Summer Somethings

Four: Video Store Boy

Stomping into the sand, I lose my footing a few times and make less-than-graceful saves from face-planting into the beach. My breaths are shallow and forced, and a migraine hangs behind my eyes.

I know I'm basically throwing a tantrum, I could have played nice and puffed my chest out with forced laughter. I could have pretended to ogle and examine boys' toned shoulder muscles, their chests flat and wide with an expanse of hard skin, or whatever else Jess would be oh-so-discreetly pointing notice at.

An overwhelming sense of defeat swells at my bottom lashes and I pull out my phone. The blinking icon for a dead battery illuminates the screen and a bubbling urge to throw it crosses my mind. Instead, I slide the phone back into my back pocket. With every gasp and sad attempt at breathing normally, my vision blurs at the edges. Thousands of words anxious to get out push against my sternum, but I'm suffocating around them.

I walk a block down a street I don't recognize before I realize I'm having a panic attack.

A solid weight of emotion sits at the base of my throat. I fiddle with the strap on my shoulder and see Navi's face—pinched together and hesitant.

Was she disgusted? Upset? Did I make her uncomfortable?

A car horn blares—

Blinking away an overthinking fog and Navi's face cruelly warped into a frown, I stumble onto a sidewalk, head spinning, and onto the other side of the street I had just crossed.

The car that honked—a squat red car with the afternoon sun harshly reflecting off its rims—swerves away and turns onto the next street. Apart from outdoor restaurant seating and families hiding from the sun under wide, candy-colored umbrellas further down the beach, it's quiet.

Shakily, I stand, holding my camera to my chest and reassure myself that the steady weight in the bag means it isn't broken.

There are no loose pieces, I breathe, it's not broken.

A bell chimes to my left and a family of three walk out onto the street from a video rental store. A young kid clumsily grips a DVD case while his parents walk alongside him

I didn't think they still had those, I wonder dumbly at the bright purple and green advertisement in the windows.

I catch the door before it fully closes and slip inside.

Washed-out wooden shelves packed with disc cases take up floor-to-ceiling space under fluorescent lighting. Laminated papers label certain sections with "SCI-FI!" or "FOR THE FAMILY" in bold, comic-style lettering. The carpet swallows the room—either purposefully designed as a muddy Pollock painting or unfortunately due to years of sick children, dirty shoes, and a lack of professional cleaning. While gross, my mind welcomes the distraction.

I walk across the relatively cramped Videos & 'Venture store to the bored employee slouched at a wide desk.

I clear my throat of anything emotionally incriminating. "Excuse me," I insist calmly.

The employee, at first only a slightly overgrown mop of black hair, looks up from his magazine and reveals an extremely bored but rather handsome expression.

"Can I help youuuu... oh, are you okay?"

Well, I thought I played off the whole mental breakdown thing better, but I guess not.

"Where's your bathroom?" I ask instead, diverting him from the redness that distends under my eyelids.

Kylee with a Sharpie-d 'X' covering the last 'e', according to his name tag, jabs a thumb behind him. "Out of order since last weekend. Sorry, love, but—"