Ch. 03: Not That Guy

"Thank you, come again," Casey said the pleasantry she'd uttered so, so many times before with a bit of a sigh.

The fluorescent lights in the small drugstore, yellowing, aging and occasionally flickering, were getting to her head. Things seemed a bit too bright and she thought maybe a migraine was settling in behind her left eye.

The store was slow that afternoon, with the odd shopper lazily browsing the aisles, reading the backs of various supplement and medicine bottles, furrowing their brow in concentration before more often than not, leaving it where it had been sitting. Mothers and fathers attended by distracted or wailing children came in and rushed to leave as quickly as possible to continue attening to their schedules, calendar alerts dinging on their mobile phones.

In Casey's pocket there came a dull buzz, and her heart lifted gently, thinking it might be Vickie. She'd recently been told not to use her phone on the 'floor,' but decided to check it anyway, as all that had been on her mind recently was Saturday, Saturday...

She felt her lips pull into a warm smile; it was Vickie replying to her earlier text. Her contact name above the text, surrounded by smiling emojis, was a familiar sight. She knew her name was still saved the same on Vickie's phone.

Yes! I'd love too. Cant wait- meet you there @ 9:45 for pregame?????

Casey looked quickly around the store. It seemed to be empty save for her, behind the register, so she chanced it.

Perfect, c u then :)

She was buzzing with excitement. She'd missed Vickie, deeply, if she were to be honest with herself. She'd been disappointed in watching how life had tugged them apart, and the thought of foamy bowling alley beer and strange neon colors sounded newly promising. She thought maybe she'd become too uptight. Vickie always had a way of helping turn the key lodged in her back on and into action, namely the of the party-variety.

She remembered fondly the trip they'd taken together upon graduation to see the Grand Canyon, how they'd climbed to the top of their rented RV one night, paid for with the sums they'd gathered from summer jobs, collected in a large, blue, stereotypical piggy bank they'd smashed with glee. The sky had been so clear that night, the stars like mini-LEDs in the sky, their true colors more apparent and unique. The smell of the dry, dusty air, and the sound of the crickets came back to her in reverie. She remembered feeling at home in that thirsty land, where the evenings glowed a deep orange.

She tapped her fingers steadily on the countertop, waiting to leave. She smiled as Tom, a coworker of hers who manned the Photo department, (its customer base ever-aging,) passed by her with a wave, struggling to do so as he carried what appeared to be a pretty heavy box. Soon he was back over in his department, stocking something from said box.

He was a bit younger than Casey, very tall, with curly blonde hair. His hair stood out far from his head. He seemed to originate from it, and not the other way round. He had always been kind to her, and talked of things Casey knew nothing of- he was, though always seeming a little stoned, quite smart, and would talk endlessly about what he'd most recently learned, discussing topics ranging from physics, to coding, to the history of rural agriculture somewhere across the Atlantic.

She brought her pictures to him when they needed developing. He was best for the job. He knew how she liked them to look upon printing, and was good at enlargements.

Casey's portfolio had grown quite thick. She often liked to pull to the side of the road if she caught the sun going down just right. She'd photograph an odd sticker on a stop sign or a duck that seemed to be watching her. She sometimes snuck pictures of the strangers around her, on their way to this or from that. She'd catch someone waiting at a lonely bus stop. She didn't really share those, but she treasured them. Having those pictures was like having characters from a dream to study- a face that could maybe be familiar, but in all actuality, was entirely alien. They could be anybody, they could have any personality, they could have done anything... She thought most of them had probably, in their lives, done more than she had, but, then again, maybe not. Maybe, she thought, maybe the world is full of simple lives, and full of simple fear. She thought, I don't want to live like that, though. I want to feel real, feel for real some time.

HASSAN:

Hassan stood in front of the mirror in his small room, with its comfortable chair sighing under the weight of his laundry, and its twin bed with aged stripy sheets crumpled atop it against the wall. He grazed his face with his fingertips, looking into his own eyes. He felt, oddly, as though he didn't recognize himself. He felt a small wave of repulsion and anxiety knotted in his stomach.

Downstairs, he could hear the loud chatter of his family members as they got ready to eat, the tinkling of silverware as the table was dressed. He decided on the blue shirt, a basic deep blue tee and jeans. He thought maybe he'd dress up more earlier, but now felt that might be wrong, might be obvious. He tried to swallow his thoughts down and push the lingering ones to the back of his brain, but her face, Casey's face, kept bobbing to the surface like a floating duck in a tub- her delicate smile, how she threw her head back when she laughed. He felt all wrong about it.

