The Untouchables

Chapter 8 -- Unsure

I woke up with a strange weight in my whole body. Something wasn't right, but the morning was just like any other. I got dressed and put myself together, but the odd feeling wasn't going anywhere. It felt as if I needed to scratch an itch that wasn't there.

I had to get out of my apartment. I felt trapped. I left without so much as eating breakfast. It was completely out of the ordinary; I didn't even tell my mom I was leaving (totally badass CIA stuff right there).

The fresh air of the outside world had always been a good way to wake myself up, even if the humidity made me sweat a lot more than normal. I began just walking. Clearly my body was trying to tell me something, so I let it.

My head, however, filled with immediate dread when it figured out where my feet were leading me: the supermarket. It was one of my least favorite places in the world, mostly because handling food had never been my specialty. Then there were the lines at checkout, the possibility of seeing someone I knew, and of course the fact that there was always a kid throwing a temper tantrum, seeming to be deliberately trying to damage my eardrums permanently. I would just have to suck up all of my negative feelings towards grocery stores. I couldn't have my own little temper tantrum in one of the isles, I was an adult.

I didn't actually know how to cook a lot of foods, I just sort of bought what it seemed like would go in a breakfast for four people. I ended up with some bacon, eggs and peppers for scrambled eggs, and cereal as a backup. The store wasn't so bad, probably because was to early for anyone to actually be there, but maybe, if all went according to plan, I would go back someday (as if).

I got in the checkout line. There was an express line, but barely anybody was waiting in the normal lines anyway. Register 14 dinged for me to go over, and just when I thought my venture to the supermarket would easily be over, I found out I was wrong. With my luck, what else could I expect?

My breath caught when I saw who would be ringing up my food. It was Anders, ex-friend and accomplice. "Hi," I smiled shyly. He offered a nod, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

When I mentioned my fear of seeing someone I knew in the store, I had meant seeing them buying food. This was by far worse. People I knew didn't get jobs at Whole Foods, or any other supermarket for that matter, and if they did, it meant something bad.

Anders was quick to scan each item and take my card. "Have a nice summer," he spit out in a hushed tone as I took my bags. All I could do was nod.

When I got home I began preparing the meal in attempts to forget what had just happened. It didn't work. All I could do was worry about my old friend. I knew for a fact that Anders had been a trust fund baby. All of the boxes on the rich kid form could be checked off: he attended private school, went on expensive vacations to tropical islands, got a celebrity to make an appearance at his bar mitzvah, etc. The day Anders started working was meant to be on Wall Street after attending business school at Harvard.  I felt so bad about breaking things off with him. I couldn't explain what it was like to know that I didn't even try to care about my friend for the last four months of high school. Maybe what I did was a dick move, but it did eventually better my life... right?

I managed to finish the scrambled eggs, though they did seem a bit dry. "It's the thought that counts," I said to myself. I stared at the shriveled pieces of yellow mush. Maybe their grayish yellow color was normal...

I decided not to dwell on the thought of everyone spitting out their scrambled eggs and instead focused my energy on cooking the bacon. It was horrible. All the bacon juice started popping everywhere, and it was really stressing me out. Every time it touched my skin, I only felt the little sting for a millisecond, but it kept popping out one after the other. There was also the dilemma of when the bacon would be done. How was I supposed to know if it was cooked? Was it like steak, could it be cooked less? I didn't want to take any chances so I kept the slim pieces of meat in the pan for what was apparently too long.