Wall Flower

I began my first morning shift on the day of my nineteenth birthday. A feverish, blinding hatred for all things human possessed me like it never had before in my now nineteen years of life. Me, an introverted wall flower, had to wake at five o’ clock, get dressed in my work clothes, and drive over to the coffee shop to open the doors, get the shop ready, talk to co-workers – to people – and then wait for early-rising customers and talk to them, as well. Dear God Almighty, why was I not born mute? I would then have an excuse not to talk with people.

Loraine, be grateful that you are not mute, said my inner voice. Now shut thine mouth and get thee prepared for thy labors.

I got dressed in the dark to be considerate to Cassandra and decided I would touch up my face with makeup in the car. I whispered a soft goodbye to Cassandra in case she was awake enough to hear me leave and I locked the door behind me. We finally got the second key for our dorm so I was now in possession of my own set. Thank the Lord (no, really, thank the Lord!), too, for I do not want to have to wait for Cassandra to say her long goodbye to Nicholas again whenever they decide to be cutesy and obnoxious. I remember the night after the zoo well.

After putting on makeup for baggy, dark under-eyes and mascara, I drove off in the dark, lonely morning. Even the sun has yet to poke its glowing head out from beneath the horizon. It is still dark when I reach work; the only light that is not the sun is coming from buildings and stores and advertisements. Unnatural light, not made by God but man. Yellow, orange, red, and electric blue paint the town, bathe me, and I scowl at it all. I try to hide my scowl when I see the pierced and apparently tattooed co-worker come out of his car, a black hat upon his head, covering the gist of his loose curls. I was able to see his stretchers from where I stood, and they looked slightly bigger than the last time I saw them. My index finger could slide through easily.

“Morning,” I say politely as the scent of something different wafts towards me from his opened car door. He does not move from his spot; his posture, leaned against his open car door, does not waver, and he nods at me.

“Early morning,” he grunts, and he grins slightly. “We start the morning shift, just the two of us.” He nods his chin at me, looking at my waist. My heart stutters. “Got the key?”

I pull it out of my pocket, show it to him, and we silently walk to the door. As I unlock it, I ask, “What about when the people heading to work (those that do have work) come in? You saw the wave of customers yesterday – will it not be the same?”

I open the door and he grabs hold of it. He leans against it, still with a firm grip, and rests his cheek against the frame. He has that amused look again. ”Others will come later, so don’t sweat it,” is all he says before ushering me inside. “Ladies first.”

As I flick the lights on I ask, “We have not been properly introduced: I’m Loraine.” We exchange glances: my hazel eyes meet his distant, caramel eyes, though they are less caramel and more dark chocolate than they were the day before. “What is your name?” I asked before I gave in to my curiosity about his eyes.

“Alan,” he answered, walking past me to the coffee machines. He reached under, where the sealed boxes sat, and slammed them onto the counter. They must have been heavy; the muscles in his arms stretched and tensed, and the tattoo on his upper left arm, the tattoo I did not see before, danced with his working muscles. “Alan Tadelesh, the second technically. But I’d rather not acknowledge that; I’d rather not think that I have the same name as the spawn of Satan.”

We looked at each other once more and I could see demons dancing around the fire in his caramel-dark chocolate eyes. I promised to pray for him.

“Nice to officially meet you,” I said softly. I walked away from the light switch to the box he had gotten open, though not without struggle. Something told me I ought to keep him in mind. “What’s in here?”

“Notice how the shelves for mugs and shit are nearly empty?” he asked, and he pointed at the racks and shelves of merchandise. They resembled a desert filled with cactus: not completely bare, but bare enough to feel its emptiness. I nodded at Alan. “We gotta fill ‘em with these new mugs and shit. Then we gotta go out back to get the tea bags and coffee beans. The boxes are heavy, and there’s a lot. Then the water needs to get heated up, and the pastries need to come out of the fridge and onto the shelves. Customers will start coming in at six.” He smiled a playful and very arrogant smile. “Ready to get started?”

