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Summer Days
The door jingles. Instinctively, I turn and say hello. "Hi, how can I help you?" I ask, chipper as can be.
God, I have the Perky Voice. In high school, hanging out with the potheads, dropouts, and other losers at the mall I would pass by the stores and see the salesgirls helping customers, speaking in that horribly sugar-sweet voice. I swore I would never stoop so low.
But it's different now.
I glance at the window, to the sign in the corner. It's facing outward, but I know what it says by heart: "Summer Days Toy Store, Proprietor Mara James."
"I'm fine," a girl mumbles, not even looking up at me. Bitch. She probably isn't though. It's me. I feel shitty. Too many bills and not enough sleep.
I watch her walk though my store. Long brown hair, thick retro glasses, purposely thrift store clothes, head bent down. She wanders the isles aimlessly, like she's looking for something specific, but she's forgotten what. She walks past the action figures and figurines to the stuffed animals and puppets. She keeps picking up a dragon puppet, examining it and putting it back down. I'm not sure if she's trying to decide whether to buy it or if she's expecting it to talk to her. Odd girl. It's not like I'm one to talk though.
The door chimes again from behind me and I jump a little.
"Hey Mara!" a familiar voice says and adds, "Sorry, did I scare you?"
I turn around and see it's Daniel, now leaning against my counter, his face inches from mine. I jump again.
He chuckles softly. "Aren't you supposed to be straightening or doing bills rather than daydreaming?" he asks idly, winding up the mini-Godzilla that shoots sparks out of his mouth.
He smiles, watching it bumble across the counter until it tumbles off my side. I grab it before it falls on the floor and stand up. Waggling my finger and smirking, I tell him, "Hey, stop breaking my stuff. And cut me some slack, okay? It's only 11, I just opened, and I stayed up all night last night doing bills, thank-you-very-much Mr. Wise Ass."
"Well, then!" he replies, raising his eyebrows. He laughs and asks, "How have you been? It's been a while."
I nod and sigh. "Haven't seen you since your last winter break. Why didn't you stop in before now? It's halfway through the summer."
He looks away and bites his lip. I can't read his look, if it's ashamed or embarrassed or merely uncomfortable. He starts to fiddle with a Transformer. "I don't know. I've been busy, with graduation and my business and all."
"Yeah," I say, swallowing. "Well, I've missed you," I spit out. I quickly add, "I could always use the help around here."
Daniel looks up, cocks his head, and asks, "Speaking of which, where's Jamie? She said she was going to help you today."
He's seen Jamie already.
I blink a couple times and compose myself. Breathe deep. "Yeah, she told me she wasn't coming about 10 minutes ago."
Thrift Store Girl walks between us, silently. She glances up at Daniel, blinks and nods so slightly, acknowledging some level of innate coolness he has for playing with Transformers.
We watch her walk out the door silently, somehow managing not to jingle the bells.
"So what's Jamie's excuse this time?" he asks.
"She's got a one-woman protest going against Toys R Us for carrying toys made by children in sweatshops in Asia," I reply, shaking my head and wiping the counter with my hand. "She thinks because she's working part-time and I'm her friend that she can bum out whenever she wants to."
"Is she serious?" he says, still engrossed in the Transformer.
"Not really. She never really stands behind the political causes she endorses. She just thinks they're cool. This one she's doing mainly to annoy the general manager of the store. He kicked her out of the store for hogging the video game console for two hours and scaring off all of the little kids."
"Can't blame him."
"Yeah, me neither, owning a store and all. I know how it goes. Kids can be obnoxious, but they get their parents to buy them stuff. You put up with their shit because you have to, not because you particularly want to. Plus, they're kids - they don't know better. Jamie should know better than the seven year olds by this point."
I look up from the counter and scan the store. My eyes rest on the dolls, where Thrift Store Girl was last.
Previously, they were having a lovely little tea party. Now, one's head is in another's teacup, a scene that reminds me of a zombie movie. I usually don't like people taking apart my dolls, but it really is funny.
I quietly chuckle and shake my head.
