CHAPTER I: Hal Is ~ Part 1: Amanda, Farah, Rachel
It takes me thirty minutes to realize it, but my shift has been over for more than an hour. It feels like I lose more time every day – like it slips through the cracks, which are constantly growing wider.
Hey, it’s taken a significant effort to even notice my not-noticing-time-passing. I deserve a pat on the back I suppose.
Meh.
I tag out with my co-worker Amanda, all the while giving her a look that I think says she should be grateful for this extra time I’ve given her to loaf about. I can’t tell whether she’s noticed or not: Amanda’s a simple type. She was raised somewhere in the South, (she won’t say where, which I think therefore defaults to Alabama) and her simple values and hardworking spirit win her over with most of the managers. For those who don’t care for work ethic, her cute accent does a nice job, too.
“Yer leavin’ awful late, Hal,” she says, roughly twisting her regulation visor down onto her head. “Don’t ya’ll have some studyin’ or somethin’ you should be doin’?”
I tell her I suppose I do. Not that I much care to do it. I’m at the point where it’s only a question of whether I get a “B” or a “C”. Not that I care for the subject matter much, either. Studying is just another thing I can do to fill some time in between waking up and going to bed.
“Don’t be so glum!” she says, tying her apron on with an efficient – if somewhat unladylike – knot. “It’s just another one a’ those things ya have to do afore ya can start doin’ what ya really like!”
That’d be a comforting sentiment, if I even knew what I really wanted to do. Besides, being chastised by someone with a Southern accent is somehow very hard to take seriously. I make a snarky comment to that effect – when I don’t want to listen to people, snarky comments are my number one export.
“Ah’m bein’ honest here!” She blocks the exit with an outstretched arm. “Ah’ve seen a lotta people like you come through here, stayin’ only a few months then quittin’, and lookin’ at their work – either here, ‘r at school – like some kinda meanin’less task.”
She shakes her head to straighten out her long, blonde hair, then stares at me with a serious demeanor; more serious than I think I have ever seen her before. “Ah’m not much one fer books an’ studyin’, but Ah can tell ya right away that ya need to have a bit more drive in life.” Her stare continues.
I ask if her lecture is over.
She sighs. “Suit yerself. At least try to get all ‘a yer punch cards filled out proper; the boss gets on my ass for yer screw-ups.” She leaves the break room and manages to somehow slam the beaded curtain over the exit, making the sound of a million tiny barn doors.
Speaking of my boss, I figure I should get out of here before I have to deal with another lecture from her. With a half-assed attempt at stealth, I make my way out the back door and into the gentle rain of the late afternoon.
It’s been falling like this since my first class this morning, and the weather reports say it’s only going to get worse tomorrow.
Eh, what can I say? It really doesn’t affect me much – I stay inside most of the time. But right now, at least, there’s something odd about the way the slowly setting sun manages to constantly peek through the vaguely-defined clouds, painting this dead city with a shimmering golden-red.
Really, I’d like to tell the sun to go fuck off. This town doesn’t need any beauty right now.
I begin my daily trudge through the city. It was just my luck that the only job I could find would be far from both my dorm and the campus. It’s times like these – with the rain falling and the sun setting – that I start seriously wondering why I don’t have a car. And then I remember: living off of minimum wage and a meager scholarship are not conducive elements towards having a car.
Maybe a bicycle? I’d still get wet, anyway.
I look into the windows of the shops I pass by on my way. Most of them are still open, but a few are already closing down for the night, under the assumption that rain pushes dusk back a few hours. All of the shopkeepers look expectantly out of their big, glass windows at the weather, feeling the exhilaration of rain mingle with the comfort of shelter. They stare at the sky as if it were bringing down the next deluge; classic overreaction of people living in an area that gets only twelve inches a year.
Sensing my skepticism, Mother Nature decides to pull a bitch move. The setting sun is suddenly blocked out by thick, black clouds as the sky above me lets loose with all of the rain it can manage.
Car. Caaaar. God damn it.
I start running. It doesn’t take long for the pounding drops to soak through my cheap sweater. Combined with the early autumn wind, I begin to shiver as I run.