There is only one half hour to get all of that done, with only two employees doing all of it? Perhaps I need a double shot cappuccino with extra whipped cream and three Splendas like that jittery customer I had a slight fall-out with three days prior; I now understood why he needed one.

I sighed, tightened my pony tail, and said, “No, but what choice do I have?”
He chuckled, and then he handed me a mug.

Alan and I had barely heated the water for tea and coffee when our first few customers of the day began piling in. The sun had poked its head from beneath the horizon with a beautiful display of pastel pink and vivid orange (vivid orange like my hair, I could not help but notice) painting the sky and clouds hanging around the newly risen sun.

While Alan speedily displayed the pastries and replaced the ones customers ordered, I took the orders and made the drinks. When I was busy making drinks, Alan would take orders, and vise versa. Customers began coming in more and more, multiplying, and our co-workers were not to be seen. Alan and I were running around the shop as though we were chickens without our heads, like tornados through a trailer park, like two employees taking on a sudden horde of early rising, coffee-needy customers.

By the time we reached our last customer, the sun was at its morning perch in the sky, yellow light covering the earth like a sheet, and customers that did not hurry out to work were lurking around the shop sipping coffee and tea and stuffing their faces with bagels. One customer began playing the piano, and I recognized him almost immediately: it was the dark haired, excellent, talented piano player that played before I did the day I got my job. It was comforting hearing him play something soft, slow, like my brain in the morning.

Alan and I finally had a chance to breathe, and we leaned against the counter behind the registers. I checked my cell phone (Mr. Tucker was not here to catch me on my phone, so I therefore took the chance) and saw that it had been an hour and fifteen minutes of non-stop preparing the shop, making drinks, replacing pastries, and taking orders.

“Sorry I’m late, Alan and new employee!” a female co-worker I had never met nor seen cawed as she came in. She was short, tan, had dark hair pulled into a messy bun, full lips and dark-rimmed glasses. Not gorgeous, but fairly pretty, and had nice round cheeks. “It’s my birthday and my boyfriend took me out to a quick breakfast.”

None of my friends have text me about my birthday, I thought sadly. I shoved that thought out of my head and smiled at my co-worker. “Funny, ‘tis my birthday as well,” I said with a fake smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday to you, I’m Laura!” she said cheerfully at the same time Alan tapped my arm and said a quiet, “Happy birthday. How old are you?”

“Thank you,” I said to Laura. To Alan I said, “Nineteen.”

He nodded and straightened up. Another co-worker walked in, male, older, as Alan asked, “Wanna take a breakfast break? These two can handle the non-action going on.”

“Didn’t do it on purpose, Alan!” Laura argued, tying her apron behind her back, though we never accused her of doing anything.

“Come on,” Alan said, leading me to the door that led to the back of the shop. He grabbed two breakfast sandwiches from the fridge and let me out first. I sat on the curb, and he joined me, holding out one of the breakfast sandwiches. I thanked him, said a quick prayer of thanks, and ate in silence with a suddenly restless Alan, whose fingers drummed impatiently against his thigh and whose eyes darted around as he chewed his sandwich.

The morning chill felt good against my clammy skin, and it felt equally as good to get something into my stomach. However, since there was a slow-growing knot in my stomach, that good feeling did not last long. The thought of my unacknowledged birthday gnawed at the back of my brain, and I scolded myself for being affected by it so. ‘Twas only my nineteenth birthday, and so there was therefore no need to have everyone bow down before me and offer temporary, twenty-four hour servitude. I need not be so offended that none of my friends nor family have texted me about my birthday.

It is nearly the end of my extended shift (the second co-worker that walked in that morning, the elder one, had to leave because his daughter was giving birth, and I had to stay to cover his shift), and neither Nick, Joe, or even Cassandra had texted a birthday message, left a birthday voicemail, anything. I was slowly being eaten alive with rage at myself for feeling the least bit lonely on my birthday because none of the people I loved had said happy birthday. Not even my parental units have said a word!

