Chasing Shadows (4 page)

Shelving Fairy is already here. She smiles up
at me. She's sitting across the gray, plastic table from Doug.
Doug's eyebrows are catching the fluorescent light and giving his
mannish face a crazy glow.

"Hey." Doug says, pulling out the chair next to
him for me to sit in. This surprises me as I've never really spoken
to Doug before.

"Join us." Shelving Fairy chirps.

"K." I am suspicious immediately. Both of these
people are wearing looks of expectation that can only bode ill for
me. I nod to Doug and say to Shelving Fairy something non committal
like "What's up?"

Doug adjusts his phone on his studded belt
before answering in a hushed voice, as if I had asked him instead
of Shelving Fairy. "Fin told me."

Oh hell, I think. Then I get distracted. Wait,
he said Fin. "Fin." I repeat after him trying not to make it sound
like a question.

Shelving Fairy blushes. "Doug calls me Fin. I
think it’s cool."

Huh. "So, should I start calling you Fin?" I
ask. I'm about to get a name for Shelving Fairy!! This is awesome.
Now I'll be able to use it to cuss her out appropriately for
confiding a secret of
mine
to man she doesn't even know!
Ashley would never have done that. At least I don't think she would
have. I guess. I don't know since I never told her.

Shelving Fairy shrugs. "You don't have to. You
can still call me Cassie."

Eureka! I smile. "So why Fin?" I ask
Doug.

"That's from my last name, dumb ass! Finoglio."
Shelving Fairy, I mean Cassie, rolls her eyes. I tell myself to try
and remember Finoglio as I take a sip of my coffee and cringe,
fucking holidays. The cafe gets its coffee flavors from corporate.
Staff coffee is whatever's not selling. This one is trying to be
pumpkin pie, or apple sauce, or some other damn thing that doesn't
belong in coffee.

"I think I'll call you Fin, maybe."

Doug is beaming at Cassie, Fin, Shelving Fairy,
in a way that makes me embarrassed for both of them. “So, Meegan,”
He says. “Don’t worry. I’m not telling or anything. I get it,
totally private, like emotionally heavy. But you should know, the
guys in the band will think this totally rocks. We’re like,
guaranteed to write a song about you.” He puffs up his considerable
chest. He is so proud of himself. He clearly doesn’t know I’d like
to kick his teeth in... He’s planning to tell his
band
...
His fucking band. Fuck wad. He continues talking as I fume. I just
catch the end. “You know cause I like have you to thank for,
uh...”

Fin smiles a big goofy grin and flips her dark
hair over her shoulder. The hair is long enough that it swats the
chair behind her where Ashley is sitting, with her back to the
group, pretending to read. Maybe she really is reading, whatever,
to me it looks like eaves dropping. “Yeah I never would have had
the guts to just ask you out like that if Meegan hadn’t said you
liked me. Meegan you are so totally perceptive.” Fin says. And now
I get a blast of the smitten smile from her. It’s disarming I’m
ashamed to admit.

“Yeah so.” Doug shifts forward so his elbows
are on the table. “Fin’s coming to practice on Saturday, and if
you’re off, you should come too.”

I try to keep a blank face. There is almost
nothing I am less interested in than watching a bunch of trendy,
douche bag, boys practice whatever trash chords they’ve managed to
string together into something called a song. There is a tiny
possibility that I am looking at a member of the next Nirvana, but
I doubt it. I open my mouth to voice some polite refusal when I see
Ashley’s smirk. So what comes out of my mouth is:

“Sure. Sounds cool. What kind of music do you
guys play?” Oh God, I am going to regret this. Mentally I’m already
stealing myself and preparing a little list of compliments I’m
going to have to cop to.

Shelving Fairy, no Fin, looks visibly relieved.
She doesn’t give Doug a chance to answer. “Oh thank God.” She says.
“I was sure you were going to say no, actually, and I only know
Doug, so I was really nervous about meeting his friends, uh, band
mates, by myself.”

Doug runs a long bony hand through his hair and
I want desperately to smooth his eyebrows. I see Ashley get up so I
check my phone. 10:55. Time to check in.

