Parking Lot Blues

That was supposed to be a short day, an easy and melancholic one. I was supposed to be finally getting in touch with reality, which, if my delusional state was of any indication, was not to be seen for miles. She texted me and asked me to stay, so I stayed. And that's how I found myself sitting in a bench in front of a Sprouts supermarket, alone, below the midafternoon spring sun, and with two stray dogs lying lazily on the ground in front of me as my only company. It was impressive how calm I was about the whole situation, really, given how distraught I was just a few hours prior, but then again, it could just be denial.

Even after all these years I still remember the distinctly Californian look of that place, with its old neon signs and that drowsy atmosphere even as the cars filled the streets, working hours already finishing. Or at least it seemed to me that way at the time. All I had as a previous reference of what California was supposed to look like were old Hollywood movies, a few postcards I encountered in garage sales, and the couple pictures that my estranged cousins had sent me many years prior.

I noticed myself tapping my foot on the ground, a nervous twitch, it filled me with a sense of discomfort all too familiar for me at that moment in my life, in that place. A disquieting sense of inadequacy. I tried to calm myself by looking at my surroundings, my eyes drifting, taking in the details, just to bitterly note that I still couldn't understand all that was written in the signs on the street. Then, english sat uncomfortably on my mind, its secrets not yet revealed to me. It was a language I was obligated to speak in a country I did not know to people that did not seem to like me much, and worst of all woes: I was not very good at it. It just felt like another cruel way the world had found to alienate me. It was humiliating.

One of the dogs barked at me, waking me out of my self pitying reveries and into the very real sight of the sun setting on the horizon. I checked the time and noticed I had been sitting there for a while and she was nowhere to be seen. Which was typical, really, but I would forgive anything as soon as I saw her, I knew that. It was pathetic, I can admit it now, but in my lonely and impressionable teenage years, the simple fact that she saw in me something worth keeping put her on a pedestal close to sacred in my mind. And with her being a foreigner too I thought she was the only person in the world who could understand me, even if I didn't quite understand her mysel. I would go to incredible lengths just to keep her entertained with my presence.

My two companions yawned in unison and one of them got up and left, probably looking for somewhere warm to spend the night. The other stayed seated where he had been all afternoon, with its paws crossed and head set straight, as if waiting for something, or someone. "You too?" I asked, it just looked mournfully at me and whined. "I know, I know," I said.

I heard my name being yelled somewhere on the other side of the street, I turned my head and as soon as my eyes caught her frame she was the only thing I could see, everything else took a less than secondary role in the picture, its relevance being defined by its effect on her. The only reason I knew, or cared, the traffic lights had turned green was because it reflected on her face. I watched, in a nearly dream-like state, as she crossed the street, her oversized jacket flowing as a strong wind passed us by. I was so enthralled I couldn't even feel the cold.

"Were you talking to a dog?" My eyes had followed her every step till that point, and yet, her presence still struck me as a shock. Then, the realization that she had been observing me hit, and I felt my cheeks get warmer.

"No." I was. "I waited for you." I said after a while, the silence making me nervous enough to throw my pride away.

"I knew you would." That admission made me feel like an idiot, but I could see that she was pleased, if her small smile and raised eyebrow were any indication. She shifted her weight between her feet, looking-- for the first time since I had known her, -- a bit out of place. She settled for sitting on the bench, carelessly dropping herself into the space beside me, unbearably near. With her face close to mine, now I could see the bags under her eyes and the way her eyelids were fluttering.

"Are you tired?" I didn't want to pry, and strangely it unnerved me to see her so distraught, not only because I was worried but because it felt somehow an unbecoming state for the image I had of her in my head, I didn't want her to be weak, I was already weak enough. "Because if you are I can go-"

"No, it's fine," She interrupted me, "I mean you've been here for a while" She started biting her nails, appearing quite the picture of instability, which scared me, which in turn made me angry.

"Yeah, I've been here for a while. Where were you?"