I pouted once again, and, like the other times I caught myself pouting, I said a string of cusswords aimed at myself and tried to look on the positive side: my shift was ending in fifteen minutes, the coffee shop was fairly busy, and the piano was free. I decided I would go up and play an angry-sounding song with which to begin my piano playing: The Phantom of the Opera Overture, leading into The Minnow & the Trout by A Fine Frenzy, leading into In Your Eyes by Sarah Bareilles (I could play the bass notes with fury without looking as though I was furious), and ending with Dawn from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack. It was a happy sounding song, and I decided to end my shift on a happy note rather than being bitter about not having my birthday acknowledged and enraged at myself for my bitterness.

I left without saying goodbye to Alan or Laura after clocking out of my shift, yanked my car door open, mentally cursed myself for letting something as a lack of birthday wishes cause me to mistreat my car, sat down gently in my driver’s seat, and slammed the door shut out of anger at myself. The roaring of the engine matched the roar of my angry, dragon-like self, and I backed out without hitting any innocent bystander out of vexation, thankfully.

The car ride consisted of my Relient K album and constant telling myself that the lack of birthday wishes was nothing but nothing while also quietly asking myself, What if they did forget my birthday? Does that mean I am unimportant? I imagined in my mind my smaller self, my hair hanging around my face in fiery, wavy tendrils, hazel eyes large and tinged red with oncoming tears, lip quivering as I ask if I am unimportant to my friends that do not wish me a happy birthday. I slapped my smaller self for even suggesting such a thing, for a day without birthday wishes does not equal the end of my world.

I then, in my mind’s eye, saw myself getting arrested on account of child abuse for smacking my smaller, child-like self, and I asked the mental cops if it was really child abuse and not self-harm, and then because they were so confused the mental cops transformed into scaley, bug-like creatures with dragon wings and butterfly-like antennae that I fought with a flaming sword.
My imagination frightens me sometimes; other times it makes me want to hop into my diary and write until I have completed a plot-line and a couple chapters of a potential book based on my imagination.

It was nearly nine o’ clock when I reached my dorm room, and I found the dorm room locked. For a moment I forgot I had my own key and I banged my forehead against the door in defeat. My hand rested loosely on the doorknob, turning it slowly for a couple seconds, thinking, Can this day get any worse? I mentally slapped myself and said, The day has not been the least bit bad nor has it been as lonely as you pathetically keep suggesting it has been. Now check your pockets.

Without moving my forehead, I reached into my left pocket and felt something sharp pinching the tip of my fingers. I pulled it out, realized what it was, and banged my head against the door once more before standing straight, putting the key in the lock, and turning. I heard the bolt unlock, the door creek lightly, and I sighed very deeply and very stubbornly before opening the door.

Suddenly, the room exploded, and my heart rammed its way out of its cavity, through my ribs, bursting out of my skin with enough force to knock me backwards. It took me a moment to register what was going on around me other than my hammering heart: our dorm room was filled with bodies, their body heat, streamers of rainbow colors, a sign with letters that I did not have focus enough to read, and a bomb-like explosion of, “SURPRISE!” nearly making my eardrums bleed.

As my heart calmed and my focus returned, faces became recognizable, the room stopped exploding, and I saw that the sign read, “Happy Birthday” with the number nineteen below it. The faces were those of Cassandra’s, Joe’s, Nick’s, and surprise, Danielle’s, Kevin’s, Joanne’s and Garret’s. They were all smiling at me, holding bags with colorful tissue paper and brightly wrapped boxes with bows, and I slowly smiled back.

They did not forget my birthday, I proudly and smugly told myself. Told ya so.

“What are you – all this – I do not usually find myself at a loss for words, for they usually flow out of me so easily; however, all of you have put me into a situation that is leaving me speechless!” I laughed, and smiled brightly.

