Tempus (7 page)

Once inside I grabbed a random book from the fiction section, found a table, and pretended to read.  When had I grown up?  I had felt grown up on the inside for a long time, but when had the outside caught up?  I spent so much time just getting by and
getting through
things; getting through school, getting through work, getting through chores, getting through books, or movies, or just the evening at home.

I had a life, and I’d had boyfriends, though. 
Dating
.  That was always weird for me.  I just couldn’t get that
into
a boy I already knew I would never marry.  It seemed like mostly a waste of time to me.  Not that I wanted to get married, especially not any time soon, but
seriously
.  To invest that much time and effort and emotions—why? 

My first year of high school I remember a different girl was crying every single day, swearing she would never love again and life was over.  In freaking
high school
.  It just seemed so ridiculously pathetic, and I was not
about
to fall into that trap. 

I had dated a boy named Kyle for about two months.  He was cute, and nice and funny.  He had an ex-girlfriend named Meghan, and Meghan hated me.  I saw Meghan talking to him in the hall one day, so I broke up with him.  The funny part was that I pretended
he
broke up with
me
. 

I didn’t want to keep dating him, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either, so I convinced him it was all his idea, and that, though I was heartbroken, I would somehow survive.  For two years, he would walk up to me and say, “I never have figured out why I broke up with you” and I would laugh and tell him my guess was it just wasn’t meant to be.  If he asked me out, I would politely decline, and tell him my heart ‘couldn’t take it’ if things didn’t work out. 

In my sophomore and junior years, there was a succession of guys, but it never lasted for long.  I broke up with one because his voice got on my nerves.  He was handsome, smart, and had a nice car.  His parents had money, and he would take me out to eat, or to the movies, but his
voice
.  It sounded nasally to me.  Everyone told me I was imagining things, but
I
heard it, and I couldn’t
stand
it.  If he could have just stopped talking, but what fun would
that
be?  He was a senior, so I told him my dad said he was too old for me, and of course, I had to respect my dad’s wishes.

Not long after that was Devon.  I liked his name, he played guitar, and he had a remarkably good voice.  He had a band, and they weren’t bad.  In fact, they were
good
.  He went bowling with my dad and me one night, and that was it.  I couldn’t go out with a guy who looked like he had a corncob up his butt when he bowled.  He had nice abs, but they weren’t nice enough to make me forget the corncob-butt thing.  He had to go.  I don’t remember what pretext I gave him.

I
always
found excuses to get rid of guys; too tall, too short, too hairy, walked funny, talked funny, didn’t drive well enough.  I figured that if something bothered me within weeks of first dating, and it
always
did, there was obviously no way we would end up together, so why continue?  I was being
nice
, really.  I wasn’t wasting their time, and I wasn’t wasting mine either.

The first and
only
guy who had ever broken my heart was Steve.  That thought brought me back to the present and the cause of my nostalgic stroll through ex-boyfriend land.  Steve, though I hated to admit it, was still a good-looking guy.  If I were completely honest, he was better looking now than back when I had my crush on him.  He had started working out a couple of years ago, and though he wasn’t exceptionally tall, his muscles made him look huge.

He still had short, spiky blonde hair, almost white on the tips.  His green eyes seemed even greener today, and they were shaped like cat eyes, turned up a little at the outer corners.  His eyelashes were dark, much darker than his hair, as were his eyebrows.  Blondes weren’t my type, but as far as blondes go, he was probably the best looking one I knew, beside Claire the Queen.  And
Alecia
.

Perfection is attained by slow degrees; it requires the hand of time.

—Voltaire

The thought of Alecia brought me back to reality.  I had to have been imagining things; Steve could
not
have been flirting with me.  Next to Alecia, I still looked like that thirteen-year-old goofy kid that had tried to kiss him on the swing.  That one thought settled things in my mind and put me back on track.  Shopping.  New clothes. 
My
phone! 

I hopped up from the chair, placed the book back on the shelf, and went out into the mall.  I passed the first couple of stores and decided where I would go first.  I found the little kiosk I was looking for, tried out a couple of phone cases, and settled on one that suited me—black leather with plain black stitching.  I liked black.

From there I found my way to a clothing store I had never even set foot in.  It was all the rage, and everyone who was anyone shopped there, or so I had heard.  I didn’t like most of the stuff, but a couple of things caught my eye.  I picked out a few pairs of skinny jeans and some ‘jeggings’ to try on, a cute little black and red corset vest, a black lace pull-over tank, a gray racer back sleeveless cardigan top with lace on the bottom, several other girly tops that caught my eye—stuff I normally would
never
wear. 

I changed from outfit to outfit, checking myself in the mirror each time, making two piles.  On the right were my keepers; on the left were my wouldn’t-be-caught-dead-ins.  I was surprised that the bigger pile was the keepers for a change.  This is where I needed Mom.  Mom was a girly girl, and she had wanted
me
to be a girly girl.  Every school picture I had was a girly girl picture, until
after
.

I tried to imagine myself through Mom’s eyes.  What would she pick?  I wandered out of the dressing room with the keepers and browsed the racks.  All the lacy things jumped out at me, pastel colors, frilly and feminine.  I groaned internally.  A makeover I could do, but
frilly
pastels and I did
not
get along anymore.  I could compromise, though.  Pastels in chic styles I could do.  Frilly, but dark, I could do.  Maybe a gothic look, just a little.  A girly Goth.  Or
not
.

