Thirteen

Thirteen

49 days until the wedding

I wonder if this is how mannequins feel. Stripped bare of who they are, replaced with who they should be, and only for a little while for everyone to see. Then they're stripped again and changed to appeal to the next ideal.

Or maybe more like zoo animals. Placed on a pedestal and gawked at like they're foreign when they were technically here first. Flashing cameras capture wide eyes as they remain frozen in fear and wish to crawl back under the rock they reluctantly call home.

After twenty-two years of life, I like to believe it takes a lot of effort to make me feel like I'm five again, but that's a lie. Although I occasionally pride myself in my five-year-old state of mind, I prefer not to feel like a child, and despise being treated like one.

Yet sometimes all it takes is someone to look at you wrong and suddenly, you're five years old again, but not in the endearing care free kind of way. Instead, in that scrutinized and completely chastised kind of way.

Of course, how harsh the blow is to my already staggering confidence depends on the situation. Most of the time it's easy to brush off once it's over and done with. The problem is, when you're stuck standing within that seemingly demeaning moment of time. It can feel like an eternity.

You would think I was standing on this pedestal for all of eternity from the way my legs continue to sway and wobble, but instead it's only been a few minutes. A few seemingly endless minutes as I'm gawked at by those below.

I'm not standing alone, though. Sasha stands beside me and Brenna beside her, but I'm alone in the sense that I feel like a zoo animal standing amongst a bunch of mannequins.

Any color compliments Sasha's mocha skin tone and any dress shape hugs Brenna's pear-shaped figure. I, on the other hand, look pale, frail, and completely idiotic as I drown in the material like a five-year-old would with their parent's clothes.

"I don't know how I feel..." Aubrey's lips form a thin line as she assesses us. Although I know she's commenting on the styles of the sample bridesmaid's dresses, I can't help but worry that her lack of choice has something to do with me.

I'm the odd one out. I always have been. I've always embraced it, thrived in it, loved it. Just little moments like these make me question the entity. Even after all this time.

"Do you want me to help you find something shorter?" the sales clerk suggests.

My sister's eyes meet mine for a split second before she shakes her head. "No, I've always kind of pictured long bridesmaid's dresses." Her lips move from side to side as her eyes continue to dance around us.

"We can always keep looking." My mom is the next one to suggest. "You don't have to decide today."

"But with alterations and stuff, I'm afraid..." Aubrey trails off before she catches my mom's gaze and they continue to discuss options, but I stop listening as my gaze flitters around for a clock.

The action is probably futile since the expansion of technology has made most formal clocks nonexistent. Most people now carry them around in their pockets on their cell phones, but my eyes continue to dart around since I need to be at work in a few hours. Only when I find my eyes meeting walls, dresses, and then eventually lock eyes with my seemingly curtain draped self in the large mirror, do I finally make a move to step off the platform. I take not even one full step to my right before the satin dress gets caught underneath my sock covered foot and the top of it slips away from my chest. For a split second, my left light pink bra covered boob makes it appearance to the world before I'm immediately yanking the material back up.

"I saw that."

My eyes immediately snap up to Sasha, whose amused expression only makes mine more mortified.

"Gotta' watch out for those nip slips." She wags her finger before looking down at her own dress covered chest. "Then again, they should be allowed to be free. I mean"—she lightly cups the masses protruding from her chest—"sometimes they've got a mind of their own, might as well let them use it."

"Sasha!" Brenna finally pipes up from behind her while all I can seem to do is laugh as they both follow me off the pedestal.

"Wait!" Aubrey's plea has us all turning back around. Now we're all on level ground, but the pedestal between us keeps us in that scrutinizing dimension. "Would you guys mind putting the first one back on? Just one more time." When we only continue to blink back at her she throws in a sheepish smile and pleading hands. "Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Well, it's going to be a bit of a struggle to get these suckers back in there." Sasha grips her chest again, playfully jiggling what god gave her. "But for you, I'll try." She sends my sister a wink and laughs before her eyes land on my grandma who happens to be sitting in the one chair a few feet away from the pedestal. "Oh gosh, sorry." Her apology is because of her bluntness and is directed at the old women, but my grandma only sits up straighter and shakes her head.

"Don't be silly. It takes me a good ten minutes to get these puppies in a bra every morning." My grandma cups her own chest, and my mom's eyes nearly bug out of her head.

"Josephine!" my mom's shock comes out through the harsh whisper, but my grandma only looks over at her completely unfazed.

"What? It's the truth." Her gaze finds her chest again. "These guys are always flapping around it's a miracle they're still attached to me."

"Grandma!" Aubrey and I shout at the same time before all six of us burst into laughter while the sales clerk uncomfortable tugs at the collar of her shirt.

