Late August Fags
I walked to the corner store today. It’s warm and humid, the sun hidden mostly behind a thin layer of light clouds, a peak into the colder months as August comes to an end I was on the way to buy some candy before I made my way home after sitting in a cafe for a few hours, drawing and listening to an audio book, playing at being an adult.
As I walk in I hear the buzz of the bell sounding over my book, which I’ve set to be just loud enough for me to hear but not enough to distract from any conversation I would need to have to purchase anything. A second later the bell sounds again from past experiences in the store I almost assume the electronic bell just saw me twice, but with a quick look over my shoulder I see a man behind me a banker, I would later assume from where his car was parked. A man in gray slacks and a gray polo shirt. He greets the woman behind the counter like he frequents the store, he probably does, working so close After grabbing a drink, something I didn’t pay close enough attention to catch the name of, he approaches the counter and asks for a pack of cigarettes. During this quick exchange I’ve been stood looking at the candy isle, and all of a sudden I feel a bit childish.
The urge to ask him to buy me a pack bubbles up in my mind, not that I would ever actually ask, but staring at my choice between M&Ms and Starbursts I feel impossibly young. impossibly young and impossibly needy, impossibly unworthy of adulthood, of desire. He purchases his drink and his cigarettes and stands at the counter by the door, opening the pack, tapping it as to get one out, presumably to smoke on his way back to work. I watch him from the edge of my vision, thinking again about asking for one. about shouting that I’m old enough, yelling that I’m mature I swear.
But he leaves, and I purchase my M&Ms and soda, one from the same fridge as him. I probably won’t drink it, but I had to have a reason to be standing by the door to watch him tap his cigarettes, a reason for putting myself in the same spot as him, to reach into the same fridge he did and get himself the drink I’d already forgotten the name of. to once again play at being the adult same fridge, same movements, me me look at me. I can ask nicely, I can be older.
I’m polite to the woman, as I always am when I visit and buy candy from her for cheap, even if she’s almost always out of everything that I actually want. and as I walk out into the heat, now starting to become oppressive as the day continues, I see that I’m walking the same way as he is. really he’s barely ten feet in front of me, across the street lighting his cigarette as he walks.
Again the urge to call out bubbles up, but I merely follow him down the street, desire, hunger, a strange wanting, I seem to lose track of the subject follow him to his car where he sets his drink down on the retaining wall separating the bank customers and staff in their parking options, one of which is significantly nicer. I watch, now almost parallel to him, as he stands and smokes, taking long draws and leaning against his car in the heat. As I pass him, my hand clutching my M&Ms and soda, I feel once again like a kid. Next to this corporate man on a smoke break I must look childish, naive. addiction is the underlying reality, wants and needs juvenile at heart, predatory at best
But he doesn’t even glance at me. And I continue home.