The young sales clerk noticed me then and approached, nearly dancing on her tiptoes.  She all but pirouetted around me—a ballerina with a nose ring—making me slightly self-conscious.  She didn’t say a word, just grabbed a few things here and there, and held them out to me with a smile, her eyes all a-twinkle.  I dutifully took them and returned to the changing room.

I tried everything on, and to my surprise, each item fit perfectly, flattered my shape, and made me feel
girly
, but not uncomfortably so.  I added the things to my keepers, and then grabbed the entire pile to head to the front.  Even though Dad had offered to ‘treat’ me, I couldn’t let him pay for my frivolity—he could buy me ‘practical’ clothes later.  I just about fell over when the total popped up, but I never lost my composure, handed over my debit card, and punched in my pin number.  

I continued through the mall, shop by shop, finding some shoes and boots and a few accessories.  I hated shopping, but I was having fun today.  I felt like I was building a new and improved me.  As I passed one of the smaller shops, I saw they were offering free makeovers—a bid to sell ridiculously over-priced makeup, no doubt.  I thought ‘why not’ and slipped through the doorway.

The clerk was all too happy to show me to a chair and sing the praises of the latest ‘back to school collections.’  She worked on my face and chattered away, asking me to close my eyes, suck in my cheeks, or pucker my lips as needed.  I complied, and in a shorter time than I had feared, she spun me around to face the mirror.  I was stunned.

The girl looking back at me was beautiful.  Her eyes were dark, mysterious, and smoldering.  Her complexion was flawless, her cheekbones well defined, her lips full.  She looked older, much more mature, and rather sensual.  My dad would
kill
me. 

I bought everything she had used, including the brushes, and had her give me tips and pointers before I left.

I decided to do something that would normally seem very odd to me, but today I felt
different
.  I found the nearest bathroom, dug through my new clothes, and changed right there in a stall.  Off with the old me, and on with the new.  The finishing touch was clipping on my
new
phone in its
new
black leather holster case.

I checked myself out in the wall mirror near the sinks and groaned.  My hair didn’t look right.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had a proper haircut, so that was next on my list.  There were several places in the mall, so I picked the one with the fanciest name and asked if they had time for me.  The stylist ushered me back, asking what look I was going for.  I had
no
idea.

She flipped through a few books with me, and I pointed out some cuts I liked, or at least the things I liked about the different styles.  We decided that leaving it long was best, but she wanted to give it some layers and add highlights.  I had never colored my hair, not even a little, but since this was the
new
me, I told her to go for it.  I made it clear I didn’t have a lot of time to spend working on my hair, so it had to be something I could work with that wouldn’t take
forever
.

The cutting and coloring took ages, but once that was done, all she did was wash, rinse, and dry.  I watched as my hair fell into place, soft and feathery around my face, cascading over my shoulders.  It looked so shiny, shimmering as the light reflected off the newest shades of color throughout.  I had never loved my hair so much.

After a substantial tip, and a more substantial bill, I glided back out into the bustling mall.  I was starving, and when I looked at the time, it was clear why.  I decided I should end my day, call Dad, and get home.  Perhaps I would parade around the mall while I waited, though; I hated wasting a good dressing-up.  I pulled out my phone and dialed the number as I strolled along with my bags slung over my shoulder, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Timeless Treasures, this is Steve, how may I help you?”

Him
again.  “Hey Steve, let me talk to Dad.”

“Hey, Jessie.  Your dad’s in the back cataloging all that new stuff.  He told me to just lock the store, pick you up, and take a late lunch when you called.  Took you long enough, I’m starving!”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry to ruin your day.  Just meet me at the main entrance in fifteen then.”

“You got it.”  He hung up without fanfare.

While I was strolling and talking, I noticed I had been getting a few looks.  Quite a
few
looks.  I knew by the
type
of looks that they were appreciative.  One poor guy got a whack to the back of his head from his girlfriend for it.  That made me smile, but not until they had both passed by.  I was going to
like
the new and improved me.

As I headed for the main entrance, my phone rang.  It was fun to pull out my phone to answer, as if I had always had one.  I tried not to make a production out of it, but I couldn’t help myself.  Now
I
was acting weird.

“Hello.”  I answered, elongating the ‘oh’ sound.

“Jessie!  You got a phone!”  It was Julie.

“Ohmigod, yes!  Dad left it for me this morning!  You should see it!”  I went outside and sat on a bench near the front doors.  We laughed and talked over each other for the next fifteen minutes, until I heard the monster approaching—the sound was unmistakable.  I had been sitting with my head down, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hair while we talked.  Julie would be back tomorrow, and we made plans to spend the day together.  I told her goodbye, hung up, and slipped my phone back in its case.

I looked up, and Steve was watching the people coming out the doors.  He was raised up in his seat, looking over heads and into the mall entryway, searching for someone.  I wondered if Alecia was back, since this
was
her favorite place on the planet.  I walked over to the truck and climbed up, opening the door and tossing in my bags.

“Who ya looking for?”  I asked as I took my seat.

Steve appeared to choke on his own tongue for a second.  “J-J-Jessie?” he managed to stammer.

“God, Steve, WHAT?”  I snapped.  The last thing I wanted was for Steve to ruin my very good day by being an idiot.

“J-Jessie.”

“Juh Jessie WHAT?”  If he did that one more time, I was going to hit him in a green eye, maybe even both of them.  Then I noticed the actual
look
on his face.  It was definitely shock, but it was something else.  It was as if he didn’t even know me, like some stranger had just climbed in his truck and made themselves at home. 

I opened the door and started to get out.  I had no idea where I thought I was going.  Just out. 
Out
is where I was going.  That snapped him
out
of his stupid stammering.