Chasing Shadows (2 page)

Nestled at the end of soup row is canned meat
nook. I stop to consider. My thoughts sound something like: Ah, I'd
forgotten about spam, and corned beef! Foggy memories of salty
greasiness swim to the surface of my head. I pick up a can and
stare at it, trying to remember. Do you cook this stuff? Mix it up
with mayonnaise?

I look up and a little black bird sweeps across
the aisle. Fuck, I hate that. I hold my breath for a second. Birds
get into stores on accident sometimes. It could well be a real
bird, I tell myself. I'm not sure how long I stand here like this.
When my chest starts to hurt I let out a long, slow exhale and
throw the corned beef into the cart. I'm about to start walking
again when I see a big shadow out of the corner of my eye. No, it's
not a shadow. It's a person. I turn slowly, casually, just in case
there's no one there. I don't want to be caught on a surveillance
camera twitching like a freak. Here's Meat Shopper, standing right
next to me, solid as a rock. And what's this? He's making eye
contact. I am startled and embarrassed. His lips are moving; no
way. I squint at the man and point to my ear buds which I honestly
feel he should have seen easily since my hair is tied up in a top
knot. He must be new or something. I turn my back on him pushing my
cart further towards the end of the aisle. I haven't gone two steps
when there's a tap on my shoulder.

Fast as lightning I turn around. "What?" I say
way too loud. The track on my phone has changed to Nina Simone
which was recorded somewhat softer. I can just hear the tall
guy.

He sounds like: "Mwumph do you oo mich ah?"
He's pointing at my cart.

With a sigh I remove an ear bud. "What." It's
not really a question the way I say it.

"The canned meat." He says.

I can't tell if he's oblivious or just fucking
with me. This is not how you meet people, fuck wad. "What about
it?" I ask in a tone designed to illicit a never-mind-sorry kind of
response.

It doesn't. "What do you do with
it?"

I stare at the guy for a moment. His face isn't
too bad, angular. His eyes are a little too wide maybe, brown
though, nice. "Anything you want but they like you to pay for it
first."

Meat Shopper laughs.

I sigh. I hadn't meant to entertain the shmuck
and thereby prolong what is bound to be an awkward, and possibly
painful, ending for one or both of us. I turn to go but he reaches
over and touches my shoulder. Physical contact! It's like he thinks
its noon or something. Maybe he's high. He opens his mouth to say
something but I hold up a hand. "Fuck man, I thought you'd be cool
about this!" I yell.

Meat Shopper's eyes go from smiling to
confused, and I shake off his hand before walking away. By the time
I turn the corner I've got my ear bud back in and Nina is singing
about other people going to hell. I turn the volume up.

The rest of the shopping trip is ruined. My
equilibrium is gone. I stare at the food products and can't
remember what I needed. Something from the frozen aisle wasn't it?
Flash of Meat Shoppers pink lips set in his scratchy unshaven face.
What is that feeling? Is that guilt I sense? Oh no you don't, self.
He was a crazy psycho meat buyer. Probably not even a night person,
you dodged a bullet and you
certainly
just saved his sorry
ass. Disgusted, I head to the check out. Better not to get
perishables anyway, since doing so would mean I'd need to go
straight home and put them away. I prefer not to get home until
sometime after sun up. I load my items onto the conveyor: a can of
sweet potatoes, microwave mac-n-cheese, grape nuts and corned beef.
That's right, I'm shopping to fool the feds. Just to round it out I
throw a lighter and a pack of mints on the belt. The cashier says
something he is paid to say. I can't hear him over the old
Metallica song that's blaring in my ears so I say "Great, Thanks."
I deem this is probably appropriate, seeing as he doesn't stop and
stare at me.

Outside I stoop down and load my groceries into
my messenger bag before lighting a cigarette. There's still three
or four hours before sunrise so I start a slow walk towards the
nearest residential street. After about a block I stop. I look
around to make sure there's no Meat Shopper. Now I remove my ear
buds. It's better to be able to hear at night, alone, in the
city.

