Chasing Shadows (3 page)

"I don't know." Ah fuck, now she thinks I don't
remember our conversations, just like Ashley. Am I really this bad
of a person?

"Look I'm not that hungry anyway so if you
don't want to talk that's cool. I can go."

Panic, anger. "Jesus, I know you're running
from the mob or some shit but don't take it out on me, and anyway I
meant it, like, I really don't
know
. I don't know how old I
am other than mid-twenties. I don't know where I come from or where
I was born, or raised, or by who, or anything."

"Fuck you Meegan. You are so weird."

I sigh. Why am I about to confess this to
Shelving Fairy? Because she remembers my name, that's why. "Really.
Three years ago, give or take, I washed up on the beach near
downtown in the middle of February. Some lady called it in. Thought
I was a corpse. I can't remember shit. Don't tell
anyone."

"Bullshit."

"Whatever, Google it. Coming to
breakfast?"

"Huh. I don't necessarily believe you, but it's
an interesting lie. So, yes, I will allow you to consume food at
the same table as me."

***

Shelving Fairy is quiet, unnervingly so, as we
look over the menus. I remove my hoodie and from it take my Camels
and lighter, placing them on the table between us. Shelving Fairy
doesn't even look up at me before reaching out and grabbing another
one of my cigarettes.

"Like ridding a bike isn't it?" I
say.

"Hmm. What are you getting? And if your so
amnesiated how do you know you name's Meegan and what about ID
cards, social security numbers, bank accounts, all that
stuff?"

I light up a smoke as well. Less than half a
pack left. I wonder if I have any more at home of if I need to go
out and buy another carton. I guess my silence stretched out for
too long because Shelving Fairy smacks the menu on the table to get
my attention.

"Hello? It's called a conversation, weirdo. You
have to participate."

I sniff and flash a sideways smile. "What were
you running from?"

"I told you, I'm not talking about
it."

"Bullshit. You're dying to tell me. I can feel
it. Besides you know I'm good with secrets. You can say anything
and I'll never tell a soul."

Shelving Fairy takes a delicate drag on her
cigarette. "There's no proof that everyone has a soul, so you're
promise means nothing."

I laugh before I realize that Shelving Fairy
wasn't joking. "Well shit." I say.

Shelving Fairy turns in her seat looking out
the window several booths away. "You first anyway."

"I'm going for the ham and cheese omelet with a
side of sweet potato fries, since you asked."

"Okay, good start." says Shelving Fairy. "I
think I'll get a blueberry waffle because I damn well deserve one,
and a diet coke."

At this moment the waitress returns. She looks
from one of us to the other. "I heard you ladies." She says. "So if
that's what you want I've got it down. Anything to drink for you?"
She asks me.

"Water is good, and coffee."

"Thank you. Need cream?"

"That'd be great thanks." The waitress leaves
and Shelving Fairy looks expectantly in my direction. "When they
found me they took me to the hospital."

"Naturally." Shelving Fairy has a sparkle of
disbelief about her.

I roll my eyes and continue. "There was a white
board in the room where they write the name of your nurse every
shift. One of the nurses' names was Meegan. She was pretty, but
rude sometimes. Jones I just picked out of the air."

"So you named yourself after a rude
nurse."

I shrug. "I wasn't feeling so hot, and I
figured I didn't want to aim too high." Shelving Fairy laughs and
after a beat I join her. "The other stuff was a hassle but not too
bad. The cops got me a social worker, Melody Smith. Again, you can
Google it. She got me all legalized and she still calls or stops by
when I miss too many appointments, which is a lot."

"Why does she stop by? Aren't you all adjusted?
You have a job and place to live, at least I'm assuming you're not
homeless."

"I'm not homeless. My case is still open and
will be until my memory comes back, which could be any second now
or never. So I'll probably always be in the system unless I leave
the city. I can't imagine the city police department would really
care enough to keep up with me if I disappeared."