Mary wouldn't be going that night, and it made him sad. A booming laugh from downstairs made him sigh. It wasn't right for her to try and make him choose. He wanted to be near his family; he wanted to be near his Daada and Maa, but she wanted something "new." He couldn't blame her. He was tired of Lysoling shoes and cleaning up after children, and drunk adults... which he'd come to learn were basically the same thing working the alley. Still, there was something about arriving early and helping to condition the lanes, so shiny he could almost see his face in them, and sandpapering the pins smooth.

Hassan could see his life continuing the way it was. He ached for the early days. He ached for the summer after they'd graduated. He could see Mary lying there, her back against the wall, quiet snores escaping her lips as she slept peacefully, sunlight beginning to pool at her feet. He remembered curling into her for warmth, as though she were the sun finally rising after an achingly cold night, before she'd have to leave in secret. But, lately, the opposite had felt true. Being around her felt too hot; he could sometimes almost see the anger rising from her as though it were heat waves and she might spontaneously combust. Their car rides, which used to be long ones into the night and without purpose, were now errand-only, and short, electrified with loud music to escape any unwelcome pauses.

She wanted to move near her sister on the west coast, to smell the salty air, and run along the beach. Hassan wanted to curl into a ball and float away into space, to drift in peace. The strange, cold numbness he'd lately been feeling was only growing, filling him more daily, and now it had become a challenge to keep it off his face.

A single knock came, loud on his door. It had always startled him, the way his father knocked. He rolled his eyes a little, throwing on his jacket after deciding the blue would do.

"Hassan.. Dinner." His father's voice came through from the other side. "Will you be ready after?"

"Yes, Pita," he replied.

He could hear his father's footfalls as he went back down the hall. He sighed softly, taking one last glance at himself. He thought maybe his reflection could tell him something he didn't yet know, but he was met with only his own blank expression.

He readied himself for dinner, for the coming questions about whether or not he'd signed up for courses, and about where Mary was that night.

CASEY:

"What the fuck?! Are you serious? Oh my god! Tell me everything!" Vickie was practically shouting in the mostly empty lot.

Casey lowered her head in embarrassment but chuckled. "Shoosh," she said, shaking it slightly, "It was nothing." She thought of the time she'd spent with Hassan in the park and couldn't help grinning.

"Nothing? Oh, yeah right. You've only loved the guy your whole life." Vickie smiled a wide smile at her, tucking a stray strand of her short dark hair behind her ear.

"Well, we just talked, and..." Casey paused at the oddness of it, "Went down the slide a few times."

"Well fuck me sideways, that's cute." Vickie leaned back against her car, an old beat up Tahoe with a million-and-a-half things hanging from the rear view. Inside, it smelled of cigarettes and sweet perfume.

Casey laughed as Vickie underhandedly passed her back the Schapps shooter they'd been sharing. It puckered her mouth and burned. She hadn't planned on drinking, and then hadn't planned on drinking much. That was still the plan, but already she felt a warm humming in her bones. That was just a consequence of Vickie's presence.

Being near her friend was adding to the buzz, too. She'd missed her, and had told her so. The pair had wiped away salty tears gathered in their eyes after they'd shared secrets left unsaid in the car, like how Vickie had fallen for a guy in her art class, and that she felt he might as well have literally ripped her heart out and stomped on it when they'd broken up, leaving it a pulpy mess to be studied with charcoal. It was startling to realize, for Casey, that she'd never even met the guy. It really had been too long; she'd been caught in the web of her own mind, and, like Casey had benefited from having a friend with a wild edge, Vickie benefited from having a friend to dull said edge and suggest alternatives when needed, (or available.)

"I don't know, Vickie. It's stupid. I've tried to get over him over the years. You know I have."

Vickie nodded in recognition.

"But- I just feel so... I don't know. I feel different when I'm around him. But, it doesn't matter anyway," Casey shrugged, "he has a girlfriend."

She stared out at the lot, uneasy, thinking maybe Hassan would show up right then and there, and that it would be weird. She was glad they'd parked at the end of the lot. Dark shadows from the trees made for secrecy. She took a drag from her cigarette, and the smoke curled up into the summer sky like it was fleeing from the conversation.