Damn it, my dorm is still ten blocks away. Running all the way there in this downpour is sure to give me pneumonia. I consider doing it just for kicks: having a legitimate excuse to miss class for a week or two would be interesting.
The self-preservation side of me starts blaring klaxons at that idea. It’s pneumonia. You could die.
The rest of me answers in unison. So?
Luckily – or unluckily – my self-preservation side has autonomous body control in situations as extreme as this. I automatically turn into the first shop I see that has an “Open” sign, slamming the door behind me.
“Eeeeh!” squeals a frightened voice from behind the counter. I look to find who it belongs to, but no one seems to be manning the register right now. Strange. A powerful, musky smell leads me to look around the room; small cages, various critters, and assorted pet supplies line the walls. That’s what the smell is, then: that inimitable smell that comes from any pet store – a smell that reminds me why I don’t have pets.
I hear a muffled chattering of teeth from the same place as I heard the squeal. It’s coming from under the counter. I lean over it to try and see just what is making that sound.
“Take whatever you want!” the girl under the counter screams, menacing a push-broom into my face. “Just don’t huuurt meee!” I fall a few steps back before I can steady myself. I suppose I’m a robber, now am I?
I put on a ridiculous tough-guy accent and tell her to take all of the animals in the store and put them in my bag, quick-like.
“Okay, whatever you say!” she cries, somehow not getting the joke. She rushes out from behind the counter, clutching her broom tight to her chest. She manages to get only a few inches away from me when she realizes I’m not carrying any kind of bag.
“Wh-What bag…?”
I’m surprised I actually have to say this, but I tell her that I was just joking. What kind of person walks into a pet store and steals all of the animals?
“A-Ah?” She’s kept her head down this whole time, like she would turn to stone if I looked her in the eye. At this, however, she begins to look up at me with a far-too-confused expression than she should have. I feel a little bad pulling that prank on her, now.
“O-Oh! A joke! A-ha. Ha ha…” That laugh won’t win her any Oscars.
She notices how close she is to me. She cries out another, more subdued “Eeeeh!” then runs back behind the counter, shakily putting down the broom behind the register’s protective force. As if trying to put this whole incident behind her, she closes her eyes and breathes deeply, placing both hands on either side of the register as if it were a sacred altar.
After all of this commotion, this is the first time I can get a good look at her. Long hair hides most of her face – especially with her looking down – but what skin I can see is pale. Pale in a rather pretty way, I must admit – not sickly, but more like she always wears long clothing. That’s actually pretty rare around here. True to form, she wears a somewhat tattered cream colored shirt over a long-sleeved grey one, and a pair of equally-tattered jeans. A lot of the marks look like they come from rabbit bites.
“Welcome to Morty’s Pet Warehouse…” she says quietly, having regained her composure. “May I compel you to care for a cuddly critter?”
Whoever wrote that slogan should be burned alive with their thesaurus.
I tell her I’m just hiding in here from the rain.
“Oh…” She processes my words for a minute, then comes to some sort of realization. She looks at me with hopeful eyes. “Are you sure? All of the pets here are really nice and really cute… Oh, do you have too many other pets at home?”
The way she asks that question, I’m certain she’s been in that situation before.
I tell her that’s not the case. I don’t have any pets at home.
“No pets?” She sounds like I just said something in Esperanto. “But, how can you not have pets? You get to care for them, and they’re so nice and soft…”
I open my mouth to tell her that they smell, but I catch myself before the first word. Seeing this girl’s general apprehension, I should probably put some kid gloves on. I can’t think of anything suitably gentle to say, so I just shrug.
She makes a troubled little frown, but says nothing more. We stand awkwardly silent in the store while the rain continues to pound on the windows. Even the animals must feel awkward – they sit strangely silent in their cages. I want to get out of here as soon as I can, before I cause this girl another heart attack, but the rain is only getting worse. It’ll calm down soon, I tell myself, and then I can go.
The door opens, and the girl instinctively hides.
