CHP 8. Shopping
Lindsey shows me a lime green sandal with a huge fabric flower on the toe.
“Isn’t it cute? And it’s on sale! It will totally match my bathing suit!”
I haven’t seen her bathing suit, but I suppose it is her definition of “cute.”
“Yes.” Affirmative.
She pries off her gym shoe, revealing an alopecia-suffering sock. The sandal shudders as she tries it on. It is large on her, of course – they always are, unless you turn on the auto-size. Lindsey pokes at a sticker on the inside of her shoe, a light and routine action at first, followed by a firm pressing, followed by an angry pounding. She digs her thumbnail into it, enlarging the crease that is already there.
“The auto-size doesn’t work!”
“I suppose that is why it is on sale.” An engineering flaw of some kind.
She throws it in the corner where other malfunctioning shoes have formed a pile. There are a lot of neon pinks, greens, yellows and pastels like rose and baby-shit blue. It is a very sexy orgy of technologically retarded shoes. So colorful!
Lindsey has already found another pair of sandals. I walk over to her to listen to her opinions on this shoe.
“Isn’t it cute? And it’s on sale! I have a bag in this color!”
I look at it to see its color. It is denim. She must have a denim bag.
“Cool.” Denim is so versatile.
This time, she doesn’t try on the shoe (though her gym shoe is still off) but presses the sticker. Again, she only enlarges a crease that a hundred others put before her.
“Damn it! And I liked that one!”
She throws it down.
I am going shoe shopping with Lindsey. I am being social and friendly. She told me she noticed the bruises on her stomach and face. At first I thought she knew it was me – that I had punched her last night – but as she talked on I realized that she was as confused as ever. She thanked me again for caring about her.
“Look, Naimlis!” Lindsey holds up a stiletto boot.
“It looks nice.” I wouldn’t want to be wearing those when I fight.
“It’s a hundred. Should I get it?” she asks me.
“That is a lot of money.” It is a lot of money.
She throws it down. “Your right. Let’s go next door.”
We stand in the middle of the store. Lindsey takes out her shopping aid and as usual, I find myself watching the little screen. On the screen are little squares arranged in rows. One of the boxes is blinking until she turns the dial and the adjacent one starts to blink. Lindsey steps away from me so that I cannot see it. She reports to me.
“Scarves are 75% off and there is a new stock of necklaces! Let’s go!”
She starts walking out the door, I follow, and we walk ten feet outside and enter the next shop. There is an earthy scent to this store that is very pleasant.
I notice the decorative wood paneling and the bare wood floor. Then, I hear the familiar droning hiss of the aroma vents. It is better for business when the store smells nice.
“Look, a furry scarf!” Lindsey runs to a colorful furry wall.
She cuddles in a very bright red, furry scarf.
“I don’t like it,” I say.
“You don’t?”
“It looks flashy.”
“Bah! You are a bore!” she says, checking the tag, “Hey! These are supposed to be 75% off!”
She walks up to the cashier, holding the scarf loosely, so that the tail of it drags on the floor. It looks like a furry worm trying to escape. She shows the tag to her.
“Isn’t this scarf supposed to be red-lined? 75% off?”
The cashier holds the tag in red, long fingernails. She looks at it for a second, to humor Lindsey, I’m sure, than puts it down.
“That sale ended two weeks ago. Our watches are on sale now for 25% off, if you want to look at some watches. They are in the next room.”
“But wait, my shopping aid said that there is a sale for the scarves.”
“Yea, we aren’t too good about updating that stuff.”
“Is there a new stock of necklaces?” Lindsey asks.
She is an idiot.
“Sure, why not,” the cashier girl says.
Lindsey goes into the next room to look at the watches, tossing the scarf into a hat pile. I follow into another room where a watch case wrapped inside the perimeter of the room. At its center stands a man with short red hair and fiddling with something small in his hands (a link or watch or something). His back is turned. I still have a habit of panicking at the sight of red hair. Usually it isn’t him, it never is, actually. Gramond’s hair was long, this one’s was short. I am sure the Gramond I know would not cut his hair – he even kept up the dress for all these years.
“Excuse me? Which of these watches are on sale?” Lindsey asks.
“All of them.” He says, not looking up.
Still, I decide to walk around and take a look at his face. It might be him.
It’s him its Gramond its him his hair is gone I can’t believe his hair is gone why is he working at a watch store don’t look at Lindsey don’t look at Lindsey the bruises I hope he won’t notice the bruises.