"They never found out who you were? What about
your parents? Your friends? Were you in school? You could have
like, a PHD and you'd never know it."

I nod. "True. I could also have like a million
dollars in student loans, a defunct mortgage, and an arrest record.
I wouldn't know any of that shit either. Trust me I've thought
about it."

Shelving Fairy considers. "So it's not all bad
then."

"Nah. I'm cool with it. You're
turn."

Shelving Fairy sulks. "I thought your story
would be so much more interesting than that. It's kind of a let
down."

I laugh. "Sorry my life is a disappointment to
you... You're turn!"

"Yeah, Okay." Shelving Fairy snubs out her
smoke and before she can start talking the food arrives. We eat in
silence for a few minutes. I get distracted by the television
hanging from the corner of the diner. It's muted but hey, moving
pictures are moving pictures right? The sound of silverware hitting
an empty plate draws my attention back to the table. Holy cow!
Shelving Fairy can really pack it in. What's it been three minutes?
Shelving Fairy is all done and pulling money out of her
pocket.

"Hey!" I say. "Spill it."

Shelving Fairy glares. "Not that it's any of
your business, but I did happen to engage in some slightly illegal
activities related to herb like plants that are common in nature
and so should not even be illegal. I saw a cop car cruise by the
fountain, which is where I was with this guy. The car flashed its
siren for a sec and the guy, His name is Froilan. He's from
Hungary. He's pretty cool, goes to my school. He's a video major.
Anyway he freaked out and ran towards the water so the police were
chasing him and I decided to head west."

"Oh."

Shelving Fairy looks a little sheepish. "Yeah,
maybe I got a little paranoid."

"A little." I smirk. "I totally thought you'd
have a cool story, but it turns out you're just exactly as
disappointing as I am."

Shelving Fairy laughs at this. "I don't know,
I'm pretty disappointed."

"You still high?"

"Eh." Shelving Fairy shrugs. "A little. I could
eat about four more of those waffles so I think we'd better go
before I order them. Hey you're not like one of those
drugs-are-bad-you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself people are
you?"

I scowl. "I don't know. I could be any kind of
person at all, but in my three long years of life experience, I'd
say I don't know enough yet to be able to pass judgment on you...
Not for smoking up anyway."

"You smoke?"

"Nah. My brain's already damaged, so who knows
what drugs would do?"

"Seriously." Shelving Fairy looks at me dumb
founded.

I nod. "Yup seriously."

"Huh." Shelving Fairy slurps up the last of her
diet coke through her straw. "Well you have to let me dye your hair
then. You're roots are killing me."

That caught me by surprise. I laugh loudly,
charmed. "Sure, whatever. What color?'

Shelving Fairy shrugs. "I'll think about it,
but we're doing it this week for sure."

"I work all week."

"Yeah for eight hours a night. Oooo, where will
you find the time?" She says sarcastically.

I sigh. "I have to sleep."

"Well what time do you wake up every
day?"

"Sixish."

Shelving Fairy's eyes bug out a little. "That
leaves like, five freaking hours
every
day. Plenty of time,
trust me. Here," Shelving Fairy hands me her phone. "Put you're
cell number in there. I'll call you and we'll work it
out."

I obey but say. "I don't always answer my phone
though, especially if I don't know the number."

Shelving Fairy shakes her head. "Why not?
Ducking bill collectors you don't have? It's a 312 number. You'll
answer. You'll think its work calling."

"Ha!" I say. "There's no area code I'm
less
likely to pick up for."

"Fine. Hand me your goddam phone, and put some
money on the table so we can get out of here, before I start eating
the napkins."

I smile, handing over my phone and Shelving
Fairy smiles back. I'm totally gonna get her name now. When
Shelving Fairy hands it back I bring up the phone book to look for
the new number. I don't have to look far. There it is. The first
entry is now a 312 number listed as 'answer the fucking phone'
which is too long for the space so it ticks by like stock numbers.
"Cute." I say.

