I look down at the cards again, trying to get a handle on my anxiety. I pick up a pink birthday card, reading the kind words for someone’s daughter. My parents never gave me a birthday card or even wished me a happy birthday.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by loud voices again, except they’re closer now. I look up, and two of the boys are in the aisle with me now, one of them kicking a Hacky Sack between his feet like a soccer ball.
I hear a small thud by my foot and quickly jump back before looking down to find the knitted ball.
Before I know it, the tall blonde guy is bending over next to me, reaching for it. On instinct, I shield my face with my arms protectively, and step out of the way as if it was a bomb he was picking up instead of a toy.
He looks at me like I’ve sprouted two heads. “Uhh, sorry?” Giving me a sideways glance, he walks away.
What the hell, Cam? You’re acting like you’re standing in a field of landmines. Get it together!
I inwardly scold myself as I discreetly eye their next move and watch as they return to the beer aisle. Whatever. I was their age not too long ago.
I just turned twenty-one, so I could do the “cool” thing and offer to help these clueless, somewhat innocent-looking, kids by offering to buy the damn forties.
The selfless part of me wants to help them just so they can have a good time and enjoy their youth.
But the adult in me would never actually contribute to underage drinking.
And the selfish in me wants to revel in the idea that there’s one thing I’m sure I have that they don’t: a valid driver’s license I could use to buy beer. Legally.
Yet I imagine the life they’re living is carefree, and they’re just able to enjoy high school. Basically, the complete opposite of everything that was Cameron Jade Nasaro’s teenage years.
So, no, why should I help them?
A deep, dark place inside me that I don’t like to acknowledge wants to imagine everyone at that age has it as hard as I did, and life didn’t just decide to deal me such a shitty hand. Feeling guilty about thinking like that, I internally shake off my nerves and walk over to their aisle. I’ll just help them out.
Plus, I need them to get out of the way. For some reason, I’m considering buying one of those cheesy romance novels they’re currently blocking.
I slowly walk towards them, feeling my heartbeat grow more erratic with every step I take. Once I’m a few feet away, I freeze, just staring at them. I guess they sense me because all three turn around and eye me curiously.
After a few seconds of staring, they look between each other with confusion. Their curious eyes turn agitated as they look back at me once again.
“I...uh…” I try to muster up a coherent sentence, but all I feel is bile rising in my throat.
“You, what?” the short, stocky one interjects.
I forego my attempt to help and rush past instead.
I quickly grab the first book I get my hands on from the spinning stand next to them. Making a hasty decision, I grab myself a Colt 45 out of the fridge and head straight for the cash register. As I wait in the small line, my foot taps restlessly against the floor.
What the hell am I doing? Why am I so flustered?
It’s not like everyone who walks by can somehow hear the shit storm that goes on inside my brain. I’m out right now because being home arguing with my sperm donor while he throws a tantrum would make Chinese water torture feel like a spa treatment.
I just don’t want to do it anymore. It’s always another argument. Another day in my soul-numbing life that I continue to endure because I can’t put on my big girl panties and be on my own.
As I walk up to the counter, the three guys from before walk out of the store behind me.
Releasing a breath, I look up and notice the cashier. He’s tall, maybe 6’4”, with broad shoulders. He looks early to mid-twenties and has what I can only assume is shaggy dirty blonde hair. It’s hard to tell under his beanie hat. His skin is light but has a hint of an olive tone, which somehow makes it look like he’s soft yet still masculine. He definitely drinks a ton of water with skin that smooth.
The fuck does that even mean?
I watch his hands as he counts some bills before placing them in the register, looking content with where his life is at the moment. What I wouldn’t give to ever feel anything like “content.”
That’s enough of that Cam, get your shit together! I argue with myself for the third time in less than ten minutes.
I place my items on the counter, not making eye contact. As I rock back and forth on my feet with my hands in my pockets, I spot a Snickers bar in the chocolate display on the counter and quickly place it on top.
Finally looking at the cashier, he gives me a kind and friendly smile. I don’t return it, though. I turn away and glance outside to where people are pumping gas.
Why is he smiling at me?
Hysteria builds in my gut, and I wanna rip my skin off to rid the pins and needles spreading all over my body. My brain feels fogged with anxiety, so I don’t hear the cashier’s question.
“Huh?” I ask, still dizzy from my crazy.
“Big plans?” he repeats with a grin.
Damn, those dimples. I feel vomit rise in the form of words when I blurt out, “I crave chocolate when I’m on my period!” The whole store appears to be still now, silent. I can’t tell if it’s because of what I announced or if