“Hey look at this shiny one!” Lindsey waves me over.
He didn’t find me I found him how did this happen. A watch store? Why a watch store?
“Hey, look at it! I think you might like it.”
Should I say something? I put him on hiatus while I pretend to look at the watch.
“This has Naimlis written all over it. Can we see this watch, please?” Lindsey yells in her shopping voice.
He looks up immediately upon hearing my name. He walks up to us and puts his hands on the counter.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I never thought I would see you selling watches,” I say.
“Do you two know each other?” Lindsey asks.
“Yea, I know him. We went out.” Well, I guess we did.
“Oooh,” she then whispers, “can he hook us up with a discount?”
“You don’t mind leaving us alone, would you?” I think I sound casual enough.
“Sure I guess,” she runs off, obediently, to another room.
“So, how are you, Naimlis,” he says in his monotone voice.
“I guess I’ve been alright. I’m in school now. I am trying to make sense of the new world, you know how it is. My magic has kept me the same all these years – it’s been strange. Peaceful, but strange.” Damn, I sound all over the place. There is so much catching up to do.
“I am glad you are adjusting to your new life.”
“Why are you working at a watch shop?” The question on everyone’s mind.
“It is something to do, I suppose. I am not much of a necromancer anymore,” he begins.
“Why not? Have you noticed the hypocrisy of our bargain?” I say in sarcastic, good humor.
“What?” He doesn’t get it.
“That I cannot use my magic and you can use yours,” I explain.
“I was just looking out for you,” he explains.
“It was a joke, Gramond.” It was just a joke!
“You know I don’t get those kind of jokes,” he laughs a little, though.
“So why are you not much of a necromancer?”
“I must admit that the more recent dead have nothing amusing or educational to say at all.”
“They are idiots.” He knows what I mean.
“Yes.”
See?
Gramond stands behind the counter, unmoving and impassionate. Even now, I am amazed at the undead and their uncanny ability to remain so still. So unmoving that the longer I looked at him, the more he seemed to disappear. He is not there for a moment, his voice is – and I think for a moment it is my thoughts I am hearing. He must not sell a lot of watches.
“So, who is that?” he says.
“She is one of your recent dead, though she is not dead yet. She is the post-human creature I have grown a liking to,” I say in my formal tone.
He turns his head (and he only does that when there is something I must look at). I notice red eyes, red hair, red eye shadow as he returns to my vision. He noticed my bruises.
“Did she do those to you? The bruises.”
“No I got those from a concert. You know those crazy mosh pits.”
“Yes, unfortunately I have been to a few. Be careful – most of the mortals are just having a good time. I know how fast the past can catch up to the present. Do not think you are the war lord you once were. Your casualty number has been low – let’s keep it that way. I know how one moment you can be managing accounts online or running the inventory program at work and suddenly just remember.”
“Are you trying to say something, Gramond?”
“Oh, Zona. I have a confession to make!” he leans over the counter and grabs my hands. He presses them into the glass.
He bends over and lays his forehead on our hands.
“I’ve relapsed to my early days. Before I understood the wisdom of those lost. I thought they had none – I thought, what could a progressive present learn from the inferior past? I thought they couldn’t help –I learned otherwise later on, of course – I thought they were useless. I kept them for amusement, after resurrection.”
“Amusement. As usual, a gentleman for using euphemisms. I don’t imagine it being necrophilia, since the resurrected are undead and you are also. But I imagine that your victims do not have the will power to refuse you (or any will power at all, for that matter). That just makes you a rapist, doesn’t it?”
“Please Zona!” his head was still in our hands.
“That is not my name. I am Naimlis, Valintine. You have adopted a silly new name and so have I.”
“I kept her because there is no wisdom now! I thought I could not learn before, but now, in this present, I know that is a fact.”
I shook him off my hands and jerked my hands away.
“I don’t want to do this anymore. These people are cold and unforgiving. They care for no one. Please Naimlis, you know I care about you, let us finally go away together, before this world changes us both.”
“No.”
“I can feel it changing me. I have no compassion for them,” he waves at Lindsey’s direction. “Do you know how many times I was in pain and no one would help me? I have sat on the bus, the train, the café, or the club, being lonely like I have never been, and no one would even greet me. I look at them, and I know that they are unhappy, too. No one is happy here and what appalls me even more is that no one wants to do anything about it! The only joy they get is being better off than or exploiting someone else.”
“You rape them.”
“You kill them.”