****

"You know what I think? I think that maybe this just isn't it for me. Life knows that this isn't it for me, and that's why it's not giving it to me. It's not my time yet. I think that everything happens for a reason, even though I don't know what that reason is, but there must be a reason, you know? Or maybe life is just telling me to wait, and maybe I should just enjoy it. Stuff is always happening so fast, so maybe this is my chance to just be. Life is letting me be. I should relax and not worry so much and stop overthinking and just be. Right?"

I continue to stare back at the chicken as it continues to incessantly pick at the crumbs scattered around the grass in front of it. I watch as it dips its head once, twice, before I finally stand up from my seat on the deck steps.

"Well, I have to go, but thanks for listening, Cluckie." I turn around only to dramatically lean back at the sight of my dad. "You're home early."

Those brown eyes I inherited narrow and won't allow mine to blink. "And you're talking to the chicken I specifically told you to get rid of."

I open and close my mouth a few times before scurrying past him. "Bye, love you!"

"Love you, too." I hear him grumble, but just before I close the sliding door behind me, I hear him yell, "they're feeding you now!"

****

The last few people leave their bowling shoes on the counter and head out the door, taking all the noise with them. I click off the strobe lights, turn off the music, and allow the silence to carry me through the rest of the closing responsibilities. After working here for so long my manager entrusts me to close by myself, and I have been for a few years. Even though in the dark seasons I run around with my whistle and flashlight, I still manage to get the task done.

I make sure all the lanes have at least the eight and ten-pound balls and take anything bigger back to the racks the customers brought them over from throughout the day. At first, it's almost like a game to see how many I can lift without internally dying on the inside and most of the time I surprise myself. However, today my body is not feeling the extra weight as I struggle to carry only the third ball I've found. My fingers cramp as the sixteen-pounds dangle from my right arm, and I speed walk my way over to the racks. My walk is more of a limp, but I still breathe out a sigh when I finally make it in front of them.

"Long time no—" I whip around at the sound of a voice right by my ear and take the bowling ball with me. The unlucky person doesn't get to finish their sentence, but instead gets a nice bowling ball nailed right into their balls.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!" the ball almost slips out of my fingers, but I quickly curl my arm around it and cradle it to my stomach as my eyes finally land on the face of the unlucky person who happens to have their face contorted in complete pain—as it rightfully should be.

"I know it's been awhile, Avery James, but—" Nate sucks in a breath as he continues to try to get the words out. "But I wasn't expecting such resentment."

"I'm so sorry." I repeat hoping he can hear just how true the statement is.

Nate only checks behind him before taking a few steps back and taking a seat in a plastic chair. I quickly bend down and place the ball in it's rightful place on the rack before turning back around.

"Are you okay? Do you need, um, ice, or um..."

Nate just throws his hand up as he silently shakes his head. I take that as my cue to stop talking. I decide to give him some space as I duck my head down and begin striding away, but I only get about four steps before I'm turning back around.

"Actually, I'm in the middle of closing and we are supposed to close in like—" I look down at my wrist, but quickly shake my head because I don't wear a watch, and my eyes dart for the time on one of the screens above the lanes. "Two minutes, we're supposed to officially close in two minutes, but um..." I trail off, but as Nate continues to sit there and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands I turn back around. "I'm just going to go lock the doors and finish and you tell me when you're ready to go."

I'm not sure if he's even listening, but at this point I can't bring myself to care. Instead, I stay true to my words and lock the doors, and do everything else I usually do when I'm in charge of locking up for the day.

After closing the back office behind the shoe racks, I head back up by the counter while going through my mental checklist to make sure I did everything else.

"So, I think—"

"Nate!" I gasp because his shadow like form abruptly appeared in front of the counter and reminded me of his general presence.

"So, I think," he starts again only now with amusement lacing his tone, "you owe me a game."

My eyebrows furrow. "A game of what?"

"A game of bowling." Nate quirks his eyebrows as if it's obvious and leans his forearms on the counter.

I only continue to stand there with my mouth agape and my hand keeping my car keys suspended in the air. "But I'm supposed to close and... and I'm not even sure that made sense..." I add that last part as an afterthought as I begin walking out from behind the counter, but then I find myself spewing yet another thought that pops into my head. "And don't you want to go to the doctor maybe, you know, to make sure you're, um, all right, um, down—down there." If only I could meet his gaze, but instead I continue to stare at anything but him as my finger betrays me and continues to gesture towards his body, specifically at the injured body part.

"How about this." Nate laughs out the words almost as if to cover a wince at the memory. "If you beat me at a game of bowling, because yes that's what it is—a game, and I don't think there is another way to say it now that I think about it." He pauses to either contemplate, breathe, or both before his eyes meet mine once again. "If you beat me, I'll go to the doctor, but if I win we never speak of this again."

"But—but—" My mind immediately protests because this is not apart of the check list. Out of all my years of working here this has never been apart of the checklist.

