Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

            My first thought upon stepping into the brightness of the little store is, Thank God I remembered to bring my sunglasses with me.

            That is quickly followed by, My mom will kill me for using the Lord's name in vain.  I've gotta stop doing that.

            And finally, She's not here.   Sighing, I mumble "I miss her," and do my best to push those thoughts from my head.

            After the rapid fire thought attack passes, I let myself adjust to being overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and tastes of society.  The crackling florescent lights above me are so strong that I have to close my eyes after moving just a few feet into the building.  Experiencing nothing but darkness, old street lamps and diluted gray sunlight for the past week has atrophied my bright-light-reaction time.  It's dizzying.

            With my eyes closed, I try to focus on my other senses to get a better sense of what's around me.  Breathing deeply, I can pick out the scents of three different people.  Two of them are quite strong, and I assume that would be the checkout clerk to my left and the wanna-be gangster I watched enter earlier.  The remaining scent is faint and indistinct with all the conflicting stimuli hitting me at once.  It's weak enough that I can only assume it must be someone shopping in the back of the store, or maybe an employee in the storage rooms.

            Other than the people, I get a sense of electricity all around me.  It has a sharp blueness to its smell that undercuts everything.  Even though it’s only from the bright lights and cash registers and heating and air systems, I haven't been around this much running juice since I had fled my home of higher education. 

            Pushing the popping blue smell away, I filter out what's left to get a sense of the place.  It's old, and not well kept up, but it is cleaned often.  The smell of chemicals is quite strong around me.

            CHING!

            The loud bell above the door barks directly behind me as the muffler-shop gangster kid wanders out, and the sound of it nearly stops my heart with surprise.  I had been so focused on sorting what I was smelling, that I hadn't paid attention to the boy getting closer to me, let alone his attempt to leave the store mere feet from where I’ve been awkwardly standing. 

            The whoosh of the door closing behind him isn't nearly loud enough to drown out the now deafening thump of my heart as it attempts to claw its way up my throat. 

            "Gotta.  Calm.  Myself," I say quietly in an attempt to distract my ears.  "You can do this."

            "Enough with the sensory exploration," I tell myself.  "Let's get this done."

            Cracking my eyelids to a sliver, I let in just enough light through my sunglasses to allow myself to see where I'm going. 

            "Carts," I say.  "I'm going to need a cart for all this."  Looking around, I see a pitiful lane of mini-carts to my right, each about the size of a small laundry basket.  "Well, those are pathetic," I sigh.  "But beggars can't be choosey."

            I pull the first one free and push it ahead of me and almost immediately regret my decision.  Only five feet into the store and the squeak-squeak of the front wheel is nearly enough to break my tenuous hold on sanity.

            "Fine," I growl at the cart.  "Have it your way."  And I pick the cart up and just carry it under my arm like a metal picnic basket (It is times like this that my current well of strength comes in handy.).

            After an interminable amount of time (Actually it was twenty-three minutes, but for someone who can sense every shift in the store's atmosphere it sure felt like a lot longer.), I manage to find nearly every item on my list (No bath towels, so I'm making due with a pink princess beach towel left over from their long ago end of summer sale.).  By the time I'm ready to head up to the checkout, I'm almost enjoying my time in the store.  Almost.  I've opened my eyes up enough to see where I'm going without bumping into things, and I no longer jump every time the cashier turns a page in his magazine or the heater kicks on overhead.  Even with the scent of humans being so rich in this place, I haven't had the desire to give in to my hunger a single time. 

            "This could be doable," I say out loud as I make my way to the checkout counter.  "I think I can do this going-into-society thing."

            As I unload my carried cart (It became cumbersome and awkward to maneuver in the aisles as I carried it, but it never really got heavy...no matter how much I put into it.  How strong am I?) onto the little counter between us, I realize the cashier isn't even paying attention to me.  His eyes drift across me as he grabs items and rings them up (That sharp ding as the register tallies each item is a bit grating.  Before my ears experienced their steroidal growth in power, it was something I could ignore, but not now.), but he never really sees me.  If given a quiz immediately upon my exit, I'm not even sure he would be able to correctly verify my gender let alone give an accurate description of me.  All my fears of being this close to another person seem to be unfounded.  This is easy.

            Too easy.  I find that thrill-seeking side of my personality (A side of me which used to be content finding thrills in just putting off homework until the next morning as opposed to doing it at night.  Now it's been amplified.  Now I have to go and taunt cops or run my hunger dangerously low or whatever it is my brain is contemplating now.) wanting to start a conversation with the quiet Middle-Eastern fellow across from me just to see what will happen.  Will he ignore me?  Will he be shocked to see a young girl out by herself in this neighborhood?  Will he even care?

            Before I can get too far into my scenarios, he finishes scanning the last item (A can of some cheap dog food they had - Bark-O brand.) and drops it into the bag.

            "Cash or credit card, please?" he asks in the beautiful lilting accent that I have come to know from every TV show with a Quick-E mart in it (Really me?  I guess one of my new powers didn’t happen to be the abolishment of stereotypes, huh?).

            I freeze.  This is a conversation.  The first one I've had with a person (I'm not counting Lazzy here.  He may be friendly and forgiving, but a great conversationalist he is not.) since I attempted to eat our school nurse.  The weight of that settles on me as I attempt to formulate a response.

            Nothing.  I've got nothing.  My brain just whirls like a car stuck in neutral on ice, and I can't get any words out.  What am I supposed to say when someone speaks to me?  What am I supposed...

            Instead of replying verbally (Which apparently is beyond my ability at this time.), I dig my hand into my pocket and pull the debit card out of my retro Hello Kitty wallet (Just because I see the benefits of carrying a wallet doesn’t mean I have to give up embracing my feminine side!)  and thrust it at him.

            "Thank you," he says with that wonderfully soft voice and proceeds to swipe my card and make our transaction official. 

            Was that weird? I think.  Did I take too long to answer?  How long was I standing there like a doofus just staring at him?  It had to have been forever.  Ok, forever is obviously an exaggeration.  Maybe thirty seconds?  A minute? (Once I had time to think about it later, I realized it was only about two seconds.  I guess a drawback of my new abilities is that the slowing-down-time thing can really backfire when you're feeling uncomfortable.)

            As I stand there blinking at him and replaying the last few moments in my head, he pushes my card and receipt across to me.  I quickly pocket them and pull my mountain of bags off the counter glad to make my escape.

            "I survived," I think as I waddle out the narrow doors with my Santa sacks of goodies.  "That wasn't so bad.  I could easily do that again."

            But the worst part of my night wasn't behind me.  It was just about to begin.