All the Missing Pieces (UNDER REVISION)

Four

          As one might imagine, Whole Foods is not very busy on a Thursday night. This, unfortunately, leaves me alone with my own mind for a while. My head is like a Jackson Pollock painting. It's just colors of paint in every direction and I can't sort them out. Maybe James would be able to make something of it, but me? I don't even know where to start. I don't find it beautiful. If anything, it's just annoying.

            My shift starts out with thoughts of school and baseball. You know, normal teenage stuff. Then comes the Pollock, that is, the mess. The alternate scenarios in my head that have plagued me since the beginning of the year. What if everything did work out right. What if James could love me. I try really hard to remind myself that none of this is possible, but I can't control myself. Of course, I guess there always is a possibility that James is gay. No, no, don't think that, I try not to convince myself but the obvious is still present: he's into Emily. But maybe he's bi or pan? You really just never know. Then I scold myself. Actually, Peyton, what the fuck? I think. Leave the poor kid alone. As if anyone was actually being affected by my thoughts but me.

            My face must show how dismayed I am because I've completely zoned out on the lady who's groceries I've been scanning. "Long day?" She asks, putting more groceries onto the conveyor belt. She's wearing this big goofy hat full of pink feathers, and one of them falls onto her bag of lettuce. "I bet you're dreaming about some pretty lady that you get to see this weekend!" I snap out of my haze immediately because sometimes I forget that people don't know I'm gay. Almost nothing bothers me more than the assumption that I'm thinking about girls. I'd rant about it to her right here right now if I could, but how could I blame her? She's a sweet old lady dressed like Queen Elizabeth II and I'm a tall Latino kid that works at Whole Foods. Instead of saying anything I just smile and slip out the world's most awkward "Heh."

            Just when I thought this situation couldn't possibly get any more awkward for me, she breaks the first law of the Ten Shopping Commandments: Thou shalt not fucking ever pay for 200 dollars in cash. She opens her purse and fishes out an enormous stack of bills, tied neatly together with a rubber band, and hands it to me. I try to sort through it, but a small pile of ones fly out of my hand and flutter to the ground. Then she takes five dimes and places them on my palm. "This is two fifty," she says, "My mother raised me to be a cash only spender. No use in trusting banks with your money," She coos. I exhale, deciding I'll take her word for it. "It's fine." I give her a fake smile and end up leaving the wad of cash on the counter. I'll reorganize it when I have a minute, but for the time being I just want to get her out of here. As I reload the groceries back into her cart, she says "Have a nice weekend. Don't daze off too much thinking about your lady friend." I pull my face into a tight smile and say "I won't." The funny thing is that I probably will spend all weekend thinking about my 'lady friend'. My lady friend being Emily and my thoughts being about the inevitable: her and James. The old woman smiles at me and waves as she waddles out the door. I want to bang my head against something, but instead I start shoving bills into their places. I'm not convinced that the cash register is going to shut. "Why meeeee." I mutter. As I try to cram the remaining bills into the cash register, someone pushes yet another gigantic cart in front of me. Man, I hate my job, but college won't pay itself. "Good evening, did you find everything okay? I ask in a fairly annoyed tone. "Yeah, thanks," The customer replies. Almost immediately I recognize the voice; of course it was just my luck that James O'Connor should be standing in front of me. I pop up from behind the still open cash register, "Oh, hey James," I say. Under my weight, the cash register slides to the right and a stack of bills comes fluttering to the ground. He chuckles, "Hey Peyton. I didn't know you were working tonight," I pick up the bills off of the floor as he adjusts the round glasses that frame his pale blue eyes. "Yeah, lucky me, I see you've decided to restock your ramen noodles," I say, pointing at the cart-full he has. "They're like a lover that keeps coming back," He says dramatically. "Anyways, what happened here?" He asks, nodding towards the stack of cash on the conveyor belt. "You don't want to know."
"Well now you have to tell me."
"This woman, I swear to God, paid for two hundred dollars worth of cash in nothing more than ten dollar bills." He smirks, "Why the fuck would someone do that?"
"The universe is punishing me."
"What for?" For being an idiot. I think. "For not paying attention during work." I say. James hands me a bouquet of pink tulips wrapped in brown parcel paper. "Are these for Emily?"
"Oh, uh, yeah." He picks at his lip with his teeth a little. "Well, good luck." I pause before I mention, "I still have no idea how to ask Marina."
"You don't have a crush on her do you?" My eyes widen, "Of course not." I look awkwardly at his face, but he's looking down at his shoes, his face a light tinge of scarlet. "Sorry. I sorta figured."
"Hey, don't worry about it. I just thought we could go as friends. We could have a double date for dinner or something beforehand. Unless you want it to be just you and Emily. I guess Marina and I could find something else to do."
"No, no. It's a good idea. I definitely think we should go as friends." I ring up his groceries and help him load them back into his cart before swiping his debit card and handing him the receipt. "By the way, do you know what you're writing the English essay on?" I ask him. "No. I think I might do it on foster care reform."
"That's cool! I think I'm gonna do mine on the continuity of yellow news."
"I don't even know what that means." I chuckle. "Have you started writing?"
"No. I was gonna start it today, but I like to wait until my dad is asleep before I start doing anything."
"Oh?"
"It's hard to pay attention when he's around. He's not exactly a quiet person."
"I'd imagine." I realize I'm staring at the cash register so I look back up at him. I thought I caught him glancing at me, but I remind myself he was probably being polite and trying to make eye contact like a normal human does in a conversation. "Well, have fun doing whatever," I say. "Yeah. See ya tomorrow." He smiles and waves to me before turning his back to me and pushing the shopping cart out the door. He's wearing his favorite sweatshirt - a light brown hoodie with numerous paint stains on the back of it. I find it odd that I know his favorite sweatshirt, but nothing about his home life. James is still a mystery to me. Un rompecabeza, if you will. I'm still trying to put him together. In my head, I start making a mental list of all the things I know about him. I know his personality, he's kind and selfless, and I know which sweatshirt is his favorite. I know he lives alone with his dad, but I don't know what happened to his mother. He never talks about his family, and he doesn't mix well with his dad. I know that his favorite artist is James McNeill Whistler, ironically enough, but I don't know why. I'm starting to frustrate myself for being so infatuated with someone I know so little about. He drives me completely insane, and I am completely in love with him.