“I am not afraid of this world. It is not easy, but I know I can survive. I think I can even flourish.”
“Not unless you are like them, you cannot. You still have your human nature.”
“I have not always had my human nature.”
“If you let this world consume you as the pearl once did, you shall be permanently ravaged. I have stopped my necromancy. You no longer have your powers. Let us live together, uninfluenced, unmolested -- our true selves, pure and in love.”
“I don’t know. I do not like this world either.”
“Do you know how difficult it is having an artificial life? Every morning, when I wake up, I have to make a conscious decision of whether or not I want to live to day. For you, it comes naturally. You wake up and eat breakfast. You do not think of your life at all. I have to decide whether or not I want to continue today. Do you know how much of a tease that is? I hate this world.”
“I know.”
“No, I hate this world. Every day I make the choice to continue my life spell. I make that choice knowing that the world around me does not care if I chose one way or the other. I make that choice knowing that any kindness I give will be unappreciated or any misfortune I befall will not be alleviated. I make that choice for only me and I realize I have no reason to.”
“Yea, that sucks.”
“Please, Zona. Give me a reason. I need you.”
I’ve lost to this world already. I’ve befriended someone I care nothing about. I am failing my classes. Valentine is desperate and dying.
There is clearly a winning side – and it is not with Gramond.
“I’m not ready to retire yet. If you just want to give up on life that is fine with me. It’s your life.”
“This life is not worth trying if there is no love or compassion. I would settle even for acknowledgement, but there is nothing here.”
“I do not like this world either. I have a friend here and she is only my friend because I am not using her. I do not ask for the latest chips or for currency. There is nothing she can offer me, and still I am her friend. I know she is using me. She can sense that I am in some position of power (they are good at sensing that). She does not know yet that there is nothing in this world I can offer her.”
“You are not listening to me, Naimlis. I do not want to live here unless there is someone that is happy to see me.”
“I am not happy to see you.”
Valintine is silent.
“Why, Zona?”
“That is not my name.”
Valentine is silent, again.
I am silent. He knows my new name.
“Naimlis, I am always happy to see you. Don’t you miss me?” Oh, he is hurt. Don’t get me wrong, I see this hurt. There are some things he must understand.
“I miss you, yes, but no more than how I miss my old world. You are just an aspect of it -- just like my axe and my pearl (I miss those, too). I am not happy to see you, though. You are so miserable. You were the one that told me to adapt to this new world,” I shout.
He is silent.
“I gave up my powers, my old ways. I went to school to learn about their technology. I did everything I could to become a member of this society. You did not. You were swallowed at low tide, drowned at the shore. Maybe it was the sand that killed you. You are a hypocrite and are worthless to me.”
“Naimlis?” he almost had trouble saying my foreign name.
“Yes.”
“I am sorry if I ever did anything to upset you.”
“You did nothing to upset me, and you know that.” It’s true.
“I am sorry! I don’t know for what, but I am sorry! I’m sorry for us, this world, our world, my life, my loveless life, the undead in my home, I’m sorry!” For an undead, he is showing quite a lot of emotion.
“You are talking nonsense. I think Lindsey is getting bored. I think we have some more shopping to do.” Good-bye, Gramond.
“You are right, Naimlis,” he says, looking past me. “You have chosen to survive, and you have done so. However, you have lost yourself in the process. You are as cruel and indifferent as they are. You are right. I have nothing to offer you – nothing you hold of value (though I believe you do not even know what you value). I can only offer you love and friendship, which I feel I need more than you do. For my selfish need, I apologize. Please think of me, though. Do not turn completely into a machine.”
Good-bye, Gramond or Valentine, as you like to be called.
I leave him to whatever fate the watch business has in store for him. I worry for a moment about his life spell. Gramond is not weak, he has survived for this long. It will take more than a rainy day to defeat him. I find Lindsey sitting on a chair obviously meant for employees. It is right next to the cash register, behind the counter of the wig section.
“Who was that? He was cute.”
“We call him Valentine. I used to be friends with him.” Used to be friends…
“That’s cool. Hey do you want to go see a movie? The old screen type…I can’t afford the simulation film.”
“Yea, I can’t afford it either.”
“So it’s a date?” she smiles.
“Yea, a date,” I say.
“Oh, cheer up Naimi! There are a million other guys out there!” She says to me. I must have looked upset. “Naimi”? Did she just call me “Naimi”?
“Yea, I know. A million fish in the sea.”
