Page 16
Well, this is quaint.
Between the house and the town, I think it’s safe to say Destiny Lame was constructed sometime in the seventies, only to be abandoned and then reconstituted in the messy divorce between classes.
It’s strange to walk around and only see other mortal beings and ‘lesser immortals’. I smile at a couple holding hands. They walk by without notice. I guess some things never change.
I can count sixteen stores lining the main street in town. They all look a bit worse for wear, but hey, they’re still standing – and if that’s not an anthem for the mortals of this world, I don’t know what is. The array of shops is an eclectic mix to say the least. I love that a veterinary clinic made the cut, but an actual human medical centre wasn’t on the cards. There’s also a hair and nail studio, pole dancing academy, bike riding club… and would you look at that – a dilapidated public pool growing some sort of mutant algae – how fun.
The grocers, along with just about everywhere else, is closed on a Monday, helpful. But there is a small corner store at the end of the road, so I head there and traipse the aisles for overpriced instant coffee and cheap liquor to drown my jobless worries in.
The corner store has a cutesy sort of feel to it. Not sure what it is exactly. Maybe it’s the way the linoleum floors cling to the bottom of my loafers like the place is begging me to stay. Maybe it’s the metal-framed shelves, showcasing products that have probably (definitely) gone out of date. Maybe it’s the amusement on the clerk’s handsome face as I tripped over the welcome mat and through the sliding doors.
Whatever it is, I like it.
I find myself leisurely strolling the aisles like someone might slow to take in a patch of wildflowers. I let my fingertips glide across the plastic lineage of Taki’s and Tootsie Rolls, like they’re blades of grass in the eternal fields.
Of course, it helps that this place is air-conditioned and offers a safe haven from the oppressive heat that stalked me all the way here from home and gave me a very chic college-girl-car-wash look. Cute, except that the wet is sweat, and I’ll have to grace the tub twice in a day.
I add a couple more household staples to my overstocked armfuls and juggle and balance my way to the counter, bracing myself for the blush that’s sure to scorch my cheeks as soon as I face the hottie behind the counter.
A baseball cap sits backwards on his head, locks of golden-brown curls poking out from beneath, and dear stars, I love it when guys have those little laugh lines by their eyes. A five o’clock shadow shades his strong jaw, and suddenly my mouth feels dry. I’m biting my lip without even knowing when he grins outright and says, ‘Did you wanna buy those or…’
Shit. Right. Shit.
I dump the items unceremoniously on the counter, and Hot Face chuffs.
Between the sounds of plastic crinkling and the small beeps the scanner makes, he says, ‘I like your glasses.’
Lost for words and too quick to reply I say, ‘I like your face.’
Hot Face barks a laugh. His eyes look like they have little lights in them. ‘That’s an awkward thing to say.’
I grimace. ‘Sorry.’
He’s still smiling. ‘Don’t be, it’s still nice,’ he says, bagging my stuff. A couple more seconds pass. ‘You new in town?’
He hands me my shopping and I immediately rummage for the Ripple’s Roseraid drink and take a quenching swig, nodding once.
‘Well, hope to see you ’round,’ he says, smiling again with that thousand-watt grin. Jeez. He’s like looking at the sun.
I smile like you would in a dream. Real and also not, fiddling with the plastic bag in my hands.
‘See ya,’ he prompts with that same smile.
Right. I’m meant to move or leave or say something and not just stand here staring like a freaking pervert. Fuck, I’m hopeless. Believe it or not, there is a reason I have no friends, and this interaction right here is a prime example.
I’ve always been a bit slow to catch on to social cues. I’ve never been very good at knowing the right thing to say. I used to just say exactly what I thought, but as it turns out, people don’t very often want to hear what you actually think. They want you to say different versions of a script apparently everyone else got, bar me.
I nod and walk away, wishing I could get a hold of that illusive script and cursing the daylights out of that fucking welcome mat that’s taken personal offence to my clumsy feet as it gets me again on the way out.
Brightside? I have alcohol to ease the raging burn of embarrassment, and no one to judge me but a tree and a sassy ghost for day-drinking mid-week. Double whammy. I crack the lid on my $7 whiskey.
Might as well get a head start.
Chapter Six
The Hunt
Outside the gates of Orcwell’s Orphanage for the Displaced and Misfortunate, there’s a small town that is also dilapidated and depressing, and beyond that town there’s a small stretch of bushland that’s dead and unkempt and the grass is dry and scratchy and there’s horrible ants that bite unprovoked. But beyond that… there’s nothing, so you may as well stop at the bush and make your peace with misery. That’s where my dreams have taken me tonight – back to the hellhole I grew up in. Although I’d argue I was never in fear of misery with Tilly close by, that was the exact emotion that afflicted her at present. Her cheeks weren’t wet for long. The dry heat wrings any moisture from the air. Her nose is splotched, pink, still sniffling; she wipes it on the back of her palm.