Eventually my feet take me downtown to Grant
Park and the memorial of Lincoln, or somebody larger than life,
cast in brass and sitting in that proud, dignified position
reserved for statues. Have you ever sat like that? I ask myself.
Back straight, feet hip width part, hands on knees. The brass
figure is situated on a stone courtyard thing which is shaped like
a half circle with benches and a rail lining the circumference. I
cross behind the statue and sit on the railing, with my back to
Lincoln, looking out over the rolling grass of the park. The lights
of the monument shine from below me over the lawn. They cast little
rays of the brightest green. It has always seemed to me, when I sit
just here, that the lawn is a still green ocean and I am looking
out from the deck of a petrified ship. It feels easy and peaceful,
and also like something great is about to happen. But then I am a
person who is plagued with fruitless expectation. It seems life is
forever about to begin, that something special and magical, or
scary and death defying is trying to unfold; must be the brain
chemicals.

I sit here smoking cigarettes, looking at my
pretend ocean from my perch on my make believe ship, until my leg
starts to fall asleep. I'm just stretching it out when I hear foot
falls behind me. I look back, past Lincoln, but it's so well lit
here on the monument that the world beyond is all ink and shadows.
Suddenly, taken with a reasonable fear of discovery, I hop down
behind the railing and press my body against the wall. The
footsteps stop. I hold my breath. Were the sounds real? Do shadows
make sounds now? Silence stretches out for a tense, little eternity
then the footsteps start again. They're closer now. I take a deep
breath. I'm not sure if I'm more scared to meet a phantom or a real
person at this time of night. So, I bolt, running flat out over the
ocean lawn towards the sidewalk a block away.

"Hey!" A female voice calls out.

I keep running, not looking back.

"Hey, Meegan, you moron, look
around."

I stop and turn, feeling stupid and relieved.
"Hey what's up?" I call, walking casually back. It's a girl from
work, but I don't remember her name, and it's too late to ask.
We've been sort-of friends now for weeks. The girl has long,
straight, black hair and is supernaturally thin. At least she's
also short, which lessens the blow of her being both pretty and
nice.

"Who'd you think I was?" She asks with a
grin.

"Fuck if I know." I smile back.

The girl, who I secretly refer to as Shelving
Fairy since she works with me on the night shift shelving books,
shoves her hands nervously into her pockets. "Come here often?"
Shelving Fairy is trying to joke but her tone is tense.

I consider asking her what's wrong, but I
figure if Shelving Fairy wants me to know, Shelving Fairy will tell
me. So instead I cock and eyebrow and ask: "What's a nice girl like
you doing in a place like this?"

Shelving Fairy laughs and nods her head towards
the monument. "Enjoying public art."

"Me too."

"So..." My dark haired friend looks around,
trying for casual, but achieving paranoid. "Wanna walk with
me?"

I shrug. "Sure. Where to?"

"That way." Shelving Fairy points North and
West.

"Awesome. I love that way."

Shelving Fairy smiles and starts off at a fast
clip. "Good lets go."

I scramble to match her pace. For several
minutes the two of us walk quickly in silence. We go west one block
and north the next, then west, then north and so on until Grant
Park is a calm, still memory. I am torn between feeling an awkward
desire to think of something to say, and trying to be grateful for
the kind friendship where silence is acceptable. Except it isn't,
is it? Have I really known Shelving Fairy long enough for this?
Have we bonded so well stocking books that we can now enjoy this
easy silence? Which isn't really easy anyway, as I am exerting an
embarrassing and considerable effort to modulate my breathing so as
not to sound like an asthmatic Saint Bernard.

"Oh fuck it." I say, breaking the silence. I
stop where I am, and lean against the wall of a closed drug
store.

"What? What is it?" Shelving Fairy
asks.

After a few breaths and some phlegmy coughs I
light up a Camel. "You still here? I figured you'd have made it to
Canada by now. Why'd you stop?"

