. I put the bags in the seat and close the door. I think about just leaving, but I know that I won’t. I’m too much of a coward to do that. Or is it I’m too nice of a person? Anyway, I get a piece of paper from my driving journal and write down my name and phone number.
Taking a big breath, I go back inside.
Mary is standing by her register, smiling a big, wide-mouthed grin. I muster up a little bit of a smile, always a problem for me when I think about it due to my mangled teeth, and go up to her.
“Mary? Is that what I heard your name is?” I say meekly.
“Yes! Yes it is!” she exclaims eagerly. It’s kind of cute.
“My name’s Randy.”
“Nice to meet you. Well, name-wise at least. We’ve met dozens of times here.” She points at her register area. That feels very desperate. I feel a little better about my life.
I hand her my number. She grabs it and reads it fast.
“I get off at 1 a.m.,” she says. “I’ll call you then!”
“Sounds great,” I say, shuffling towards the door. I see a clock, it’s 11:23.
Right as I get around her bagging area, she skips over to me and hugs me. I stiffen, as I always do when strangers touch me that way. Then I relax and hug back. The kind with the little taps on the back. Yeah, you know the kind.
She steps back and smiles. I smile. I notice I have a boner. She noticed too.
“See you in a few!”
I go to the car. I’m nervous. A good nervous.
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