Love Among the Pizza Boxes

This morning felt like waking up from a sweet dream.
The first thing I thought of was last night.
Good god almighty what a night.
Fiery fingers on skin, shivering in places I didn’t know could—And yet.
And yet.
And yet we didn’t do our worst.
We didn’t surrender ourselves completely though the thought must have crossed both our minds. I know I thought about it.
And I still think about it embarrassingly enough.
I think about what we could’ve done and I’m almost craving his touch in places I really shouldn’t be touched.
And despite the fact that I’m embarrassing myself thinking about this, I still think.
And think.
And think.
And hot damn I need to stop thinking like this.
So I get out of bed and go to the bathroom where I stand in front of the mirror and just stare.
I mess with my hair, turn to the side, scratch my knee, criticize my boobs and then decide I’ll get implants when I turn forty. Scratch off the plaque on my front teeth, examine it under my fingernail, wash my hands, go back to the mirror.
Sigh.
Time to get ready for the day.
…
Where am I going anyways?
So I’m in my car and driving.
Driving where? Beats the shiz outta me.
I’m in the older district of the Mainland that’s farther away from the beach than the rest of the town. I guess you could call this area downtown.
Now I’m just scanning the stores on 102nd Street and deciding what to do with myself to get my mind off—
Yeah.
Anyways…
I spy with my little eye… Some Chinese restaurant called Shang Garden, then a tattoo parlor, a crappy antique store with nothing but old tables and certified plastic lemonade pitchers, and several ethnic home décor stores. Then on the left side is a used clothing store, a baby store called The Henny Penny, a used book store I’ve been into a few times, and some closed up specialty stores.
Seeing nothing of much importance on this street, I turn left onto North Street which oddly enough runs East and West.
There doesn’t seem to be too much down this way except for some warehouses. But I keep going until I find a Walgreens where I figure I’ll buy some bubbles or something to entertain myself.
So I do my best with parallel parking behind a dark green Jetta and I step out of the air-conditioned Barbie car and into the humidity that reminds me or being stuck inside a big plastic bag.
Then I hurry into the Walgreens and find it to be way cooler than the outdoors.
I sigh under the commercial grade fluorescents and start to walk along the aisles, starting with cosmetics and then aisle after aisle. Candy and snack foods, summer toys, sunscreen, lotions and skincare, plastic ware and outdoor dining… Feminine hygiene.
Down this aisle were the usual suspects. Tampons, maxi-pads, douches (hehe), adult diapers (hopefully I shall never have the need for these) and condoms.
And this is where I stopped.
I stopped at this place in the aisle where I have never ever stopped before.
For some reason I just find myself transfixed on condoms.
Why are there so many?
They come in colors…?
They come in sizes?
…
They come in flavors?!
…
What the hell?
What. The. Hell.
But still.
I pick up a package of the major brand- ‘Trojan’.
Okay, cool. Sneaky like the Trojan Horse.
Yeah, okay.
Okay…. Here we go.
So I squint and try to look as inconspicuous as possible as I read the label.
…
So apparently this one insures female satisfaction.
I put it back on the shelf and blow out a puff of air.
After that I pick up a blue one in the same brand.
And then a purple one.
And then another.
And another.
And another…
And finally I just find one that seems like it’ll do.
‘Tastes like watermelon!’. That should be fun, right?
Oh lord, what have I gotten myself into?
So then I feel the need to get out real quick with my dirty purchase and scoot.
So I scurry near to the cash register where an old lady is checking out a young couple and behind them are a mother and her son.
Well crapola.
I can’t just go buy watermelon flavored condoms in front of a ten-year-old.
So I decide that I’ll just grab the nearest object that might cover my package and make it seem less naughty.
So I grab a canister off the shelf next to me without really looking at it and I get in line, being sure to cover the lettering on the bow with my arm.
Luckily I got to check out without the mother and son seeing my purchases and so I put my items proudly on the counter in front of the old woman whose eyebrows instantly shot up.
I smile at her sweetly and then look down at the counter.
Condoms.
And whipped cream.
Cool.
So then the lady checks out my stuff and hands the bag to me with an odd look on her face.
Then I head back out into the humid air with my purchases in hand.
Mission -that wasn’t really a mission- accomplished.
So I’m about to get into the drivers’ seat when I see something interesting down the street.
I tilt my head to the side and look at it a while.
Then I decide to go check it out.
So I lock up my car again and head over to the store, my purchases still accompanying me.
As it turns out, the store is a coffee shop that’s simply called ‘The Bean’ with huge windows with faded window paint on the glass.
I go into the shop with the jingle of a bell and immediately the coffee smell is everywhere.
That’s a nice smell.
Then I look around a little more.
The shop is perfectly square with two counters. The one I’m facing is a long checkout counter cluttered with arts and crafts and baked goods. On the other counter that’s to my right are stir sticks, coffee sleeves that make me think of the movie ‘The Perfect Man’, and sugar, napkins, and a jar of jellybeans.
The walls are dark plum and red and framed with dozens of photographs and paintings for sale. The floor has dusty black and white diamonds covering it.
All the tables and chairs are of varying heights, colors, and styles which just adds to its odd charm. There aren’t too many people in the shop. Just a couple of guys near one window and a woman with a computer in her lap, sitting on a faded tie-die couch I hadn’t seen earlier backed up against the other window. Then of course there is the woman behind the larger counter who is the biggest woman I have ever seen, with blue-black skin and broad shoulders.
Jeez, she could beat Zermine at arm-wrestling.
So then I walk up to the counter and smile at the woman.
“Hey, baby,” she says in the deepest voice I’ve ever heard a woman use.
“Hi.” Then I look up the hand-written chalk boards above the counter and figure what I’ll get.
