Letter Two

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At this very moment I’m fighting a panic attack, and for some reason, I have the “In and Out,” song stuck in my head. Is there an In and Out in Arizona? We never saw anything past the fences—so I don’t remember. Just in case you have no idea what In and Out is, it’s the best burger place ever and their jingle goes

“In and Out, In And Oooout

That’s what a Haaaamburger’s

Aaall about.”

I’m not hungry, I don’t even smell hamburgers, but the song is on repeat as if the tape deck that is my mind only has one tape left in it—and the play button’s broken, so I can’t stop it. Oh god make it stop already.

I see a blond bob slide by my left and my heart goes into my throat. Suddenly anything blond freaks me out—because I’m afraid I might know it. As in…there person who the blond belongs to. Essentially—a blond. Keep up Nana.

Anyway, this panic attack I’m having is at the mall. Yes, I’m at the mall. While I’m shopping for clothes…for me. Yes, for me. And Sage is rambling on about how picky I’ve become over clothes I’ll wear. The rambling’s good, it keeps me at a nod—which is enough for Sage. If I nod, she thinks I’m listening.

“This ramble ramble that. And this with that makes me upset so I’m going to say this and counter it with that. So there.” This is what I’m currently hearing, because, like I said, I’m only nodding absentmindedly. What I’m truly doing is jumping at every flirty giggle, every flippant hair toss and—apparently—every blond bob which breezes by me. Why? Well because I’m afraid. Afraid of running into my past, as in someone I might know or have known. Essentially, someone who might recognize me. This is a mall after all and I am a teenage girl who used to spend more time than needed treading through these faux-wooden floors. Staring vacantly into shops, chatting about what’s his name while hoping that hot passing guy is looking at me—and not at my hotter friend to my left. Yes this was my past, but how much are you surprised to hear it Nana? You knew how I was.

So this is why I’m freaking out, ergo all the rapid heart beating and shallow—but very well hidden—breathing; it’s because the thought of someone stopping in front of Sage and I, taking in my appearance and tilting their head curiously before asking, “Hey…aren’t you fill-in-the-blank?” devastates me…to my very soul.

“I can’t believe you won’t let me purchase that blouse for you.” Sage brings this point up again—and for some reason—loudly. She’s still on this topic when we’ve already put a four-store gap in between us and the place that sells the article of clothing she’s talking about. Also to make clear—it was not a blouse. The thing Sage is talking about can only be described as a tube-sock given straps so that one could pull it over their head and deem it suitable for going out in. Yet Sage, despite her youthful age, refers to many things in a grandmotherly sort of way. Like calling tops of any kind—blouses, or, calling going to the movies, going to the cinema and calling dating—courting. You could feel my cringe right then, couldn’t you.

Sage keeps up with the whole tube-sock-top debacle, so I cannot help my eyes from rotating. Rotating very very slowly.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” She snaps, but when Sage turns stern it’s more cute than curt.

“I’m not rolling them. I’m rotating them.” And because I’ve said this aloud (as well as writing it down for you to read) I cannot help but fall into laughter over how truly clever and witty I am.

I’m getting a cramp in my hand so I’m going to go take a break from writing—get some tea or something...

Okay I’m back!

So like I was saying, I’m engrossed in my own amusing quirkiness, and this moment has allowed me to “loosen up some.” I’ve momentarily forgotten how mortified I am with being called out by one of my peers. I, instead, catch the end of a dialogue going on somewhere off-scene. Which went a little something like this. And a one, a two, a one two three:

“—whatever Money, I’m so hanging up on you.” Scoff and giggle.

“Hang up on him Bri.” Matching giggle.

“For reelz—I’m so gonna hang up on you.” Edge of full-fledged laughter giggle.

“Oh so do it Bri. So do it—I dare you. I so dare you.” Egging on/ hint of danger giggle.

“Bye Money. Bye. BYE.”

Silence…

Three…

Two…

Giggle Explosion.

