You might use it for cleaning, but only in extreme circumstances, like to strip rust from steel. For general cleaning, the kind a custodian would do in a high school, you’d go with a much gentler, cheaper agent, diluted bleach.
The rain fell harder. I jogged around the corner for the upscale strip mall just down the boulevard. I figured I’d wait out the storm under CVS’s awning. Nicole’d had the same idea. She was huddled into herself, rubbing her shoulders. She looked down the boulevard. I thought she was looking at me, but when I waved she looked in the opposite direction. Why would she ignore me after reaching out to me in Schmidt’s office? She simply hadn’t seen me, I thought. How much of her vision had she lost in the attack? She hesitated at the CVS entrance and peeked through the glass, left, right, then she hurried in. I hurried in after her.
I grabbed from the top of the mix-and-match bin on my way into the store and ended up with a vent brush, a lame item for a guy to be carrying, especially when it’s powder blue, but I didn’t want Nicole to catch me empty- handed, checking up and down the aisles for her. I found her in a side aisle, her back to me.
This dude was following her. Okay, so I was following her too, but I was worried about her. The other dude was leering. He said to Nicole, “Last year’s
“Excuse me?” Nicole said.
“The swimsuit issue? You’re a model, right? If you aren’t, you should be. I know some people in the industry.” He’d approached her from her right side.
Nicole turned to show him the left side of her face. She pulled back her hair.
I was at the end of the aisle, pretending to look at bunion pads to hide myself behind the corner shelf unit, but I saw that the bandage on her cheek was not small. How bad was it under there? How deep was the burn?
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Nicole said. “What did you say?”
The dude backed away with his hands up, staring at the bandage. Just before he stepped out of the aisle, he said, “I’m sorry.”
By the time my line of sight was clear, Nicole had swept her hair to cover up the bandage. She headed for the exit, stopping briefly to check if the coast was clear. How do you live like that? Afraid to turn every corner?
I went to where she’d been in the aisle. Bandages. All different kinds, each promising it was the gentlest on your skin.
ELEVEN
By the time I was out on the street, Nicole was gone. I jogged to the bus stop. The rain hit me like thrown stones. I was trying to shake off the rainwater when somebody behind me grabbed my coat collar and spun me around. “You were following me,” Nicole said.
“No I wasn’t. I was pricing out, like, vent brushes. Seriously, I was.”
She practically gasped, disgusted by the obviousness of my lie. She pointed to my earbuds. “Nice Skull Candy. I peg you the classic rock type. The Stones, Zeppelin, Hendrix, nothing after you were born.”
“You got me.”
“Then I know you have The Smiths all over your playlists, right?”
“In my top ten favorite bands, maybe even top five.” I hadn’t heard of them.
She pointed to my hip. The jack end of my headphone set had fallen out of my pocket. Clearly my Skull Candy knockoff wire led to no music player. “If you’re going to pretend to be listening to music,” she said, “you should also pretend not to hear what I’m saying.” She hurried across the street to the east side waiting area. The eastbound riders had a well-lit modern glass awning that actually kept them dry. We westbound folk made do with poorly patched corrugated metal that leaked rainwater the color of old blood. The light in the ad box was dead, and the sun-faded poster was for a zombie show that had gone off the air three years before. Across the street, Nicole was leaning against an ad box that featured seasonal fare from Whole Foods, the prettiest pumpkins you’ve never seen in real life. We stayed like this for a while, each under our respective awnings, until the ridiculousness of the situation fully hit me. Why didn’t I just tell her I was worried about her and apologize?
I jogged across the street. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what? Stalking me, or lying about it?” She looked down the boulevard for signs of a bus, none coming. “Did you see it?” she said. “The bandage?”
“No.”
“You’re lying yet again.”
“Not all of it.”
“How much?”
“Only, like, the edge of it.”
“Good.”
I stood there for another half a minute or so, just nodding, waiting for an eastbound bus when she knew I was headed for the west side. “Take care,” I said, flipping up my jacket collar in anticipation of the rain.
“The dude in CVS,” she said.
“He was a douche,” I said.
“He wasn’t apologizing for being creepy, for hitting on me. Did you see his eyes? They were filled with it. Pity. Genuine pity. He might as well have said ‘I’m sorry your life is over.’” Her voice had softened, and I had a hard time hearing her. She was talking to herself. “Like at the hospital, with Emma.”
“Emma?”
“The way everybody looks at her. The way I try not to.” She seemed to remember I was there, turning to me. “My friend. She’s sick.”
I’d gathered that much. “Sorry.”
“She doesn’t let it get her down, though. She’s amazing. Seriously, why did that dude have to look at me that way?”
Did she really expect me to have the answer? I regretted crossing the street. I should have just left her alone. “I’m running a little late,” I said.
“Me too.”
I caught myself before I said good luck. “Bye,” I said, stepping off the curb.
“Work?” she said.
“Huh?”
“Running late for work?”
“Yeah. You?”
“No.”
“Your car in the shop?” she said.
“Not allowed to drive,” I said.
“You’re not sixteen after all?”
“No, I am. It’s just, I have this condition. Long story.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“Not your fault.”
“No, I know, I was just saying.”
A thunder blast seemed to slant the rain for a second. She flinched, grabbed my sleeve, let go. I felt bad for wanting to leave her there. “I do, though,” I said.
“Drive. Forklift.”
“A
“For work.”
“Clearly.”
Where not to work if you’re a hacker who aspires to stay off government radar: the Apple Genius Bar. A