When I decide, I turn my attention back to the woman. She raises her thin black eyebrows down at my expectantly. “Could I have an ice mocha latte, please?”
“Sure thang, honey bun,” she says and starts pushing buttons into the cash register with huge fingers that are a sausage thick in circumference.
I take this time to notice more about her. She has light blue, sparkly eye shadow on, bright red blush, and light pink lip gloss. She has on a blue dress that matches her eye shadow on underneath her apron and silver hoop earrings.
Her nametag reads: Lorraine.
“That’ll be $3.67, miss thang.”
I smile at the nickname and hand over a five dollar bill.
She gives me the change. “It’ll be done soon.” She nods.
I nod back in thanks and head over to the one of the tables on the side of the coffee shop near the two men who are now debating over something.
I sit down in a high-sitting chair and start to zone out as I gaze at a painting of a giant grilled cheese cuddling a cat.
‘The Tail of Two Star-Crusted Lovers’ a piece of paper below it reads.
I chuckle a little and stare off into the painting again.
But my zoning is interrupted by someone calling out. “Miss! Excusem me, miss.”
I turn confused to the two men sitting close by.
“Could you pleasem settle something for us?” The man who spoke has a lisp-y school boy accent and after he spoke, turned to glare at his partner.
“Uh… Sure?”
I get up and walk to their table.
“Alright,” the first man says and flicks his short, fluffy blonde hair back without needing to because his hair is much too short to get in his eyes.
And then I think of Riku and how his hair looks like it’s always getting in his eyes.
I smile a little.
“So. So. So. Miss, we are in a terrible predicament, miss. Because Fabio and I have been going over this gorgeous dress our friend Amelia designed and I swear- I swear. This. Dress. Is. Fuchsia.”
“It’s rose, Benny,” the man beside him says gently, placing a timid hand on his companion’s chubby forearm.
“Fuchsia,” ‘Benny’ reminds me insistently.
“Um… So. You want me to decide whether the dress is fuchsia or rose?”
“Yes, miss, yes. It is of great importance.”
“Okay. Well. Aren’t rose and fuchsia the same thing?”
Benny gasps. “My dear, no, no, no. Fuchsia is a much more vivid and exuberant color. Rose is simply, dreadfully… Dreck.”
Dreck?
What?
“Um. Well…” I look at the picture of a very puffy and very short bright pink dress. “Uh—Fuchsia I guess.”
“Good choice!” Benny gushes and lays a flimsy hand on my arm. “Please sit with us. I insist.”
“Okay…” I say slowly and lower myself into one of the chairs.
“Watch out for those two, miss thang. They’re a little crazy, baby,” Lorraine calls over the sound of the blender going the espresso machine sputtering.
I smile a little and fidget in my newly assigned chair.
“Oh, don’t listen to Lorraine, missy. We are perfectly fine,” Benny tells me.
“Benny,” Fabio starts gently.
“-Oh my goodness!”
Ah!
I jump in my chair.
“Good heavens, Fabio. Where are our manners?!”
Oh.
Well no wonder no one likes it when I start yelling for no reason.
“Miss, my name is Benjamin Reginald Lewis the third.”
He takes my fingers limply in his chubby fingers and lets go.
“And this is Fabio.” He waves a dismissive hand in his direction.
Fabio looks slightly annoyed for a moment and then he also shakes my hand, but with his whole sturdy hand.
“Fabio Giovanni Moretti.” Then he leans down his dark ruffled head and kisses my hand which earns a gruff huff from Benny.
“Don’t suck up, Fabio. It’s unattractive.”
I smirk a little and put my hand back in my lap.
“My name is Shayla Smith. The first.” I smile at them.
“Lovely to meet you, Shayla,” Fabio says in his Italian lilt.
Benny lets out another jealous grunt. “Yes, yes. Very nice.”
I hold back a little giggle and flash another smile.
“-Miss thang, coffee’s done,” Lorraine calls from the counter.
I nod and get out of the chair to retrieve my coffee.
It’s in a clear, heavy glass with a detailed glass handle.
The coffee itself is as pretty as the cup. The coffee and some sort of whipped cream are separated on top and bottom. And in the whipped cream are multiple flighty hearts formed with cocoa powder.
‘Wow’ I mouth and then I look up at Lorraine. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“Sure thang, baby girl,” she says and then sticks a purple twisty straw in my glass.
I smile at the straw and then at Lorraine again and then I head back to the table.
I sit down and make sure not to kick my Walgreens’ bag over.
Then I set my coffee down and stare at the cup. “It’s so pretty.”
“Of course. ‘Lorraine the French drag queen’ is a master of the artistic properties of coffee,” Benny says.
Drag queen?
Well then that explains a lot.
Lorraine is a man.
“From the French Quarter, baby. We’ve got soul,” Lorraine calls out and starts humming some jazzy sounding song empathetically.
I nod again and start sipping at my coffee while swaying a little to the beat of Lorraine’s song while Benny and Fabio start chattering about design.
Me swaying and drinking proves to be a bad combo because I end up spilling mocha latte all down my shirt.
“Crap,” I say mildly and rub at the wet fabric with my thumb.
And then I stand up and swiftly walk to the smaller counter where I grab a handful of napkins.
When I come back to the table, Benny and Fabio are staring at the ground near my chair with amused expressions.
“What?” I ask with my napkins poised at the ready to dab the wet splotch.
Benny shakes his head. “You dirty girl.”
Huh?
“Huh?”
I look down at the ground where I see that I must’ve knocked over my bag.
There’s a box of watermelon flavored condoms and a big spray can of whipped cream displayed on the floor for all to see.
“That’s kinky,” Fabio remarks.
Oh.
Oops.