“Fuck if I know.” I’ve seen more than my fair share of strange and absurd pass through our town, but this brief interaction beats them all.
“Let’s lock up before anyone else gets thirsty,” she mutters, passing me the cash tip and helping me bus their table. Half an hour later, we say goodbye to Carlos as the sheriff follows Eileen to my apartment so he can escort her to the bank after she drops me off.
“Go get high and read that weird-ass alien porn you love so much,” she says with a measure of affection that takes me by surprise.
I give her a mock salute. “Aye aye, captain,” I mock salute. She knows it’ssmut, notporn. With a wave of her cigarette, she leaves, and I watch her taillights recede into the distant darkness.
Barely equipped to meet the basic needs of a human being, my studio apartment is just large enough for a kitchen, couch and TV, and a minuscule bathroom attached to a minuscule bedroom. It was the first thing I spent money on after I’d savedenough from my first few weeks working at Daly’s. The rest of my money goes towards not starving, and setting aside as much as I can every month to get the fuck out of Lynden. Someday. As much as the locals joke about living and dying here, there’s an unfortunate element of truth that most people stay here their entire lives, trapped by either lack of means, opportunity, or motivation.
I’m holding out hope that I can escape the “curse”. With no record of my birth in Lynden, I might just have a chance—at least that’s what I tell myself whenever I get disillusioned by my inertia.
I used to wonder about my birth family when I was younger. I’d create these little lives for us, where I was loved and wanted. Where I had a fluffy cat that shed everywhere, who would only snuggle with me but would still sit on my dad’s lap despite his protests. He’d grumble and gripe but would put up with it for my sake, even though he was more of a dog person. Where my mom would let me try on her lipstick and dress up in her jewelry while parading around in her high heels. Over and over I dreamed of these dead futures, until one day I made the mistake of mentioning it to a foster mother who ripped apart the last shred of my childhood naiveté. In truth, her blunt cruelty prepared me for the realities of surviving Lynden.
Despite the unexpected camaraderie tonight, the reminder of what I never had makes the loneliness all the worse.
A family who celebrated the milestones in my life.
The certainty that someone would catch me if I fell.
Maybe when I finally make it out of here, I’ll find somewhere to belong. Some way to fill that hollow, empty space in the middle of my aching chest.
By the time the rest of the pot brownie kicks in, I decide I’m done wallowing for the night, and dig out a well-worn paperback with a statuesque blue alien on the cover from my dresser-slash-bookcase. Honestly, I can’t even blame the petite redhead gazing up at him in worship, knowing how anatomically blessed these particular aliens are. I’d put up with a primitive frozen planet, too. Clearly, I’ve hit my peak high if I’m empathizing with a fictional woman in desperate need of a good dicking. I’m just so happy for her.
You get it, girl.
3
NYX
Thank fuck I live alone.
The mid-morning sunlight violently assaults my eyeballs, and I wipe a string of drool from my mouth. Pitting my flexibility against the laws of gravity, I reach down with a groan and check my phone for the time, wanting to stay in my nest of warm sheets and revel in the faint, lingering drowsiness from Carlos’ brownie. When my hand hits a spoon, I recall that at some point last night both Ben and Jerry joined me in bed, and the evidence of our witching hour tryst lays half-melted on the floor.
My bladder disagrees, however, and I drag myself to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror glares at me with deep brown eyes and unruly brown curls that hide an expanse of silver studs in her ears. A thin, snug septum ring hangs above soft, pink lips. Her prominent collarbones peek out from her thin, oversized, shirt courtesy of a past hook up.
I stare at my reflection, searching for the person I want to be rather than the person I’ve become. I imagine what she would look like, this stranger.
Less exhausted, probably.
Happier, possibly.
Maybe she’d have smile lines around her mouth and crows feet around her eyes. Someday, I’d like to meet that woman in a mirror just like this one. I wonder if I’d recognize her—or if she’d recognize me.
With a long sigh, I break my staring contest and walk to the kitchen, intent on searching for something to eat only to remember that I need to get groceries. Resting my head against the refrigerator for a moment, I mentally pull on my big girl pants, and then pull on my actual big girl pants: high-waisted skinny jeans that have seen better days, a cropped t-shirt, beloved, ratty high tops. I slip my backpack on and lock the door behind me, walking to the town’s only grocery store in the opposite direction of Daly’s. As I make my way uptown, the buildings gradually get nicer, the people smile a bit brighter—though when their eyes catch mine, they quickly look away, as if my status as an outcast was catching. I’m no stranger to the cold shoulder, but it still stings after all these years.
The air conditioning brushes my hair softly, sending a chill down my spine when I enter the bright, gleaming grocery store. I make my way through each aisle by muscle memory alone and I’m so focused on tallying my total so I don’t go over budget that I don’t sense something’s off—like the world’s paused on the inhale of a halting breath.
“Nyx! What a lovely surprise.” I startle and whirl to find Blondie—Celestine from the night before—dressed in a figure-hugging sheath dress that shows off her mile-long legs. She approaches me, her high heels echoing against the grimy linoleum floor. “Good morning!” The world exhales, and sound comes crashing down, breathing life back into the silence. If I were still high, I could almost pretend the world was waiting for her.
“Oh, hi again. Good morning.” Trepidation coils in my stomach when I realize the unease I felt last night wasn’t entirely due to the mystery brownie.
“I have to say—thank you for your recommendation about the diner! I had to practically drag Augustine away before she devoured a kitchen’s worth of bacon and eggs. I’ve never met someone so fond of breakfast food as she is,” she says, like she’s reliving the lifetime of shared memories with her sister. When she turns her penetrating gaze to me, the cool, dismissive mask I usually wear is nowhere to be found.
“What are—are you guys heading out of town already?” I cringe inwardly when I trip over my words.
“We have some business to attend to before we move on, but I can’t say I’m disappointed! What a charming little town you have here, with such a vivid history.” She beams, and I’m once more struck by the unrelenting positivity she radiates. Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt as joyous as she looks about anything. Neither has anyone else in this town.
“You’re talking about Lynden?” I ask incredulously, just to make sure I heard her right. She does that tittering thing again and I quickly glance around to make sure no one’s heard her. I’m already the town reject—I don’t need anyone associating me with someone who titters.
