Inseparable Strangers (11 page)

I
ignored his remark. “So where were you? I looked everywhere for you.”

“In
the garage. Did you look there?”

I
retraced my steps in my head.
Shit.
“No.”

“Well,
there you go. I guess you didn’t look everywhere like you thought,” he said,
walking past me going toward the guest room. What was his problem all of a
sudden?

“Did
you not hear me yelling for you? I mean, I was screaming pretty loud.”

He
stopped, turned around to face me, looked up at the ceiling as he pondered,
then said, “Nope. Sure didn’t.” He turned back around and closed the door
behind him.

“Liar.
These walls are not that thick,” I mumbled to myself, then yelled through the
crack in the door, “you’re a smartass too!”

“I
like it when you’re feisty,” he yelled back, taking me by surprise. I wanted to
open his door and ask him if feisty was along the lines of what he was about to
call me before my dad interrupted.  Instead, I walked to the kitchen to make a
BLT.

Right
as I opened my mouth to take a bite my cell phone rang.

Oh
great. What the hell does she want?

“Hello.”
It killed me to answer politely, but I could never be sure when my dad might
decide to use her phone. He knew we didn’t like each other but I still tried to
act civil for his sake.

“What
the hell do you think you’re doing?” she seethed. Pam’s voice was like nails on
a chalkboard. Not only was it scratchy, it was a pitch higher than a pig
squealing. My body shuddered as she hit a nerve.

“I
don’t know what the hell you’re talking about so you’re going to have to be
more specific,” I said sarcastically.

I
took a bite of my sandwich as she started in again. “You know damn well you’re
father isn’t supposed to have pork or red meat, but you fed him bacon anyway.”
I could picture her now — her thick, straight black hair swinging back and
forth as her head jerked with attitude. Her ruby red lips twitching from anger
as she spoke. The image was hilarious, and I had to stifle a laugh. “Do you not
think I can see what you’re doing?”

Rolling
my eyes, I took another bite. I was in no hurry to answer her. “What have I
done now, Pam?” I asked around a mouthful of food.

She
huffed into the phone. “You’re trying to send your father to an early grave by
feeding him those grease strips.”

“Its
turkey.” I deadpanned.

“Well,
whatever it is, he doesn’t need it.”

“Fine.
Note taken,” I said with an even tone. “Are we done here?”

Lowering
her voice, she spoke sternly. “Actually, we’re not. I’m sick of your father
giving his hard earned money to you. It’s time you got your ass a job and stop
mooching off your father!” She ended with a loud whisper.

A
boisterous laugh rumbled up from my chest. “Are you kidding me? Are you the pot
or kettle?” She seriously had some nerve. I didn’t have time for her or her
stupid bullshit, so I hung up the phone. That woman was in dire need for
cray-cray medication. I wasn’t sure what triggered her behavior, but every once
in a while she would call me and accuse me of doing something so random and
petty.

My
phone began to ring again. Her name lit up. I let it go straight to voicemail.

It
had been almost a week since any funny business had taken place. The bizarre
dreams had diminished too. I had never been grocery shopping before, this was a
chore I hired people for, and Zoila wasn’t around to do it for me. As much as I
didn’t want to bring Aaron out in public, I felt as if I didn’t have any other
choice. He was, after all, the chef in the house. He had made it his job to
cook for us every day. He knew what was needed for what dishes and so forth. If
it wasn’t shopping for clothes, handbags, or make-up, I was useless.

“Now
remember, if anyone asks who you are, you tell them—”

“I’m
your cousin from Texas,” he interrupted, using a less than thrilled tone. “You
know, I could very easily write everything down in details. You don’t need me
to do this,” he said, opening the passenger door to my Mercedes.

“Yes,
I do,” I said sternly. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me or something?” I
found it appalling that he was embarrassed to be seen with me. How did he think
I felt running around town with a homeless guy? What if someone recognized him?
Well, I don’t think they would know that he had cleaned up, but still, you
could never be too sure.

Aaron
tilted his head in my direction and stared me down. “Did you seriously just ask
me that?”

“Yes.
What other reason would you have?”
Oh shit! What if?
My eyes bugged out.
“You’re an escaped convict aren’t you?” I said accusingly.

“What?”
he exclaimed. “No,” he replied, brows furrowed, seemingly surprised with my
question. “You’re really off your rocker sometimes, you know?” he chuckled.

“Then
what is it? What has you so anti-grocery shopping? Most profound chefs are
ecstatic to pick out the most perfect and finest ingredients for their
masterpiece dishes.”

“I
just am. Do I have to have a reason? Do you always have to have a reason for
everything?” he asked with a sharp tone while gazing out the passenger side
window.