“Coulda just said hey, Lori,” Garret chuckled, arm draped around my sister’s shoulders. He and Joanne are the only ones that call me Lori, aside from the rare times I hear it from Cassandra. Joe has called me Lori once, and that was when he asked me for notes after class.

“Hey,” I said, and he stuck his tongue out at me. I looked at the rest. “This is wonderful, really it is. Thank you so much for doing this.” I gave them playful accusatory looks. “Thank you also for making me believe none of you loved me!”

“Aw, Loraine Jane Fontaine, but we do!” Joanne burst, as though she was offended that I accused her of actually forgetting. “Mom and Dad didn’t either, I promise! They’re just on a missions trip that they always go on, you know, the one to Honduras? They told me to tell you that they had to go earlier than scheduled and that they’re sorry they can’t call you! But they sent me your present! It’s all good!”

She was so sincere it hurt my heart, and I walked over to her to embrace her. She wrapped her warm arms around me tightly, her head snuggling in the nape of my neck. She smelled of vanilla and sunshine, and it was so familiar I felt a tinge of home-sickness for her. I kissed the top of her head, pulled away, and said, “It is all good. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course!” she squeaked, and she smiled over at Cassandra, the Jonas boys, and Danielle, who was very, very pregnant. “Presents now? I’m so excited!”

“Yeah, we can do those now,” Nick said. “Then Panera.”

“Panera?” I asked excitedly.

Joe nodded at me, and there was something in his smile, that same something I always saw when he was truly happy: a joyous, radiant light shining off him, pouring forth from his heart of hearts, and I wanted it so badly.

Almost all of my gifts were accompanied with Barnes & Noble gift cards, except for Joseph’s gift, which I had not received. Amidst our friends and family playing with the birthday card with a recording of my parents shouting to high heaven, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUMQUAT!”, he told me that he would give to me my gift later today. I wondered for a moment why, asked him aloud, and before he answered our company told us to open the next present.

From my sister and brother-in-law a dress with a red-cream striped skirt, red waistband, and blue top with slightly puffed quarter sleeves. I was surprised to hear Garret actually picked it out, and I was happy because I loved stripes. I hugged him for it, and his embrace felt brotherly and as sincere as Joanne’s hugs. The gift from Danielle and Kevin was a leather-bound, orange-daisy-decorated journal with faded paper and a roll of film. I was suspicious of getting a camera soon, though Kevin lamely denied it and Danielle rolled her eyes at him. Nick and Cassandra pitched in to get me two new pairs of ballerina flats (the only shoes I really wear) and a new jewelry box colored navy and decorated with painted white sailboats.

My parents had gotten me food, a couple gift cards, and flower seeds with pots: the food was a bag of oranges (luckily Nick and Joe had a mini fridge; Cassandra and I had yet to buy one), the two gift cards were for Barnes & Noble (as I said before, nearly everyone gave me one) and for Panera (they wrote in their card I had a free pastry awaiting me), and the flower seeds were of Daylilies (mixed colors, it read on the package, and I wondered for a moment if the colors would clash).

All eight of us decided to take two cars to Panera: I would ride with Cassandra and Joanne in Garret’s car and the Jonases would take Kevin’s car. On the way to the parking lot just outside our dorm buildings, Joe slipped in the sand and Garret caught him, and Nick and Kevin were talking in hushed voices. Danielle was listening to them but saying nothing until we reached the cars: “Nick, just ask Joe to switch cars with her! It’s no big deal, seriously. You’re such a weirdo, sometimes.”

The eight of us stopped by the cars in an awkward silence, and Cassandra blushed and pursed her lips, avoiding Nick’s eyes and looking at the ground. Nick cleared his throat, wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans, and asked Joe, “Hey, uh, will you do that? Ask . . . ?”