“Ohmygod Bri—”

“Ohmygod-ohmygod right?!”

“You actually did it you hung up on him. Oh my gawd!”

“I know right!”

“Oh girl you rock! I can’t believe you did it! You so rock!”

“I know right! At first I was all, “I’m not gonna do it—’”

“But then you totally did it!”

“I know right!”

Aaaand this is where a warm thick liquid began to ooze out of my right ear. I’m pretty sure that the ooze had been my brain—shocked for obvious reasons—being zapped into a state of blubbery gooky goo. (That’s a term I just made up by the way.) A blubbery gooky goo so gooky and gooey that I’ve lost the will feign apathy. In fact, by this point I’m staring at the two conversation-havers wide-eyed and open mouthed. Luckily Sage verbally shakes me back to life before the two girls can spot me…well…gawking. So, from this you should gather that the blubbery gooky goo was not a literal form of my brain. Otherwise this letter would not exist.

By the way the tea tasted just like how Mrs. Kupec used to make it. The tea I had during my break just now—but I digress.

“What’s wrong?” Sage asks, because I’m staring as though I’ve seen Orlando Bloom prancing in the mall fountain—and nakedly so. Oh how joyous would that be?

I turn to acknowledge Sage and her question by jaggedly nodding my head, because by this point my face muscles had not yet relaxed enough for my mouth to form words—or even for my teeth to come back together.

Did I used to talk like that?

I couldn’t have been that bad, there’s no way. I mean, I know there was a time when I was part of the “clique.” And we promoted a certain style of dress and a certain choice of slanged vocabulary. But there’s just no way…there’s just—

I’m obsessing a bit. Okay, I know. ….I’ll stop.

“Ai?”

Sage is looking at me as if I’m about to explode into some sort of hysteric sycophant. (Okay truthfully I don’t know what that means but its sounds like I’m using it correctly so it’s staying there). So, I quickly regain my composure, giving Sage a coherent answer. …Which is more than I can say for that entire conversation that just happened…

That was the last time, swear.

“I’m fine Sage…I just had a thought is all.”

“About the blouse in the store?”

Ahhh!!! Don’t call it a blouse! It wasn’t a blouse! It wasn’t even a blou—!! “Um no.”

“Well Ai,” Sage shakes her head in exasperation at me not wanting to buy that bl—. What is her obsession with it, anyway? Ten bucks says she wouldn’t even wear it. “I don’t know what you want,” She continues to dramatize the situation by raising the volume of her voice, “We’ve been all over this mall and the only thing that has tickled your fancy—”

See with the old lady terms?

“—is a set of strange looking stickers you picked up at the bookstore. And you can’t wear stickers to school, Ai.”

Well, according to your definition of a blouse, plating my nipples with hello kitty stickers is surmountable to wearing a parka. That’s what I want to say. But, I shrug instead. And, without any more words between us, Sage and I are drowned in the noise of mall goers.

I know she’s waiting on me to say something, anything. In fact, all the time she’ll just break out into this wide-eyed wonderment stare. Like she thinks I’m about to reveal the location of the Holy Grail or hint at this week’s winning lottery numbers. And feel so much pressure that I choke. Not her—but on my words. I’m not good at this Kodak moment type stuff. So I don’t say anything. Like in this moment, I have nothing to offer her, nothing but that one shrug.

Finally Sage breaks our silence with another suggestion she’s been plaguing me with. “Why don’t you wear the clothes from the boxes I brought from mom and dad’s?” Aaaarrrrrgh!

I’ve said no over and over again. For several hours and over a span of days. No Sage no I will not wear the freaking clothes. You are lucky that I even opened those stupid boxes. I know—I just know that if this doesn’t stop that I’m going to yell at her. And at the top of my lungs. But it’s almost like that’s what she wants from me: an old Ai reaction. But I wasn’t going to give her that either. That’s not me, anymore. So instead I shrug again and calmly say. “No, I’d rather not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them.” She prods, “They’re all still like new and I’m sure they’re all still in style.”