“When
it comes to me, yes. I just am, or because I said so, or I don’t know isn’t a
good enough reason.” If I didn’t think there was an underlying reason then I
wouldn’t keep pushing the issue. My house was only about a five minute drive
from the supermarket. We pulled into the parking lot, and I found a spot away
from runaway shopping carts and beat-up vehicles. Most people circle the
parking lot until they found the closest spot, but I preferred to walk if it
meant protecting my Mercedes. Plus the exercise was an added bonus.

Aaron
barely gave me enough time to turn off the ignition before he was out of the
car. He walked with haste into the grocery store. He didn’t even wait for me.
Jerk.

When
I walked in, I found Aaron meandering around the produce section. Seeing he
didn’t grab a cart, I untangled one from the line of jacked-up metal. And, of
course, I get one with dysfunctional wheels. I nearly had a meltdown as I
dreaded touching the germ-infested handle. By the time I finished wiping it
down, I’d gone through an entire pack of travel-sized sanitizing wipes.

With
a little pep in my step, I zoomed up beside him, my shopping cart making a
clanking sound the entire way. Aaron didn’t seem to be bothered by the
attention I was spotlighting on us. If anything, I would think he was ignoring
me. “See anything useful?”

“Yes,
plenty. Am I shopping frugal or is it a free for all?” he asked, inspecting the
tomatoes.

“Buy
whatever you want. Although I do usually give Zoila a set budget just because I
don’t trust her. If I allowed her to buy freely, she’s liable to buy for her
whole damn family.”

Aaron
seemed to halfway pay attention to what I was saying. His lips were drawn in a
flat line and his eyebrows were scrunched in a downward fashion examining the
different types of greens. “Keep in mind when you shop, to make sure you buy
stuff I like,” I said with a smile.

“Don’t
worry, I will. Would you mind bagging up four ears of corn?” he asked, pointing
to them.

“Um,
sure.” Why was he asking me to do it? I didn’t know which ones to get. Some
people are picky about which apple looked the best or which cantaloupe smelled
ripe. At least that was how they did it on TV.

Damn
plastic baggie wouldn’t come apart and I sure as hell wasn’t about to lick my
fingers to get a better grip. After fighting with the bag for what felt like
thirty minutes, I looked up and saw Aaron on the other side by the black
cherries. “Hey, do you think you could wait for me? I’m having a little bit of
trouble over here,” I said loudly. People whipped their head around in my
direction when they heard me shouting.

“What?”
I said rudely with my arms stretched out, palms up. A supermarket wasn’t that
formal of a place where I couldn’t get a little loud if necessary.

Aaron
shook his head in disbelief with a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.
When I caught up to him, he ordered for me to grab a bag of cherries and
grapes. “If I recall correctly, you broke your ribs, not your arms. Is there
any particular reason why you’re incapable of getting this stuff yourself?”

“You
made me come here against my will, so I figure the least you can do is push and
pack the cart.” I got this feeling he was carrying a chip on his shoulder and I
couldn’t figure out why.
What is the big freaking deal? Men come to the
grocery story all the time. I never shop and I’m here.
I wanted to say it
all aloud, but I decided to leave it in the cranium.

“Excuse
me, ma’am, but I’m looking for my wife. Do you think you can help me find her?”
A pudgy guy with skin the color of chocolate and light brown eyes approached me
from behind.

The
first thought to enter my mind was — this is odd. And the second was — do I
look like an approachable person?
God, am I becoming a freak magnet?
“Sorry, but I don’t think I can help you,” I said, brushing him off.

“Please,”
he begged. “You are the first real person who’s even looked at me. I’ve been
trying for months but nobody will listen to me. I need to find her. She needs
to know I still love her,” he pleaded.

What
the hell? Real person? First person to what? Is he fucking with me?

“Dude,
I think you forgot to take your crazy pills. I can’t help you, but there’s a
mental hospital forty minutes down the road that can take care of you,” I
explained, pointing out toward the parking lot. My eyes scanned the produce
area and Aaron was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell did he go when I needed
him the most? I rushed to the first aisle in search for Aaron, leaving
freakazoid behind.

Holy
shit!
He was standing in front of my cart. “Ma’am, I’m not
crazy, I’m desperate, and you’re the only person that can help me.” He blocked
me from pushing my cart any further.

I
pushed the cart a couple of inches into him hoping he would get the hint.
Nothing happened. Well, something happened, but not what I was expecting. The
cart moved forward with ease, but the crazy guy was still standing in the same spot.
Blinking my eyes, I then widened them to focus on what I’d just witnessed.

He
took a step closer to me. Through the cart. “Sorry, ma’am, I thought you knew,”
he said with sadness featured around his eyes. “I’m guessing I’m the first dead
person you’ve been able to see?”
Dead? Did he say he was dead? Shit, shit,
shitty, shit, shit!

In
horror movies, they always close their eyes when they want bad images to
disappear then when they open them everything is back to normal
.
Please let this work. Please.
I closed my eyes, counted to ten backwards
then opened them. He was still there, staring at me like I was the crazy one in
this duo. My heart rate increased so dramatically, I thought I was possibly on
the verge of a heart attack. Everything around started to spin, and my
fingertips began to feel numb.

