stopping fate

part 1: Of Bestfriends and "faloossshhh.."

-thursday-

I just started to remove my own black apron and started to feel good about myself because the thing is  Mr. Tulips came again to the place the same day, the same time last friday,  to think that maybe, just maybe fate can be good to me again.  The tulips the other Friday ruins the mood but last Friday, he brought nothing but his bag and his free smile. Which at that time, i somehow believed there could be a bit of free in the world.  Of course, he have to have that Miss Tulips God-knows-how-pretty girlfriend. Red tulips confirmed it all before I had a courage to ask(yes, i can manage somehow to ask him last time when he doesn't have one). You know, unending love and forever and ever kind of thing-- that's what red tulips means. Not that he might know the meaning of those colors and flowers, but the imagination of seeing him looking at some bunch of flowers and choosing the best, prettiest and lovable flower of all makes me cringe. And I don't know why. No, sorry to be dishonest, I know why. Because the thing about working cashier, food preparation slash angel in disguise(this would be really nice) is having to see someone angelic and that someone whose-- ahm..

Urgh. I can't even explain. And my hair is a bit messy. Yeah, it's messy. I combed nearly all my long brown strands that DNA might be from my dad when a forceful wind coming from the door disorganized my head of hair again. I managed to keep them intact by keeping some loose strands behind my hair. 

It would be like in anime, or some people call cartoons because I heard something like a wind sound but totally exaggerated. For example, Kazammm or Zoolamm, or... Wooshh..

"Faloossshhh..?". Totally gay. I chuckled. 

"What?". Ben walking towards me a little manly and startled.

"Defensive much? You just said.. Whoosh.. or Faloosh! I heard you." I suspected. The thing is maybe it's just only the spring wind that i heard that moment. Anyways, teasing towards my best friend is as easy as choosing red over yellow in a flower store. Hm..

"I did not! Come on, let's go home, you're-- you're imagining things, or.." He said as if diagnosing my very much existence. That's my future nurse! "Or..what?" I said. Okay, bring it on boy. Because Mr. Tulips might lighten my mood tomorrow. Friday. Again. I smiled at the silly thought.

"Or.. auditory hallucinations!" Ha! One of the common signs of Schizophrenic patient? This boy got me. To his surprised I didn't tease back, or punch his surprisingly hard biceps which i guessed days ago that he have come in and out of the gym these days. The reason?.. I don't know. Maybe, seeing some gays. Ha! That's why, it's not hallucinations! Maybe..-

"I am not gay." He said as if he have this power over me, reading my mind, hearing my thoughts. This is one of the pros and cons of being near each other always, back when we are young riding our bikes, until now. A little nudge means go on, a little swipe in his nose means he's blushing, and a little seriousness-no, 'I am serious' stare right in my eyes means 'believe me'. So I believe as he does this in front of me. I just mean to tease him. I don't have any thoughts of him being a homo before, not if he almost gave  five 6' footer rugby players a month ago, a one more 5 punch each to emergency room.

He's wearing old sweats and a peeping dark blue"Metallica" band t-shirt I gave him last Christmas. I am always surprised that almost every time I see him he is wearing my gift, not in any near dirty or stained or faded in all that laundry, knowing he wears it a lot. I definitely can't tell my observation to him because I know he value things as if he knows things might get lost or get far, or get blown away. Like.. my hair now.

"You wanna borrow my comb?" He said as he specifies a sticking strand out from my left ear. Okay.. his comb. "I mean, my sister's comb. She somehow left this comb inside my bag." He quickly said trying to clear some misunderstanding about being too vain or something. He reaches it to me in front of the end of the counter. 

"Thanks." I started to comb my hair realizing he's right. It's Sarah's. The purple and flowery hand of the comb definitely describes Sarah's quirky and girly style, with a color match with her light purple handbag I once saw when she's getting inside the YRT bus.

As he turns his back towards me as I comb, he raises his hand, elbow flexed, as if fixing his bangs, or wiping he's scarred-free face.. or swiping the tip of his nose. Anyways..i don't get to see it.

-<3---