blue eyes

Chapter 12

Brandon:
The next morning, Brandon startled as he woke up, unsure of where he was or why. He sat up in a panic and looked around frantically before recognizing his jacket by the door and his pack on the couch. Carlos. Bruce. Job. Apartment. Zoe. As he ran through the events of the last few days, he felt more grounded in the present, but was also left unsettled by the last thing he'd listed.
With a sigh, he got up and got dressed, then looked across the studio at the microwave to check the time. 9:17am. That's plenty of time to get to Goodwill and back. He walked over to his jacket and pulled out his wallet and the envelope of tips. He'd been so distracted by the food last night that he'd forgotten to count the tips. He sat down at the table, then got out the rest of the food in his wallet and pulled out the wad of cash from the envelope. He had $118 in his wallet after his last Goodwill trip. Now that he didn't need a new coat for winter, maybe he'd be able to get new shoes today. Then he counted the tips.
There were a ton of ones on top of the stack, 37 of them, in fact. Brandon set those aside, then counted through the rest. After another $30 in fives and two tens, Brandon found two twenties, a fifty, and two hundreds. He froze with the five bigger bills in his hands and just stared at them. On the back of the last hundred, he found a sticky note:

It's bar tradition for the new kid to
get all of the tips on their first night.
Welcome to the family, Brandon.
We're glad to have you.

Brandon recognized the handwriting as belonging to Stephanie, the hostess. She'd written out the specials for him and taught him how to write out orders the night before. Not a handout, not a handout, not a handout, he chanted in his head. This sounded like just the sort of tradition Bruce would have for his bar. The other employees had all seemed genuinely happy to meet him. He decided to trust this.
He tucked all of the ones and both of the hundreds back into the envelope, then walked over and tucked that into one of the inside pockets of his backpack, the one that also held his ID and passport, which he hadn't used in two years, but had felt right to bring along in the beginning. He pulled out his passport and flipped it open to look at the picture.
Brandon's passport was seven years old and overflowing with stamps and stickers. The kid in the picture was barely 21 years old, but looked back at him with empty eyes. Had he ever been happy before Zoe?
That thought was uncomfortable given their last interaction, so Brandon shoved that thought into the depths of his pack, along with his passport and the envelope of cash. He tucked the cash left on the table into his wallet, then put on his jacket and shoes and left for Goodwill.
The closest bus stop to the bar was right across from a bank with a digital sign that featured the time and local temperature, along with cheesy book quotes about money. He checked the time as he got to the bus stop, then looked at the schedule posted in the bus shelter. There should be a bus any minute, if he didn't miss it.
Brandon got out his wallet and pulled out his transit card. He had set up this card to automatically reload $30 each month from his dad's not-so-secret gambling account. He kept expecting it to be cut off, but every time he's gone to use it, it has still worked. A bus pulled up as he was putting his wallet back in his pocket. He hopped on and took a seat in the back.
He stared out the window and watched the world pass by. His mind wandered towards his parents, wondering if they even remembered that they had a son. He wanted to believe that his dad had noticed the monthly charge for the transit card and kept it intentionally, as an act of love for his long, lost son. He wanted to rewrite the moment the other night when his mom blew past him without recognizing him, have her wrap him in a hug and weep into his shoulder about how much she'd missed him.
But Brandon knew better. He knew neither of those things would ever be true. In fact, it was more likely that his parents had held a party celebrating his disappearance and had lived like the emptiest of nesters ever since. He doubted anyone from his old life ever looked for him. Seeing Peter at Carlos' bar was a fluke. He'd liked going there as much as Brandon had in college. He was probably just craving that same burger that Brandon dreamed about on the regular.
Soon, the bus pulled into the main station downtown. Brandon got off and walked toward the corner where he'd make his connection to Goodwill. This bus ran every 10 minutes, so he didn't bother trying to figure out what time it was, knowing he shouldn't have to wait long regardless.
Sure enough, a bus pulled up two minutes later. Goodwill was only a few stops away and this bus was pretty full, so he stayed standing by the back door. As the bus went along, more and more people got on. Pretty soon, it was standing room only. Brandon started to panic. No one liked standing close to him on the bus. He tried to make himself smaller, hugging the railing tightly, so people could move around him without having to touch him.