Shelving Fairy looks guilty. "Sorry. I know
it's... I know I seem weird right now, but I had to get out of the
park."

I shrug. "Yeah I got that part." I say. "So we
still need to hurry? Running makes you look guilty you know."
Shelving Fairy laughs a little. I notice how white her teeth are
and swallow yet another cause for jealousy. Flash on her teeth,
what would they feel like to my tongue? Fuck, don't think that! Bet
they taste like mint. Straight face, straight face.

"We don't have to go so fast I guess, but can
we keep going?"

"Yeah sure. Just keep us smokers in mind. We're
a dying breed you know."

As we start off again Shelving Fairy looks at
me strangely. "Can I bum one?" She asks in a pitiful little
voice.

"You don't smoke."

"I used to, and I could really use one."
Shelving Fairy runs her hands through her hair.

I glow at her and offer a Camel. "Always ready
to welcome a lost sheep back to the fold." I say and its true;
smokers love it when you smoke, its vindicating.

"Thanks. Listen, you wanna get some
food?"

"Yeah, Golden Waffle?"

"Where's that?"

"Two more blocks up and about four that
way."

Shelving Fairy shakes her head. "Too close to
the water."

Silently I give the girl props for weirdest
reply of the evening by a character other than me. We keep walking
for a few steps. "So..." I begin.

"Look." Shelving Fairy cuts me off. "Never
mind, okay? Golden Waffle is fine. We'll sit in the back." I am
about to tell her to relax when I stop myself. When was the last
time I got to be the normal one? The calm, reasonable one? So I
just smile instead. This is great.

"So you wanna talk?" asks Shelving
Fairy.

"Huh? About what?"

"Anything: work, school, your family, early
childhood."

I look sideways at Shelving Fairy. "You're the
one who seems like she has something interesting to
say."

Shelving Fairy shrugs. "Maybe, but I don't want
to talk about it. So you talk. Distract me."

"Not much to say." I answer. "Let's see,
there's that new guy at work, what's his face with the squirrelly
eyebrows."

"Doug."

"Whatever, Doug. He likes you."

"He has squirrelly eyebrows?"

"You haven't noticed? They curl like linoleum,
gay, stringy, fucking linoleum. You could braid those bitches. And
he's in love with you."

Shelving Fairy makes a face like 'whatever' but
she preens a little and straightens her shirt so I can tell she's
pleased. "He is not in love with me."

"Of course he is." I lower my voice to the
generic imitate-a-guy pitch. "Here let me lift that book for you.
I'm going to the store can I get you something? So, uh, I'm in this
band." I square my shoulders and look at my bicep. "Yeah I just
came from Balley's, you know, total fitness."

Shelving Fairy laughs. "He's just being
nice."

I gasp dramatically. "You like him! Ha! Another
love connection blossoms at the Flagship."

Shelving Fairy rolls her eyes. "What about you?
Who are you seeing?"

"Nobody. So you're
seeing
him?"

"No, but I might. He's a nice guy."

"Eyebrows." I whisper.

"I like 'em bushy." Shelving Fairy replies. We
both laugh. I wonder if this would be a good time to ask Shelving
Fairy her name.

"Do you live around here?" Shelving Fairy asks
me.

"Nope. North side."

"Huh. So you came down here for what, Drugs?
Prostitution? Cause I hear you can get better of either up
there."

I laugh a little, just as much as the comment
merits. "I just troll around at night and my neighborhood's not
that bad."

"So, drugs then."

"Look, there it is." I point to the little
yellow sign that says 'Golden Waffle'. "Two more
blocks."

"Good I'm starving, and quit ducking questions
unless you're a secret agent, in which case I promise I'll never
tell."

I am taken aback. If she only knew how unlikely
it is that I'd actually have foresight to dodge anything. "It's not
like I know much about you either." I say.

Shelving Fairy glares at me, and I feel guilty
for some reason. "You know everything. I'm from New York. I moved
here for school. I live in the dorms. I have two sisters. I'm
twenty. Hell no one at work even knows your age. What's with
that?"