"Well, you can't fight what you feel. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone else tonight?" Vickie nudged Casey playfully a couple times. "Or, you know, maybe he'll declare his love for you and sweep you off your feet and straight into his bed?"

Casey flushed. Vickie was nothing if not straightforward. "We'll just see about that. It would take quite the person to literally sweep me off my feet." She laughed again.

"Hush, you're beautiful." Vickie finished the shooter and stuffed it deep into her back pocket. Somewhere a cricket took up its song. "Forget the men. We're here to have fun!" She exclaimed, her voice exploding in enthusiasm like a bottle rocket.

Casey was happy to oblige. She looked at her friend, with her smallish nose, piercing deep eyes and naturally-red lips. She verged on jealousy and lust for her sometimes; there was a summer once when she thought she might love her. But, they were best as friends. She saw the effect Vickie had had on boys. She thought that this Sam character previously mentioned that night may have been the first and only time Vickie had been broken up with, and not the other way around. She wondered if it would be the last, as well.

"You're right," Casey said, wriggling her arm under Vickie's and laying her head to rest on her shoulder. "I really love you, you know?"

"Love you too, loser." Vickie smirked, using her knuckles to rub playfully at Casey's hairline. The booze and the friendship had vanquished her headache from earlier.

They stayed that way for a beat, then Vickie said, "Look, people are starting in. Must be time for 'Glow Bowl.'" She leaned in heavily with her words, sarcastic emphasis on 'Glow Bowl.'

She was right. The parking lot had slowly begun to fill, and people lazily left their cars, the odd chirping lock sounding as they scuttled in. The bowling alley was always popular; it was something to do in their small town. Death, taxes, and bowling... Casey thought.

"Let's go," Vickie said, unleashing Casey and reaching in to put out her cigarette in the makeshift soda ashtray in the cup holder.

"Take mine," Casey said.

HASSAN:

It was time to turn down the regular lights and flick on the laser and black-lights. Hassan did so, and watched as the pins illuminated an other-worldly neon, and the lasers danced across the lanes, arcing red, pink, blue, and green. With every whooshing of the doors, he hoped it was Casey. The smell of fried food and beer lingered in the air. Laughter echoed, absorbed some by the half-carpeted walls. The sounds of the arcade sent BEEPS and crashes throughout. The machine churned out tokens for kids out too late, with sticky fingers. He could already smell the glass cleaner he'd have to use later.

The jukebox came on, and Brown Eyed Girl poured out like a sedative over the crowd. Some sang along in jubilation.

Working at a spot on a shoe with an old rag, Hassan became lost in his own thoughts until Vickie appeared at the counter.

"Hey, Hassan," she said, with a friendly smile. Meeting her gaze, his stomach flipped as the thought that Casey might accompany her entered his mind.

"H-hey, Vickie. How are you?" He felt nervous.

"I'm okay, you know. Hanging in there," she said. "Can I get a lane for two? Me and Casey."

"Yeah- yeah sure. One moment." He went to the register, focusing on entering their names carefully, trying to act as if she were just any other customer. "Keep it open? Or?"

"Yeah, we'll probably play two but... we'll see."

"Alright," he said, "$10 to start."

Vickie handed over the cash. She thought of Casey, probably nervous as hell outside, and tried to keep herself from laughing.

"Shoes?"

"Mhmm, 8's, please," she said, looking over toward the concessions. She felt herself getting hungry.

Hassan grabbed them for her and handed them over, their laces tied neatly together, coupled. "Lane 10."

"Thanks," she said, waving casually, then started for the counter before he could ask if she'd be getting Casey's.

His breath held steady in his lungs, as though if he were to breathe he might find himself suddenly again standing in front of his reflection at home, or nowhere at all. He felt a churning awkwardness inside, and he pushed it away as far as it would go, but it rose again and again to gnaw, thwarting his attempts at a cool exterior.

He helped a couple of regulars after Vickie, guys just off their shifts and ready to 'kick back.' They seemed full of a type of pride and ego Hassan didn't possess. They seemed sure of themselves, like they thought maybe they'd catch the eye of some single mothers that night. They puffed their chests in unison and headed for the bar, scanning the lanes as though looking for items in the grocery store.

