Burn It and Move On

Part 1: Ohio, Summer 1995

I wove myself through the bright colors of the toys and the rising chatter of parents that suffocate the little space between the already cramped shelves. A little kid bolted across my feet. All I wanted was to get the stupid collector toy and get out. Exhaustion hung on my shoulders and I could feel Cinnabon frosting sticking in places Cinnabon frosting has no business being.

"Can I help you look for something?"

It took me a second to realize that the boy using his customer service voice, one that came with his bright uniform and minimum wage check, was talking to me. I turned to him, hoping to politely get him to leave me alone, when I met his eyes.

The ocean at midnight, 1400, off the coast of Martinique.

His eyes.

The stars, viewed from the sand still warm from the afternoon sun, 118, Egypt.

They were dark, wide, hidden behind thick glasses and looking at me only as if he saw outlines.

An optometry office, 1974, garish wallpaper smelling vaguely of alcohol wipes.

He was going blind, slowly, painstakingly. I'd seen this, Stargardt disease, before, but I'd never seen eyes that color. Never. It felt like his eyes could see me in the same way I felt like the Milky Way could, back before there were lights at night to pollute the constellations.

He tilted his head at me, as if I had said something intelligent that he just hadn't heard, and I was suddenly so squarely planted in the moment that my breath was knocked out of me.

It was 1995. June. A toy store in a mall in suburban Ohio. TY Beanie Babies were the biggest craze.

That's why I was here. I had planned to just pop in to see if I could buy up any that would still be valuable in a few years. All I wanted was to go home after my stupid Cinnabon shift but here I was, holding a stuffed animal I knew would never be worth more than five dollars as my brother waited in the parking lot to drive me home, and yet this boy had me rooted to the spot.

"Um, yeah, do you have any Peanut Beanie Babies? The elephant one?" I cringed at the stutter in my voice. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I knew they didn't have any, I'd already looked myself, so why was I wasting his time?

"Well, let's see." The boy, whose nametag read Christopher and who couldn't be more than eighteen, squinted at the shelf of blank-eyed stuffed animals. "They've been selling out pretty quickly, but we might still have one hidden somewhere."

Christopher had a smattering of summer freckles across the bridge of his nose that spread across the pink apples of his cheeks. His hair, the same color as a Werther's caramel, curled around his face and caught itself under the earpieces of his glasses.

Virginia, 1851. The air felt staticky. Smelled of iron.

"I don't see any." Christopher turned to me. "Do you want me to check in the back?"

"No, no, it's fine." I turned the Beanie Baby I was already holding over in my hand. "I'll just buy this one, I guess." I didn't want this one.

"Oh, are you sure? I mean, I can always check." He motioned toward the back of the store. He smelled of Old Spice deodorant and vaguely cinnamon gum.

Hot Topic, 2007. Hickeys. Black lipstick. Studded belts. Walls of boxes no one bothered to open.

"Seriously, it's okay. Some soccer mom probably got to them before me. I'll be fine with just this one." I didn't need this one.

"Okay, well, we get a new shipment in four days. Between you and me, I can set one aside if you want?"

"Really? You'd do that?"

Christopher smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, if you want."

~

"Did you find a good one?"

I got into the backseat and threw the bag from the toy shop onto the floor. "No, they had already sold most of them."

"Then what'd you get?" Democritus twisted in the driver's seat and plucked the bag up to look inside. "Seriously, Xenia?"

"It was the best they had!"

"Then why'd you even bother to buy it?" He threw the bag at me and I pushed it back onto the floor.

"Can we just go home, Demi?"

"After we get Aella."

"Where's she working?"

"Chuck-E-Cheese."

"Is she the rat?"

"She always a rat." Demi grinned and put the car in drive. "Gal wants us back for dinner."

"What's he making, hardtack?"

Demi laughed and the beat-up Pontiac groaned into motion. The radio muttered out some Ace of Base song.