***

I saunter down the main aisle of non-fiction on
the second floor, pushing a cart of migrating books. Those are the
ones that move to other sections where they don’t belong during the
daytime. I keep a trash bag tied to my hip and disposable gloves in
my back pocket. So my walk has a sound track: crackle, swish,
crackle, swish as my hips move. No one else on my shift carries a
trash bag, but no one else stocks near so many of Flagship’s deep
window ledges. The ledges are wide enough to sit on, which of
course customers do. They wouldn’t, if they knew what I know. The
book shelves butt up to the windows, creating cozy nooks for
reading and quiet contemplation. For the homeless, crazy, or nasty
people of the city these are also excellent places to pee, jack
off, rip up books, eat stolen candy, throw trash, discard tampons,
leave condoms, etc. Once I found a used hair dye kit. Evidently
there was a customer who found it imperative to go auburn
right
then
. Like; ‘I’m just sick to death of this blonde, DAMN
IT!’

I reach the history section and turn down the
medieval row. Stocking is awesome. It’s meditative, and just
engaging enough to keep me from over thinking all the other aspects
of my life. I am in the process of moving all the books over and
up, to make room for my re-shelves, when I see movement to my
right. I look there, to the window. I’m on the second floor like I
said. The plate glass is a big dark pool with city lights barely
visible beyond my own reflection. There it goes again. It’s a dark
little flicker, reminiscent of a bird but less solid. It’s right
there between the shelf and the window. It even has a reflection!
Oh my God, when have I seen one straight on before? Ever? There is
a tap on my shoulder. I turn but, surprise, no one there. With a
nervous sigh I go back to my task. What else should I do? They’ve
never appeared at work before. It must be stress. I know I’m crazy,
but this is getting out of hand isn’t it?

“Jesus.” I mumble.

“He’s not here.” Ashley sneers, surprising me.
“We keep him and all his other crazy friends by the elevator. You
should know that.”

I stiffen. “I thought you were
done
with
me.” I say, trying and failing to keep the resentment out of my
voice.

Ashley hooks her thumbs into her belt loops and
places a delicately shod foot on my cart. How can she wear heels
like that? “You’re such a cow.” She says quietly. “You didn’t even
know Cassandra’s name two days ago, and now she’s your
replace-a-friend? I hope she likes keeping track of all of your
shit for nothing. Not even a thank you. Honestly,” Ashley looks
over her shoulder. “I don’t think she’s up to it. She’s too tiny to
hold you together, and too smart not to see through your bullshit.
I wish
I
had been.”

“Look.” I say. “I told you I’m sorry. I took
you for granted. I’m a shit. I know it, so forgive me or fuck off.”
I hold my breath. Was that too strong?

Ashley’s face is frozen in a sick looking
smile. With a graceful little leg stretch she knocks my cart over,
spilling books, magazines and sideline merchandise on the floor.
Now she turns on her heel and sashays towards the
escalators.

That’s right, I think, I’m selfish and
juvenile. Poor, poor you for putting up with me all this time...
Cunt bag. I calmly finish my book shifting before tackling the
spilled cart. I’m just starting to stack the books back up, when I
can hear Allen approaching from the children’s section. Allen is
the supervisor. Everyone calls him Super Al behind his back, but
from what I know he’s pretty cool for a boss. He’s wearing pleated
gray pants with a thin black belt that bands across his spherical
mid section like the metal rings on a wooden barrel, or twine
around a hay bale... You get the idea.

He stops when he gets to my row. “Tipped the
cart huh?” Super Al makes super observations. I know from watching
other people that I’m supposed to laugh here. Like observations
alone count for observational humor. I chuckle obligingly. “Gotta
be careful though.” Says Super Al. “We’re in line for the safety
bonus again, so don’t you be the one who blows it.”

“Yes Sir.” I say with what I hope is a sweet,
friendly, sane smile.

“I’ve told you Meegan, Call me Allen. Sir is my
father.”