Then something magical happened. A middle aged business woman maneuvered her way through the crowded bus to stand by the door until the next stop. As she neared Brandon, he braced himself for the nose crinkle and look of disgust, but it didn't come. Instead, the woman reached out and shared Brandon's handle.
"Buses on this route are always so full around this time," she commented, looking right in Brandon's eyes.
Is she talking to me? Why?!
"Uh yeah," Brandon replied warily. "There must be a lot of good brunch spots in this corner of town."
"Something like that," she smiled.
Brandon smiled back, then looked away, trying not to overanalyze what had just happened. As the bus approached the stop by Goodwill, Brandon turned and faced the doors. When he did so, he caught his reflection in the window. Suddenly, the conversation with the woman made sense. The way people had been sitting closer to him and not giving him a mile wide radius when walking past him all morning. The way all of the customers at the bar had interacted with him last night. He'd have to get used to looking normal again.
——
Brandon had great luck at Goodwill. He found a few more button downs for work, one of which looked very familiar, two more pairs of jeans, a couple t-shirts, and a pair of sweatpants to sleep in. When he got to the shoes, there weren't many options in his size. He was just about to give up when he saw a single brown Blundstone boot on the floor.
He picked up the boot and chuckled when he saw that it was his size. When he flipped the boot over to find the size, he also found a price sticker on the bottom. Shit! How are these only $30?! I have to find the other. Brandon did laps around the mens shoes, scanning every shelf, but didn't find it. He looked under the rack and found quite a few shoes, but not the boot he was looking for.
After checking the womens shoes, too, to no avail, Brandon was ready to give up.
"Hey Cinderella," a raspy, familiar voice croaked behind him. "Looking for this?"
Brandon turned and found George smirking up at him, holding the other boot in his hand. Brandon let out a laugh and wrapped the old man in a bear hug.
"Why, Prince Charming," Brandon said, in a fake singsongy voice. "At last you've found me."
"I almost didn't recognize you," George handed Brandon the boot. "You look good, kid."
"Thanks, George," Brandon smiled. "The job is great. It came with a studio apartment. My first shift was last night and the tips were insane."
"I always knew you'd end up a stripper," George tuttutted. "You were too pretty for the streets."
"Very funny," Brandon rolled his eyes. "How are you doing? How's Alma?"
"We're getting married next Sunday," George was beaming. "We're here to pick our outfits. I'm supposed to wait until Alma picks her dress, then one of her friends will come tell me what color shirt to get. It's a whole production."
"Congratulations, George," Brandon hugged him again. "Now everyday will be Taco Tuesday."
"Oh, quit your nonsense," George shoved Brandon off of him. "And enough with the hugs. You know I don't like all that stuff."
"Where did you find the other boot? I looked everywhere."
"I saw it about the same time you picked up the other one," George smirked. "I was gonna just hand it to you, but then I realized it was actually you and decided to let you hunt for a while."
"You old rascal," Brandon smiled.
"The wedding's at 2pm," George said. "At St. Mary's in between all the services and whatnot. I'd like you to be there."
"I would love that," Brandon replied.
"I was originally wanted you to be my best man," George looked Brandon up and down. "But I can't have you up there looking like that. You'll make me look old."
"Fair enough," Brandon laughed. "But I'll be there, heckling you from the audience, just to keep things interesting."
"Monday we're going to the VA," George said, ignoring Brandon's threat. "See if we can find any of my old pals from my Navy days. A bunch of us just stayed here and settled down after we got out."
"That's great," Brandon nodded. "I hope you find them."
"Oh Georgie," a woman's voice cut through the air. "It's your turn."
"Lord, help me," George looked skyward before turning around to smile at an old woman clutching a floral tie. "Alright, Edna. What've you got for me?"
George turned and waved at Brandon before being dragged to the mens section.
Brandon looked down at his haul and smiled. This trip had been very successful. He walked up to the front of the store and got in line. A few minutes later, he was called down to the farthest register.
"I almost didn't recognize you," the woman said as she began to ring him up. "You clean up real nice."
"Oh, thank you," Brandon smiled and looked down at his hands.
He tapped his fingers absently on the glass jewelry counter until something caught his eye.
"That watch there," Brandon said, pointing. "Can I see it?"
"That one is broken," the woman replied as she unlocked the case. "I have a nice gold one here."
"I'd actually like to see the broken one, if you don't mind," Brandon maintained.