And then she was there, and she looked so pretty, with curls of her hair, the color of a golden-hour hay field, softly framing her face, drawing his eyes toward her clover-green eyes.

"Hi," he said, and the word came out rushed and choked.

"Hi," she said, smiling and turning her head a little. "It looks great in here!" She looked around, seemingly happy with the phosphorescent colors.

"Thanks," Hassan said with a chuckle. "I'm glad you like it. I hope you'll have fun." He instantly wished he hadn't said that so soon, as it effectively ended their conversation. He searched his mind for something to ask her, something to say... but nothing came except another conversation-ender.

"Here," he said, and pulled out the shoes he'd set aside for her, even before Vickie had showed. "Size 11, right?"

"Yeah," she said, "Size clown." She tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Right, size clown."

The Cars sang Bye, Bye, Love around them, and loud shouting was already echoing from a few lanes which had been served a pitcher or two.

"How are you?" She asked. He was glad for that question.

"I'm okay... How are you?"

"I'm... okay," she said, "I've been kind of bored. Just working, you know?"

"Yes," he commiserated, "I know. Um.. would you-"

Before he could continue, the pair heard a large group entering, bowling bags in hand. These were regulars as well, and already had their shoes, but would need multiple lanes.

Casey recognized her imposition. "Come by our lane if you have the chance," she said. "I better get to starting our game or Vickie is going to find herself in some kind of trouble."

"Okay, yeah," he said, "...I'll see you. You're lane 10."

"Okay."

She walked away, looking back very briefly, and Hassan had trouble not watching. He wanted to watch her figure, with its hourglass tuck at the waist, saunter away. He cleared his throat instead, and put on his best customer-service smile, which didn't quite reach his eyes.

CASEY:

Casey felt her brain buzz, a liquid soup of sparkling lust. He looks so, so good, she thought. She scanned the lanes for 10 as she reached the end, and found Vickie, beaming.

"So?" She asked.

"So nothing! Stop!" Casey laughed, and the tingle of happiness she felt surprised her. She hadn't felt that in a while.

"You two are cute."

"Ugh, just bowl already!" Casey quipped.

"Alright, alright! Have a beer, jeez," Vickie said, and Casey obliged, pouring herself a glass.

The pair picked out their bowling balls, each deciding to go for the light, pink ones, as they always had, and Vickie went first, sending her ball crashing straight into the gutter.

"You're supposed to aim for the pins," Casey teased.

"Oh, really?" Vickie said. "Thanks a lot. That helps tons."

Casey went up, neatly lining herself up at the dots, and stared out at the arrow. She felt like eyes were on her. She was conscious of her dress. She didn't usually wear dresses. She'd paired it with some tights, and had tried to look 'pretty,' but also as though she really hadn't tried all that hard. She hoped it was having the right effect.

"Nice butt," Vickie yelled.

Casey groaned, and, with her friend having lightened the tension, she shot the ball straight down the lane and made a spare.

"Have you gone pro on me?" Vickie asked, offended.

"It comes naturally for some of us," Casey smirked, taking her seat and another sip.

They bowled on for a while, and Casey learned that Simon had had a full back-piece tattoo, that he had been a gentle lover, that he had had blue eyes, that his sketches were reminiscent of Da Vinci's in Vickie's eyes, and that he had split when Vickie thought she might be pregnant. She hadn't turned out to be, but the mere mention of it had sent him sailing.

Casey felt anger for her friend, but Vickie assured her it was nothing.

"C'est la vie," she said, behind the cloud of yet another cigarette they'd stealthily went to smoke outside, sneaking around the corner to avoid anyone who might ask for one.

"C'est la vie," Casey concurred.

They heard a stirring sound around the corner, and the crunching of loose asphalt.

"Hi," Hassan said, reaching them.

"Hey," they girls replied at once, and, looking at each other quick-as-a-mouse, trying not to laugh, imbibed as they were with friendship.

"I'm on my break... I just thought I'd come say hello."

"Hello to you, good sir," Vickie said, curtsying a sloppy curtsy. "Can I interest you in some fine tobbacy?"

"Is it wacky?" Hassan asked, and Casey laughed.

"Unfortunately it is of the basic variety," Vickie smiled.

"Ah, that's okay. Sure." Hassan took a cigarette from the pack procured from Vickie's pocket.

"Are you guys enjoying the Glo-Bowling?"