How old do you have to be before you must
relinquish the use of that line? Another polite laugh seems
required here. “How about Super Al?” I ask. Oh shit, shit poo. Did
I just say that out loud? Allen looks quizzical. I feel I should
explain. “Cause you’re the supervisor?” I say softly, while batting
my eyelashes.

There is a pause, during which I am sure the
fate of my job is being decided, before Allen bursts out laughing.
It’s a big rolling Santa Claus laugh that suits his figure. “That’s
great.” he says. “Or should I say, that’s super.” Super Al winks
and continues on his round.

I groan inwardly. He is such a dad, I think,
but then I stop myself. How would I know really?

***

Its 7:06 in the morning. I and seven
co-workers, Super Al included, wait at the door like kids at a
concert. We hold our bags open, one at a time, for the day shift
manager to riffle through. If you bring any books, movies or CDs to
work, it would behoove you to have your receipt taped to the front
of them, no matter where you bought them. I tape all my receipts to
the inside, front cover. I smile remembering my last purchase, and
how much evil joy I took in buying seven different books on seven
separate transactions, and then taping the receipts in right there,
with the cashier’s tape. That day shifter still glares at me when
he sees me. Fuck him though: silly, cashiering motherfucker. I
laugh a to myself before I realize I’m doing it.

Oh well, everyone lets out an unexplained,
sinister, little chuckle once in while right? At least I’m not
ducking invisible shadows. Which reminds me of the one I saw in the
history section. Damn, Ashley made me forget it until just now.
I’ll have to think about that on the ride home. It was so much more
real than the others have ever been. I wonder if it’s time to check
myself into an asylum. I know I won’t though, no matter how
justified. I will wait for the cops to come cart my ass away like
any other self respecting lunatic. I’m hungry and I really need a
cigarette.

***

Want to get to know your co-workers the fast
way? Have your hair dyed three different colors. I am cringing
inwardly and trying for some posture that is neither conceited nor
mouse-like. It’s below forty degrees tonight. Usually colder
weather thins the heard when it comes to smokers, but tonight
almost everyone who can stand to smoke is smoking. They've all come
out to continue to gawk at me. Fin insisted I wear my hair down
tonight in order to better display her handiwork. The hair is
basically blonde with light pinky-red stripes. Then there are the
two streaks of baby blue located just above and in front of my
ears. If I were to tie the top half of my hair back the blue would
show, but with the hair down it just suggests itself under there. I
am not entirely sure how I feel about this. Inwardly I cannot refer
to it as
my
hair, it’s
the
hair. At least it'll make
Halloween easy; Rainbow Bright it is.

Betty, the co-worker who always likes me,
smiles. "You did good Cassandra." She puts the emphasis on 'san'.
"Fixed up my baby."

I smile too. I'm not sure what I ever did to
get on Betty's good list. I'm more than a little afraid that it's
all a misunderstanding, but that never stops me from basking in the
unwavering acceptance of Betty's superior personality.

"Thank you, Miss Betty." Fin says. "You can
call me Fin though, Doug started that and I like it."

"Ha! Bull
shit
little girl." Betty says.
"Did your mother call you Fin?" When Betty says fin it sounds like
a kind of slug. I laugh. This is great. Fin rolls her eyes. Betty
continues, "And what happens when you dump that boy, Doug." Betty
snorts. "Stupid
ass
name if you ask me, which I
realize
you didn't, but that doesn't matter."

I laugh some more, giggle actually, like a
kid.

"You shut up." Fin says to me. "Or I'll turn
you back into a frog.
Meegan
calls me Fin." She says to
Betty.

"Hmm." Betty takes a very effeminate drag off
her cigarette and squints at me.

I just laugh again. With this hair it’s really
all I can do.

At this moment Kathy comes to the door. "Breaks
over ladies and gentlemen." Her high voice is trying hard to sound
friendly.

"Yes Ma'am." Betty calls back, and with her as
our leader, we all file back into Flagship.

Kathy is our supervisor tonight as Super Al
must, by law, be allowed some nights off. When we've all gotten
through the door she locks it and says, "Hold on everybody, we're
having a staff meeting. Everyone please head up to the cafe so we
can get started."