            I aggressively slam the cash register shut before one of my co-workers yells out, "Stop manhandling the cash register, Reyes. Also your shift's up."
"Really? Thank God, I thought it would never end." Carla Fischer, perhaps the most talkative of my co-workers, comes over to replace me behind the register. "How's it goin' Reyes?"
"I was fine until some lady dressed like the Queen of England payed me two hundred fifty dollars worth of groceries in nothing more than ten dollar bills."
"Ohhhh, the Hat Lady! She's notorious around here, dude, how have you never heard of her? You' been workin' here longer than I have!"
"Whatever. I need to sleep. See you on Saturday, Carla."
"Yeah, see ya' round." I wave in her general direction before leaving the store to drive home. I really wish I didn't have to work this fucking job, but alas, my parents don't give me money for leisure or any kind of allowance. I guess it's also good experience. Nothing screams "Let me into your college," like "I've worked in retail for three years."

            I finally get home at about 10:20 and grab a half-full plate of leftover chicken out of the fridge. "You look exhausted, mijo," my mom says while simultaneously typing furiously at her laptop. "I mean, It's not like I want to have a job."
"I had a job at the age of 13 in my parents' bakery."
"You can't use your traditional Latino parents as an excuse for why I should have a job and also use your traditional Latino parents as an excuse not to go to church."
"What, do you want to go to church now?"
"God, no."
"Stop complaining." I sigh. "Can James come over tomorrow?"
"Of Course! Though, I thought you were inviting him over on Saturday, though."
"The girls are doing a thing tomorrow so we were gonna have a rebuttal."
"Well, I love seeing James. He's always welcome here."
"No, you love to see me embarrass myself in front of James."
"Oh, come on mijo. You're not that embarrassing. Honestly, he's probably clueless."
"He's asking Emily to prom tomorrow." My mamá looks over at me from her laptop. "Aw, I'm sorry Peyton," she says, getting up to come give me a hug. "It's so frustrating. I just want to be over him. Why can't I stop thinking about him!" She smiles softly out of the corner of her mouth, rubbing my back gently. "Shh, I'm sorry mijo. I know it's hard, but you're a teenager. You'll meet some amazing guy some day, and James will be a figment of the past." A figment of the past. What controversial words. I wanted with my whole heart for James to be a figment of the past, and yet I don't ever want to stop thinking about him. "Finish your chicken, ¡y vete a dormir!" She shouts. "Okay, okay. Buenas noches mamá." 
"Sueña bonito." She says in return. I finish my chicken and then go to bed. Within five minutes of crawling into bed, I am asleep without a care in the world. It happens to be one of those nights where I don't even dream. Not about James or Emily or work or baseball. Nothing at all. If only it could be like that all the time. If only I could stop being so in love with someone that will never love me. It's nights like these that I get the best sleep.

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TRANSLATIONS and A/N

1. "Un Rompecabeza" = "A puzzle"

2. "¡Vete a dormir!" = "Go to bed!"

3. "Sueña bonito." = "I hope you have good dreams."

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