My
mouth tried to form words, but my brain was frozen with fear.

He
stepped even closer to me. “Ma’am, are you going to be okay?” he asked, truly
sincere.

If
he calls me ma’am one more time I’m going to flip my shit. He might be dead,
but I’m not fucking eighty years old.

With
my hand over my chest, patting it as if it would help calm down the rapid
thump, I said with a shaky voice, “You have me mistaken with someone else. I’m
not a medium. I don’t communicate with spirits and I don’t see them. I don’t
like talking to people, let alone ghosts…or whatever you’re claiming to be.” I
was trying to play it cool, but internally, I was silently dying. This was no
longer weird. It was downright scary as hell.

I
backed my cart up to go around the guy, as if it was necessary, and in front of
my very own eyes, I watched him vanish. Poof! He was gone, leaving behind
swirls of smoke or steam or something of that nature.
Ohmygod, ohmygod,
ohmygod! What is happening to me? Have I been poisoned? Have I been slipped a
drug? Is this another one of my wild-ass dreams? Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Pinching
myself hard to awake from this horrible nightmare, I yelped when I realized I’d
just created a bruise. This wasn’t a dream this time, this was fucking real.
This was actually happening.

Leaving
the cart where it was, I snatched my purse and went on a manhunt to find Aaron.
Frantically, I started searching down each aisle. It didn’t take me long until
I found him two aisles over reading the contents on a box of something.

I
smacked his arm, not caring there were other people standing by us. “Where the
hell have you been?” The box slipped from his hand when I hit him. He ignored
it and kept looking at other boxes of meat coatings on the shelf. “I’ve been
right here. Where have you been?”

“Funny
you asked,” I huffed. “I was just approached by some crazy guy claiming to be
dead. He wanted me to help him find his
wife
,” I said, spitting out the
last word through gritted teeth. Aaron stiffened for a millisecond then
loosened up, probably thinking I didn’t notice.

A
tap on my shoulder caused me to jerk. I was afraid to turn around. Afraid it
was the same guy again. Closing my eyes, I began to relax when I heard it was a
woman’s voice. “Honey, are you okay?” She had the fluffiest white hair sprayed
down into a helmet. She’d obviously came from the beauty shop. Aged lines
scarred her face, and her eyes watched me with concern.

“Yes,
I’m fine,” I said, slapping on a fake smile, hoping to blow her off.

Turning
back around, I left the woman to herself so I could get back to my discussion
with Aaron. He was still engrossed in every little item on the shelf as if he’d
never been in a grocery store before. Maybe he hadn’t.

“Aaron.
Would you help me out here? Make these people leave me alone,” I said in a
lower voice as not to bring any more attention to myself.

“Honey,
who are you talking to?” The elderly lady was in my face again.

“Um,
my… friend,” I replied, pointing to Aaron.

She
leaned up to me and whispered in my ear. “Sweetie, there’s nobody there.”

I
froze.

My
feet turned into cement blocks. Paralysis had stricken my legs and arms. Aaron
was standing directly in front of me. “Aaron, please say something,” I said,
watching him watching me. “Tell this woman she’s crazy. Tell her I’m not the
lunatic here.” Aaron’s eyes held sympathy? Forgiveness? Why was he looking at
me that way?
She’s old. She’s bordering life and death. She’s suffering from
dementia. Don’t people become delusional with Alzheimer’s?
“Tell her,” I
screamed at him. Tears threatened me, burning behind my eyelids.

He
just stood there with his mouth open like a fish out of water.

This
can’t be factual. This can’t be happening to me. This only happens in movies, not
real life. This. Was. Not. Real.

On
one foot, I spun around and ran to the door. I had to escape the madness; I had
to get away. These people were playing mind games with me and I was losing the
battle. Once I reached my car, a protective blanket wrapped around me, securing
me from all the evil lurking inside the store. Aaron had failed me. He was a
part of them. He was in on the cruel joke. He could’ve been the ring leader for
all I knew.

Wet
streaks trailed down my cheeks and I swallowed the lump in my throat. My vision
was blurred when I turned into my driveway. The drive back home was lost on me.
There was zero recollection of even leaving the store.
Why was this
happening to me?
I don’t want to be me anymore. Why was God punishing
me? Why did I have to be cursed? What did I do to deserve this?

When
I pulled my hands away from weeping eyes, I couldn’t even remember parking my
car in the garage.
How long had I been sitting here?
My heart felt like
a hundred pounds dangling in my chest. I rested my forehead on my arms draped
over the steering wheel. Visions of Aaron flashed behind my eyes — the
beating…broken ribs…cuts and bruises…his perfect body…the dreams. Something
wasn’t adding up. Then it hit me. I knew exactly how to get the answers I was
looking for. I jerked my head up and wiped the tears from my face. It was going
to be a long rest of the day.