Commence eye rotation. “Sage, please.” By this point frustration is sharply jabbing me in the back. There’s no other way to get her to stop other than compromising with her desire to “fix me” in some way; so I offer one—quickly. “It’s this mall. Can we just go somewhere else?” Please? Pretty pretty please?

“What’s wrong with the mall?”

Oh god why? Why why why must there be questions that have to be answered with logic and truth-telling?

“Well,” I stall, trying to think up a logical truth telling. “It’s noisy.” Yes that’s it. “And it smells like rubber.” Yes rubber can be an unpleasant smell. “And—truthfully,” I say cueing the lost-kitten-self-hug, “It’s kind of cold in here.” I’m a genius. But, why can’t I just tell Sage the real truth? That I want outta here before I bump into my past? That I’m not ready to face it yet, I need to psyche myself up some more. Well because Sage’ll break into full on counselor mode and say something like “You gotta face your demons.” Or “Walk towards the light.” Or “You go get’em tiger,” or something else Sage like. Then she’d get on the loudspeaker of the mall—you know the one they use to identify lost kids—and say, “Will anyone who knows Ai Fatima Malloy please step forward and tell her that you embrace who she is, validate her growth—and most importantly, that you love her.’” Yeah…you think it’s funny, but I’m not kidding.

I turn away from Sage’s growing sympathy. Because she’s buying it and I don’t want to start spouting out laughter. That’s when I meet a pair of green eyes. No wait Hazel. Hazel? No, I take that back, green. Green? Actually, I’m not sure on the color. But I did make out their expression. And they were kinda like…laughing…at me.

I stop as if I’d walked into a tar pit. All the while Sage is having this conversation with herself about malls—cuz lord knows I wasn’t listening—and why this mall in particular is super excellent. Curiosity wins me over—for only a second—and I quickly peek over my shoulder, only to catch those eyes doing the same.

And Nana, I don’t know what came over me. Was it more curiosity? Was it rage that someone dared to laugh at me with their eyes? Was it hormones? Because—did I mention that the eyes belonged to a tall guy who was very much the opposite of homely looking? Whichever the reason, it was causing my feet to do a one-eighty (I’ve become very good at spinning because I do it a lot on Sage’s floors).

“Ai—where are you going?”

Oh jeez. Sage is still with me. “I wanna go over-uha there-can-face-Leslie-mason.” You know when you’re talking to someone because you’re required to respond, but you’re not mentally invested in the conversation? So some words you say don’t make sense? I was having one of those types of conversations with Sage right then.

Sage, unable to decipher my clear and articulate mumbling, responds with “What? Leslie who now?”

“This way.” Was all I managed to think up while trying to catch the owner of the look. From what I could quickly surmise—while trying to keep tabs on him through all the bodies pushing past me—is that he’s part of a party. Not a “whoo par-teh” but a large group of kids…wow—there were a bunch of them and they were all really good-looking—the guys and girls. I say this as a straight girl by the—

Oh crap they turned a corner.

I grow to a jog and turn haphazardly to follow and run into an aging man with a pot belly. I would have fallen on my rear if Sage hadn’t been right on my ass. Jeez she’s worse than a doting fanatical mother. (I apologize for the use of the A-word) And I also apologize to the man for bumping into him, or…I think I do. And continue to follow the group—

Who just ducked into an Abercrombie and Fitch.

Again, my shoes fill with an invisible—yet still quite real—puddle of tar. Sage runs into me again and immediately she starts preaching about the importance of keeping steady with the flow of traffic. I’m not listening, In fact, I’ve begun the panic. Therefore, I am re-panicking. Or, panicking anew, if you want to get technical.

I mean, do I want to go in there? That store used to be one of my havens. Someone I knew was bound to be—

“Oh that store looks like a night club.”

I turn to Sage then, my puzzlement being skillfully masked behind apathy. I seriously wondered how someone so Granny-like could maintain any type of career in show business. Did I mention Sage deals with movie stars? I’m sure I never have, because it’s a subject I try to veer away from. That’s the type of personal information that gets you a swarm of plastic friends. And I am done with collecting those types of friends.