She seemed actually surprised that I was angry, or at least that my anger was being directed at her. "I was with Daniel." That made me angrier. "He said he wanted to go out this afternoon, but it was kind of a disaster so I texted you." I hadn't known whether to be pleased or offended that she called me after something went wrong with her date. She rubbed her hands against her face, smudging her eyeliner.

"Well I can't just walk to the other side of town at your every whim, you know? I have my own life to take care of."

"Do you?" She said, but her words didn't have any bite, she just sounded defeated. "What's wrong?" I asked, starting to feel panicky. I took her slack hand in mine and squeezed. She shook her head, "I'm just tired." She laughed bitterly. "Not that you would think that's possible."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't get you!" I said, with a bit more annoyance than I had intended.

"Well, you don't know me enough, then." Her words felt like a cold dose of reality, they made me uncomfortable.

What made me more uncomfortable, though, was when I noticed the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Until then, I think I had never even considered the thought of her doing something so mundane, so human. I was starting to think that was my mistake.

Belatedly, I realized my hand was still holding hers, I didn't want to upset her more so I let it stay. After a while I decided to break the silence, "Tell me about the thing with Daniel." She explained it to me, she sounded calmer as the story went on. I was still unnerved, and confused, and guilty for my reactions, but most of all I was a bit devastated, because, and that was hard to admit, she did not act the way she was supposed to, and that was a threat to my greatest comfort in that place.

Her hair was shorter then, almost as short as the boys' at school, her clothes were baggy, she was flat chested and her limbs were lanky in a way that made her look less feminine and younger, even though she was taller and a year older than me. By that time I was already starting to look like a young woman, and, as consequence, being made to act like one. My father once ran past us in the street and teased me about it at home.

"Who was that boy you were hanging around with today?" He had asked, eyebrows raised suggestively.

It had taken me a moment to realize he was talking about her, but when I did I felt something that all these years, and so many attempts to forget about her later, I can only describe as jealousy, I don't know what I would have called it then. Of what or who I can't recall now. What I can remember with clarity, though, was that when it was just the two of us, I quite liked her boyishness.

"Are you even listening?" She caught me staring into nothing while pretending to listen to her tell me about Daniel, who, I admit, did not deserve most of the animosity I harboured towards him.

"Sorry, it's just like, what are you? His babysitter?"

"Don't be mean, he's not that much younger than us." She responded, but she was smiling like she was trying not to laugh. "Besides, he's our friend. And it's not like I don't take care of you, too." That struck a nerve.

"It's so not the same" I said, but I also didn't know how to defend myself. She was not supposed to bring up our relationship. Our dynamic worked best undefined, without clear intent or purpose, like the friendships you have when you're a little girl at the playground, completely untethered to our real normal lives, and yet wholly inseparable from who we are.

"Yeah, I guess it isn't" She agreed, but I couldn't help but feel like she was placating me. I didn't understand at the time how much it took for her to act the way she did. She was more grown than I would be for a long time after that. I was still a girl in all my childish beliefs and unruly feelings I couldn't control, looking at the world through my window sill, still not daring to step my feet on the ground. Between a war, a broken family and the simple act of daring to be who she was, she had grown up brutally fast, that ahead of her years maturity was both what I loved and what scared me the most about her. As if she would suddenly realize that we were not at the same level at all, and then she'd stop telling me her secrets, asking me the questions that kept her up at night, daring me to match her quip for quip, laugh for laugh, push for push.

I don't know if she was that way with anyone else, but I have a feeling she wasn't. I can see it now, the way she liked that I was always around for her, but I was never much help anyway, how she was tired of my constant possessiveness, but couldn't let go either. She was as alone as I was.

At some point she had stopped talking and we were both sitting in silence. The other dog had already left too, the sky was getting darker and cloudy, so we said goodbye. I held her hand for a moment more than necessary. I think I had something to say, but to this day I don't know what, so I said nothing and we went our separate ways.

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