“Cass, mind if we switch cars?” Joe asked without a hint of awkwardness in his voice. Cassandra nodded, and they switched places, Joe walking around the car to stand by Garret and Cassandra standing by Nick with her fingers drumming against her thigh.

“Okay, then,” Kevin said, and he hopped into the driver seat after opening the door for his wife.
When Joanne, Garret, Joe, and I got into the car, the boys began laughing hysterically, and Joanne and I joined in just at the sight of the two holding their sides and shaking with laughter. Joe and I gave each other knowing looks when we had let our laughter die down, smiled at one another for a brief second as the car backed out of the parking lot, and I looked away quickly before he saw my blush at the sight of his smile.

Upon our arrival at Panera Bread, Garret opened the door for his wife and Joe opened the door for me, his friend who happened to have complicated feelings towards him. I avoided looking at him and instead fixated my gaze upon the door leading into the restaurant, trying to pick out the detail of tables and chairs, searching for an open one that could accommodate eight people.

I heard something say a surprised, “Oh!” and turned my gaze towards Danielle, who, getting her second leg out of the car, was cradling her swollen stomach with one hand and rubbing her lower back with the other. Kevin came around the car quickly and scrutinized her posture and strained facial expression.

“All right, babe?” he asked as Cassandra closed her backseat door. She put a hand on Danielle’s shoulder.

“Whoo, yes, fine,” Danielle breathed, and she inhaled slowly before continuing: “She’s just kicking, kicking hard; maybe she’s stretching too.” She opened her eyes wide and looked down at her stomach with a raised brow. “Now she’s got the hiccups. Honestly, child.”

Cassandra went into a fit of giggles and Kevin grabbed Danielle’s hand, the one that was on her stomach, and we all walked to the doors. The line was, unfortunately, long, and Joanne and I exchanged knowing looks, one of those sibling-telepathy glances that every person who is close with their sister or brother understood.

I changed my look, one from slightly worried, to a look that said, “You’re the talker; I am the introvert, so do you really expect me to speak up?”

She gave me this look in exchange: “True, very true,” with a complimentary affectionate eye roll. She looked at her new husband and the Jonas married couple and said, “Loraine and I were just discussing a plan that could save us a table – a good one, before they’re all gone.”

“You were?” Nick asked after he broke out of his reverie directed at Cassandra.

“You were too busy looking at Cass,” Joe answered, and he was rewarded with a chorus of laughter from everyone except Nicholas and Cassandra. The two blushed wildly.

“Anyway,” Joanne continued. “A couple of us ought to go and get a big table while the rest stay in line and remember orders.” She smiled sweetly: the coveted and trademark Joanne smile. “Who wants to do what?”

“I have a terrible memory!” Kevin exclaimed. “I’ll go sit. Wanna go sit, Dani?”

“I sit all day at home, stupid maternity leave,” she replied in exasperation, muttering the last part. “I’ll stay. And, unlike you, my memory’s fine.”

“I’ll sit, too,” Joe said, and he shared a quick glance with Garret, who, shortly after sharing Joe’s glance, said, “Yeah, I’ll take a seat.”

“I’ll stay in line because my memory isn’t that bad,” Cassandra said cheerfully, shortly followed by Nick saying, “Me too I’ll stay!” a little too excitedly. He and Cassandra gazed at one another for a short, precious moment before Cass awkwardly looked away.

Joe, Kevin, and Garret left the line after telling us what they wanted (Joe just said to me, “I’m paying for you, and you know what I want,” before handing me enough money for the both of us, and I replied, “I do?”), whispering in a huddle, and we girls (aside from Nicholas) stayed in line. Joe ignored my question and was talking animatedly with his brother and best friend, and Cassandra was asking Nick something related to his blood sugar. Danielle and Joanne were talking passionately and excitedly about a musical – or, should I say, Joanne was, for she was the musical nerd, having been in multiple musicals and seen multiple productions from Hello, Dolly (in high school she played the part of Ermengarde) to You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown (in junior high she played the part of Lucy). I, having no soul with whom I can speak, studied the menu in silence and tried desperately to think of what Joe had ordered the last few times we have visited this restaurant. What was it that he ordered before we went on our picnic date?