Sage is practically glowing. In fact I can’t even stare directly at her anymore. “Let’s go in there!” She’s almost squealing. ”It looks so…”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it please don’t say—

“…Hep.”

And she said it.

Before I can hesitate for any longer—cuz you know, I’m not done weighing the go’s with the don’t go’s yet—I’m being dragged in the direction of a store that can practically be re-named to “Ai’s Place.” Or “Ai’s Personal Best.” Or even, “Ai’s Closet.” That last one has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Right away a smiley and perfectly tanned female clerk greets us. Oh I remember how my friends—scratch that—acquaintances and I hated the girls who worked here. And why did we loath A and F female employees? Was it jealousy with their getting to work with hot smiley guys? Or their squeaky clean Prettiness? Maybe because working here had to be complete and utter awesomeness? Well, all of the above would just about cover the bases of reason. Don’t worry Nana; I don’t think that way anymore.

“Hi guys!!” Says the too pretty girl with a very tight pony-tail.

Go away you’re going to draw attention. Of course she wouldn’t have. Everyone gets the same mechanical greeting here. But really her perfection was distracting. So, quickly I nod and move away—far far away—from both her and also—Sage.

Whenever she—she being Sage—tried to claw her way to my side, I’d flee into a rack of sweaters, or leap behind a display of V-neck something-or-others. Why? Because Sage was just…so very…enthusiastic. So much so that she was becoming a dead give away to my presence. I.E: louder and louder with every article of clothing she deemed suitable for me to try on.

About twelve minutes after entering Ai’s Closet, I was hiding behind a mannequin dressed in khaki slacks and a Heidi dress. (That’d be a strapless top that is almost as long as a dress—but is still considered a top.) See, magazines teach you stuff. And what’s worse is that I couldn’t tail the eyes from all my covert vantage points. Or wait that sounds kinda creepy huh—the guy with the eyes. I sound like a stalker. God I’m a stalker. Here I am, crouching behind this stupid perfectly-shaped life-sized doll—sweating a little—and…jeez…

“I’m stalking a guy who I don’t even know.”

“Why are you talking to the mannequin?”

Oh my god I was! I was so talking to the mannequin! Oh my god what is wrong with me?!

Without looking up, and to keep some kind of dignity, I rose to my feet, and dusted off the seat of my pants, before addressing the person who totally caught me talking to a mannequin. And completely lied about it.

“I wasn’t talking to it, I was looking for something.”

“And you thought talking to the thing you were looking for would lead it to you? Are you looking for an animal, or possibly a tiny human?”

I choked—once again, on words, not him. (Though I really really wanted to choke him). But I couldn’t even face this guy, as my eyes were not quite courageous enough to make contact.

“You know,” he thought he was helpfully adding, “Responding with something like “I wasn’t talking to the mannequin, I was talking to myself” would have come across as less crazy. In comparison, it would have even seemed normal.”

Oh my god he was right! Why hadn’t I done that first!

“But then, it’s you.” The chuckle in his voice caused my head—therefore my eyes—to spring towards him. And now I’m looking into his eyes. Yes, there’s the look. The laughing eyes. Hazel? Green? I dunno still, shock won’t allow me to take in that kind of detail.

“You’re the girl,” His tone took on a familiar calm…which sent a jolt through my skin—oh shit.

“You’re the girl who doesn’t know a trashcan from a recycling bin.”

Yes I know said a cuss word, Nana, but you have to admit…that this moment exceedingly…called for one.

I don’t want to be shot for updating this story before Wrong Way. But Ai was calling out to me in between the prose of angst that are Josh and Jonah. So I had to silence Ai by writing her chapter. And I was getting way drained by all the angst. Forgive me and hopefully you enjoyed this chapter? Hugs everyone—even those with eyes of shooting daggers (Hanakimi)