The Firefly Field Theory

|9| I Wish You'd Just Stop: Part III

PART III:

As soon as I get out of the car; the crisp cold air greets me by pricking my nose and scrunching my features. My hands travel into my front pocket to cuddle. Bravo steps out of the car and immediately grabs a hold of one of my arms; she rubs her cold palms against my sleeve. She’s dressed in a sky blue cardigan with her hair falling on her shoulders.

“We’re in the parking lot, where’s the party?” I ask, catching a whiff of her strawberry scented shampoo.

 “It’s in the underground parking lot, you can’t exactly have a good time out in the open after midnight in Pakistan.” She says. We start walking away from the car.

Z parked in a cul-de-sac outside the ghastly Pakistani Wal-Mart parking lot. The place is crowded with parked cars. Which only makes me wonder how many people will be underground.

“Bravo, excuse how I’m gonna sound like an American chicken right now, but how come there’s no security guard watching the place? And do you have a fake ID or something? What if the cops show up?”

She lets out a laugh, the kind were the shaking of shoulders just emphasizes how the other person is the ultimate king of comedy.

“Sam, sometimes you come off really cute.” She exclaims and then goes back to laughing.

“I’m not cute, I’m curious. You’re not afraid of the cops?”

“Listen, if the security system in Pakistan was as fancy as the one in America, we’d have found Osama before your Obama.”

“Touché,” I say nodding slightly and then I ask, “And the security guards?”

“They know, like most of us, that the night is meant for a lot of other fun stuff. They don’t even get paid enough to stay awake the whole night, so they don't take their jobs seriously. The only job they take seriously is the one nature gave them. If you know what I mean.”

“Sleeping?” I say confused.

“Exactly,” She replies while tightening her grip on my arm, “we’re the sixth most populous country in the world and the numbers never stop rising.”

Only after she finishes her sentence, do I fully understand what she means and that just makes me feel like an idiot. The supermarket is the ultimate picture if a haunted one. It’s backlit by the silver light of a full moon, the shutters are pulled down and there is not a soul to be seen. She guides me to the left where I spot a descending dark tunnel of sorts. Now in broad daylight that wouldn’t spook me out, but in retrospect this night was totally screwed up to begin with.

“What is the Pakistani Wal-Mart called again?” I ask.

“A CSD.” Bravo answers.

“Yeah a CSD, couldn’t they name it something cooler?”

“This is a third world country, we don't do cool.”

“But you guys do copy famous artist’s content?”

“Define copy.” Bravo says, and I immediately know it’s a test. I don't want to shy away from answering it.

“Well, I think, to cheat someone else’s idea and act like it’s your own. Because you don't have a lot of bands coming over here so you just pretend that the guys from FC are a world famous band. But they’re not. Just like Annie believes the rubber fish is Flame when that’s not true, it’s not the real deal, you know?”

“It isn’t; you’re right. FC and Flame are both posing as somebodys. But there nobodys really.”

We’ve reached the sledge that leads into the darkness of the underground parking. Bravo lets go of my arm and turns to face me. There is hardly any light, so I only make out the dark depth of her eye sockets and the pale cheeks.