"I thought so." Shelving Fairy replies. "Look
I'll see you at work tomorrow. I'm gonna go home K?"

"Yeah sure. Hope you're friend's
okay."

"Huh?"

"The Hungarian, pot head, video
major."

Shelving Fairy nods. "Ohhh Froilan... yeah I
forgot." Shelving Fairy giggles. "Later!"

I exhale heavily as Shelving Fairy hops up and
takes off. I finish the rest of my omelet, and the waitress brings
the check. When I see the check I sigh again. Shelving Fairy didn't
leave enough money. Shelving Fairy only left three dollars. Crazy,
pot head Shelving Fairy. Good thing I brought enough money. I pay
for the meal and leave Shelving Fairy's three dollars for the tip.
Ashley would have never done that... but fuck Ashley,
honestly.

***

I watch as the sunrise turns all the windows
amber-gold. Soft light like this makes the city seem clean and
wholesome. All the junkies have crawled back to their corners and
are sleeping it off. All the teenage gangsters have filed back to
their mother's houses. The day walkers are alert but quiet at 8 AM.
I am standing on the Randolph platform just north of downtown. It's
the one closest to Golden Waffle, naturally. It's crowded up here
with hundreds of men and women in suits every shade of gray, the
charcoal universe. The South bound train arrives and ninety-seven
percent of the commuters cram their wool and linen covered bodies
into it. I stay put. As they pull out, a brisk breeze stings my
cheeks. I take a deep breath of it, filling my lungs with
exhaust-a-la-pancakes. There's another diner below me. I'm headed
north, home, home at last. It's been a weird night. I rub my hand
over my face. It comes back oily. I wipe it on my jeans. I wonder
what I look like to all those healthy, busy, day people. This has
got to be the one time of day I actually appreciate them. They're
off to make the world safe for democracy and all that, to stave off
Armageddon another day. If a nuclear holocaust ever comes on
America, it'll come by day I think. Maybe I'll sleep through it.
Ah, here comes my train.

Chapter Two

I am standing quietly in the elevator. I am
currently sharing it with four customers who are going up. They
seem young and obnoxious to me, can't be older that fifteen. I have
my ear buds in, Aerosmith blaring. The teenagers glance at me every
few seconds. They're obviously speaking in whispers, but it’s for
their own benefit. I can't hear and don't care what they're saying.
The elevator stops on the third floor. The four kids get out, going
no doubt to try and shoplift the latest gangster rap CD by whoever.
As they leave, my eyes are drawn to the back of their waist lines
which must be what they intended. Two of the girls are wearing neon
bright thongs that stick up over their low-rise, painted on jeans.
Is that still a thing? Their exposed flesh looks red, must be cold.
It’s October for Christ's sake. I raise an eyebrow.

When they are gone I slip my little round key
out of my pocket and into the slot marked B. With a ding that even
I can hear, the elevator heads for the basement. It stops on the
ground floor first. Here Ashley is waiting along with our old,
hippie co-worker Heath. Every work place has an old hippie. Our old
hippie has psoriasis. Heath's face is in the process of molting. I
concentrate on not staring at the old dude and not avoiding looking
at him either. You have to strike just the right balance of
attention to seem like the sight of flaking skin doesn't fascinate
you. I'm so caught up in my political correctness that I almost
miss the angry, injured look on Ashley's face. I haven't mentioned
the breakfast we went to the other day, yesterday I guess, and I
may never. It was brutal for both of us.

We arrive at the basement and I remove my ear
buds. It’s still too early to clock in. I dump my bag on the floor
by the employee coat rack and head to the break room for coffee. I
ignore Ashley because I lack the social skills to do otherwise.
After yesterday, what should I say? What can I? I mean she
literally said, very loud, in public... never mind. She made her
position clear. My boots squeak on the tile letting everyone know
two things. One: It’s raining outside. Two: I am here! Screech,
screech.