My heart leapt uncomfortably from behind my ribs.

Did I just think Joseph and I had a date?

I shook my head and went back to studying the menu without really paying attention to what the words were. The fact of my feelings towards Joseph did not mean any time we were alone meant we were having a romantic date nor did it mean that we were anywhere near having a date. There could be no possible way Joe had feelings for me – how could he? I was tall and awkward, had no curves, had dull hazel eyes that were father apart than any normal person’s, and I was pale and splotched with bright freckles – certainly no Diana Price, whom Joe had described having eyes that were “icy blue, very pretty, and fitted her sun kissed skin nicely.” How could I measure up to sun kissed skin when I become a cooked, red lobster when left out in the sun too long?

Ought I compare myself to his ex-girlfriend, with whom he fights constantly on the phone (she had called three times in the last couple days, both having a yelling match in the Grub Hub), with whom he shares a dark past? Does he not care about me as a best friend and trust me? Does he not think me pretty?

A memory flashed in my mind: “She’s so pretty, oh so pretty – she’s so pretty and witty and . . .” garnished the photo like flowers on a windowsill. Joe was complimenting me and I literally prayed that he would not see how I was more than merely flattered.

“You don’t see it,” Joe chuckled, though I could hear the lack of humor in it. I shook my head slowly in answer and avoided his eyes; I stared intently at the navy blue and forest green sharpies lying on the coloring books before me. He spoke during my silence; he simply said, “Loraine. . . .”

“Loraine, you’re next in line,” Joanne said, breaking me from my trance. I looked at her, utterly bewildered, and she gave me a gentle nudge towards the cash register. Luckily for me, that memory (which also made my head swim with reassurance and flattery) also reminded me of what Joe had ordered that day.

I ordered, paid for the order with Joe’s money (I wondered for a moment how the drama at Joe’s work was unfolding, and if his boss would listen to the girl who liked to spread lies and possibly fire Joseph), and got my number. I searched for Joe, Kevin, and Garret and spotted Garret’s sandy blonde and messy hair bent close to Joseph’s dark, short hair.

I caught the end of their conversation: “… guilty, looking at those big blue eyes. I need her,” Joe was saying quietly, and he looked up at me when he saw me approaching the empty chair beside Garret. He smiled, and all I could think was, My eyes are not blue; therefore, he does not need me. My eyes are far from being blue and are only hazel. Who does he need? I hoped he could not read my thoughts in my hazel eyes as I faked a smile and tried so hard to read his thoughts in his brown eyes.

It was late, and my sister, brother-in-law, and the Jonas couple left to go to their hotel rooms, promising to meet us at our church. My stomach had been in knots ever since I heard Joe speak of those “big blue eyes.” But before I went into my and Cass’s dorm room, Joe told me to join him to his dorm room. (Nick wanted to walk with the others to their cars and Cass had gone into the room to plop down on her bed.) There, he gave me my birthday gift from him: wrapped lovingly in blue and black wrapping paper was a familiar looking Polaroid camera.

“Wasn’t this yours?” I asked, and he nodded. “Why are you giving me your Polaroid camera?”

“You seemed to have more fun with it than I did,” he answers, “and I knew it would make you happy to have it… Right? That’s why I suggested Kevin get you film to go with it. If it doesn’t” – I had opened my mouth to say it does, in fact, make me happy, but he interrupted me – “I got you this, too,” and he grabbed a long, small box from atop his dresser near his bed.

Inside it I found a necklace with a ruby heart pendant. It was beautiful, and I hugged him. I said, “I’m extra happy now, Joe. Thank you for everything.”

“Happy birthday, Loraine,” he softly said into my hair, and he patted my back.

(Dear God . . . thank you so much.)