"Like I said, Avery James, I think you owe me." The streaks of magenta colored fluorescent light are reflected in his eyes and I try to decide whether it's a creepy configuration, or the perfect illumination before a sigh escapes my lips.

"Fine," I relent as I point a finger at him, jingling my keys in his direction. "Only because you're right." I place my bag on the counter, but not before pulling my phone out to send a quick text to both my mom and my boss. "Especially, if I'm going to be the reason you can't procreate." It's another mumbled afterthought that gains me another chuckle. "Okay." I sigh out the word as I place my phone in my back pocket and maneuver back around the counter. "Pick a number one through thirty."

"Seventeen."

My eyebrows immediately go up and my eyes meet his, but he only continues to casually stare back at me.

"What?" he finally asks when my gaze doesn't let up, but I finally drag it back down to the computer screen.

"Nothing."

"What's your favorite number, Avery James?" his forearms are back to resting on the counter beside me.

My mouth opens before I shrug. "I don't have one."

His gasp is in sync with my finger as I click on the lane number he wanted, but my eyes dart back up only to find he's been staring back at me with his mouth wide open.

My lips quiver. "What?"

"How do you not have a favorite number?"

I shrug as I finally go to move out from behind the counter again. "I don't know. I've just never thought about it."

"Well, think about it."

I shake my head at his antics as I run a hand through my ponytail. "I don't know. I usually find myself leaning towards whatever age I am."

"Lame." He drags out the word.

Now my mouth is hanging open, and I force him to witness it for a few seconds before I turn back around.

"Speaking of lame, we need some shoes. Although I personally hate wearing bowling shoes, we can't do anything stupid since I lied to my boss and said it's my grandma's birthday and she pressured me in to giving her a private bowling session, even though I don't even think my grandma likes bowling. But you've also already been injured enough for one night, so I can't have you falling, so what size—ah!" a yelp escapes me, and I almost fall back against the shoe shelves at the sight of Nate standing right in front of me. "You're not supposed to be back here."

Nate only chuckles at my randomly whispered hiss and casually reaches up to grab a pair of shoes behind me. "So, I remind you of your grandma."

My nose scrunches up, but that only gains me more chuckles.

"You blamed your grandma for pressuring you, when I really pressured you, therefore you are comparing me to your grandma."

My expression only contorts further as my eyes land on his grey t-shirt covered chest. "I wasn't—why would I even—" My hands fly up to my face as I vigorously shake my head and let out a few more grumbled sounds before I slowly drop them back down on a groan. "I hate lying."

"Why?"

I can hear the amusement in his voice, and I can feel his eyes as he gazes down at me, but I still can't bring myself to look back up as I fling my hands around. "I don't know. I mean, didn't we already establish that I'm just an honest person?"

"Yes." His laughter vibrates through his chest. "But why?"

I open and close my mouth a few times before my hands continue to mimic the disarray tumbling around inside my head. "It just doesn't feel right. I mean, it never feels right. Plus, the way I see it I rather be honest with people, be real with people, than live a pretentious lie of existence, you know?"

I finally drag my eyes back up to his, and he only gives me a slow shake of his head as a small smile quirks the corners of his lips. "You are the farthest thing from pretentious."

I slap a hand onto his chest as I shake my head. "Yes, but what I mean is when people's lives revolve around what other people think. When they find satisfaction in not only the size of their house, but also how stainless their stainless-steel fridge can appear. Don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with bettering yourself, but it needs to be because you want to be better for yourself. Not because it's what you do, but because you want to. I don't know." My voice gets small again, and my eyes land on Nate's chest again only to find that my fingers have been playing with the cotton material resting there, and I immediately stop. "I mean," I start again, but then begin laughing at myself as I wave my hands around again. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do." Nate smiles at the questioning look he sees when my head flies back up. "Don't keep saying you don't know—you do. Don't doubt yourself."

I shake my head again as I drop my hands back down and begin fidgeting with the hem of my black work polo. "I guess the only reason I keep saying that is because I feel like I don't even need to say these things to you because we've also already established that you're pretty honest, too."

"It's different, though"

My curiosity tilts my head back up. "How?"

"Because." Nate takes a step closer, forcing me to crane my neck up a little more. Not too much where it's unbearable, but just enough to realize there's barely any space left between each inhale of our chests. "I've trained myself to be this way because like you said, I rather be real with people than follow meaningless pleasantries, but it's ingrained in you. You, Avery James, are honest with every fiber of your being. Even when you're not even trying." My face scrunches up again, but he only chuckles. "See, right there." My eyes dart back up, but his thumb comes up to brush away the crease in between my eyebrows. "You're very expressive. Even if you don't move a muscle, your eyes still give everything away."

I throw my hands up and throw in an exaggerated cartoon voice. "Blah! It's a curse."

"No." Nate only grins with a quick shake of his head. "It's refreshing."