The woman shrugged, then got the watch out and handed it to Brandon. No effing way. Brandon inspected the watch carefully. The screen was cracked in the right spot. The band even still had paint caught in between the links from that one paint rave Peter'd dragged him into. He turned it over and there were his initials.
"How much is it?"
"It's been in there for years," the woman said. "It looks like it used to be expensive, but it's all busted up now. You can have it for $15."
Brandon tried to cover his shock with a cough. He knew exactly how much that watch cost and $15 wasn't even a full 1% of what he'd paid for it.
"That'll be $49.74, sugar," the woman said.
"$49," Brandon frowned. "How? The boots and watch alone should be $45. I have a bunch of clothes here."
"I may have forgotten to charge you for the watch," the woman replied. "Plus, we're still overflowing with clothes. I'm running sales until I have room to walk all the way across the back room."
Brandon pulled out $50 and paid, brow still furrowed about the cost.
"Did you hear the good news?"
George's voice broke Brandon out of his thoughts.
"What news?"
"All the clothes are half off," George cackled. "Alma's going wild back there."
"Oh yeah," Brandon smiled. "It's a great time to shop."
"Why did you buy a broken watch?"
"It'll make me look fancy for your wedding," Brandon snarked. "It's black tie, right?"
"Ha! Sure," George replied. "Bring your ID girl with you."
"Hmmph," Brandon turned to take his change and pick up the bag.
"Good grief, son," George sighed. "Trouble in paradise again?"
"Something like that," Brandon grumbled.
"Well, buy flowers and apologize," George instructed. "Be a gentleman and make things right."
"What makes you think it was my fault?"
"Even if it wasn't," George replied. "Something happened to upset her. An apology will get you further than another argument."
Brandon rolled his eyes. George was always full of quips like that. He took a few steps towards the door.
"I'll see you next Sunday, George," Brandon said.
"Adios, kid," George waved.
Brandon sighed as he walked to the bus stop. He didn't want George to be right. He still didn't think he'd done anything wrong and certainly couldn't think of anything he needed to apologize for. At least he had time before Friday to figure out if he even wanted to show up for his lunch with Zoe, let alone what he wanted to say to her.
When he got to the bus stop, he sat down on the bench and set the bag down next to him. He dug through and found his watch, wrapped in paper and tucked in between two shirts. He used the bottom corner of his flannel shirt to wipe the dust and fingerprints off the face of the watch, careful not to push on where the crystal was fractured. Then he pulled out the crown and wound it up.
As he wound it, he held it up to his ear so he could hear the gears whirring inside. The sound brought back so many memories: the day he bought the watch, the first time he took it diving, the storm he got caught in on the boat when the face got cracked, the paint from the paint rave he went to in Barcelona. Once it was wound, he went to fix the time, but realized he didn't know what time it was.
A bus pulled up a minute later. Brandon slipped the watch on and latched it, then got on the bus with his bag. As he sat down, he realized that the time would be displayed on the screen in between bus stops. He fixed the time a few minutes later, then looked at the watch on his wrist with a mixture of awe and confusion. Why are things from my old life suddenly showing
up now? First Peter at the bar, then my mom, and my jacket, now my watch... This job was supposed to be a fresh start, but now all this other crap is getting dragged back up.
Brandon was glad that his jacket sleeve covered the watch. It might not look like much, especially in its current state, but a discerning eye would recognize its value. Brandon felt like that would blow his cover and ruin the job when he'd barely gotten off the ground. He needed to decide what his story was and stick with it, in case people asked.
I saw it in the case at Goodwill and the lady sold it to me cheap because of the crack and the paint? It looks like something I saw in a movie a long time ago. Is that too cheesy? Maybe it reminds me of my dad, which isn't actually a lie. His watch is the same brand, but he does a better job of protecting it. Sure, we'll go with that.
Brandon got off the bus at the station and realized he was hungry. He figured he should go home and eat the leftovers, but he saw that the hot light was on at the Krispy Kreme across the street and couldn't say no.
Three fresh donuts later, Brandon walked out with a happy stomach. He raised his arm to check the time, his muscle memory picking right back up. He kept walking, but turned around briefly to look for a break in the traffic to cross and knocked into someone.
"So sorry," he said, reaching out to grab the other person. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Brandon," Zoe sighed.