“Farah?” a lilting voice calls from outside. “Darling, are you in here? Are… are you behind the counter again?”
“R-Rachel…?” comes the meek voice behind the counter. “Is that you?”
The girl called Rachel enters the store, closing a sleek black umbrella and giving it a few determined shakes outside. She carefully wipes her heels on the entrance mat before stepping any further – which seems kind of pointless, considering the mess of litter and pet food already strewn about the floor.
Meek Farah peeks out from her impenetrable counter-fortress. She looks relieved that someone she knows is in the store, but that soon changes to confusion. “Rachel, what are you doing here? You never seemed interested in a new pet before…”
Rachel takes a few moments to straighten her expertly-styled black hair, then makes sure that the collar of her blouse is centered. Then tucks a millimeter of white blouse into her oddly-cut black skirt. Then takes a few moments straightening out said black skirt… and in the end doesn’t respond to Farah for almost a whole minute. I guess stereotypes have to start somewhere.
“Well, yes, I don’t think I could manage any more than my cat at home… Agh, Farah, sweetie, why are you wearing that ratty get-up instead of the dress I made for you?”
“Um…” Farah looks self-consciously at her clothes. “I didn’t want to get it dirty, and it’s really too fancy for wearing to work, and then I’d have to iron it when I got home, and pants are easier in general-”
“Oh shush. You look an absolute wreck in those clothes. What if some boy were to see you wearing those? You would hardly be making a good first impression!”
Farah unconsciously looks my way. I dunno – I mean, this Rachel girl is making a different kind of first impression entirely, wearing what she’s weari—
“Hell-lo, who do we have here?” It seems that Farah’s quick glance is what it takes to make a fashionista notice you these days. Rachel moves close – uncomfortably close – to me, and starts looking me over like a buzzard. “Who are you~?”
Backed into a corner, my instincts take over. I respond automatically, saying that my name is Hal.
Murphy’s Law takes action, and Rachel instantly takes this the wrong way. A devilish grin spreads over her face as she slowly turns back to Farah.
“Oh, Farah, when did you meet him?” she asks, leaning solicitously over the counter. Farah takes this innuendo just as well as she takes a joke.
“Um, a few minutes ago…?”
“Oh my, I didn’t know you were so quick to jump on an opportunity like that! How very assertive of you~!”
Like a car engine starting for the first time in a few weeks, Farah begins to understand. Her pale face quickly blushes a fierce red as she begins to fumble around awkwardly with the things on the counter.
“Ah! Um, wait… it-it’s not… that. I, um...” She’s pretty cute when she gets all flustered like this, and it seems like Rachel is enjoying e—
Wait, am I being implicated in this too? Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there. I… I mean, it isn’t like I wouldn’t ever imagine it, but… yeah, she’s cute and all, but…
I can feel myself getting sweaty. The falling rain outside sounds really nice right about now.
“Oh, Farah, you don’t have to play coy with me; I understand entirely! He seems a nice enough catch, this ‘Hal.’” Rachel is leaning so far over the counter that her nose is almost touching Farah’s. It’s… vaguely kinky. “So, were you planning on meeting at your place or his tonight?”
Like a flash of red lightning, Farah’s blush deepens by another four shades, and she starts to sweat.
Then, like a flash of normal lightning, some normal lightning strikes outside, shaking the windows with its thunder. Farah flees underneath the counter.
Oh my God, Rachel is gonna turn towards me next. Has the rain lightened up any?
Another flash of lightning, and another roll of thunder.
Eeyup, I’d say it’s lightened up enough. Ooh, look, a discarded sheet of cardboard, how very useful. Nothing to do here! I’d better get back home! Homework! Et cetera!
I get the hell out of that pet shop faster than I have ever left any place of business before; and if I’d led a more interesting life up to this point, that would probably be saying something. The rain is still coming down hard. It cools down my face, and washes away the beads of sweat. I take one last confused glance at the pet store before I put my makeshift cardboard umbrella over my head and start walking towards my dorm once more.
Strange women.
I consider stopping inside another store to wait out this storm, but with my luck, I’ll find something even worse in there.