"What's that about?" asks Daniel, who has moved onto fiddling with the toy trains.
"Look at what Thrift Shop Girl did to my dolls," I say, pointing at the morbid display.
He scans the store, looking mildly confused. His eyes finally rest on the scene and he laughs, somewhere between a deep chuckle and a giggle. Weirdest laugh I've ever heard. It's a laugh that's been stuck in my head since I met him way back in tenth grade.
"Very nice," he comments, grinning, a smile that starts with a curling of the lips and slowly spreads across his entire face.
"Yeah, she reminds me of my sister a bit," I say, walking over to the display. I screw the doll's head back on and rearrange the figures.
"How's Melissa doing, anyway?" Daniel asks.
"That's right, you haven't seen her in quite a while. She's still got that purposely counterculture pseudo-goth thing going on. Counter-culture my ass. She's valedictorian!"
I start straightening up. I've got to restock those Old Maid cards.
Daniel grins. "So was I, remember? We still hung out together. The freaks and geeks stick together," he says, walking over and nudging me. For some unknown reason, I blush.
"Yeah, I suppose that's true. Somehow I always forget that," I mumble.
"But she's a senior in high school now? Wow. I always think of her as a little fifth grader," he says nonchalantly, unaware of my awkward response to his last comment. "How are your parents dealing with the goth thing?"
"They're okay with it. She was always their little girl. Plus, they figure she can't be worse than me, especially seeing how responsible she is."
The store is silent for a second. Daniel is looking at the costume display. I'm not sure if he's avoiding eye contact or merely distracted by the costumes.
He pulls on a purple wizard's hat, grabs a plastic wand and spins around.
"Kazamm!" he says, pointing the wand at me and breaking the silence.
"Oh, so you want to play dirty, huh?" I say, grinning, and pull out a glass fairy wand I keep in my pocket to entertain the little kids with. I point it back at him and half-yell, "Touché!"
We fight, clashing wands back and forth, back and forth. We both back away at the same time, holding our wands steady. He offers a "come and get me" look, raising his left eyebrow. In response, I look him in the eye, give a sly smile and shake my head no. A gesture like that to anyone else would be flirting.
The door clangs again and we hide our weapons behind our backs like two little kids caught fighting. A woman wearing a tailored pink suit with her hair in a bun saunters through the door. If it were August I would say she would be coming right from the Saratoga racetrack. But thank God, the racing season doesn't start for another two weeks. I quickly shove the wand back in my pocket and ask her, "Would you like any help finding a special toy?"
"Yes. I'm looking for the Laura Ashley dolls, actually," she says, tilting her head just-so.
"No ma'am, I'm sorry, we don't carry those," I respond, smiling sweetly.
"Oh, well, thank you for your help," she says, leaving with a jangle from the door.
As she leaves, I whisper to Daniel, "She's clearly buying that doll for a niece."
"How do you know?" he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter, his chin in his hands. He's entirely too tall to do that, but he does it anyway, his long legs splayed out and yet somehow managing to keep him upright.
"You just know. Parents always look a little more haggard, weary, but more joyful than other people. She was too neat, too put together to have a child who would still play with dolls. And besides, no one would buy those dolls for their own daughter," I explain as I sort through the rest of the bills for the store. Electric, rent, blah, blah, blah.
"Why not?" he inquires, wandering over to the puppet rack.
"They're these prissy, lame dolls. Little girls can't really play with them so much as stare at the dolls as they sit on a shelf. At least I would never buy them if I had a daughter," I say, filling out a check to the power company. Damn, electricity isn't cheap.
"You know what?" I exclaim to Daniel. "That woman reminded me of my mother. Just so perfect."
"Yeah, it always pissed me off how she acted so high-and-mighty. How she felt like she could treat you like you would never be good for anything," Daniel says, picking up the Cinderella set. He puts the Cinderella puppet on one hand and the evil stepmother on the other, putting on his own little puppet show.
The stepmother starts talking and the voice is unmistakable. He's imitating my mother.
He's always done a good imitation of her and the doll even looks like her. I laugh loudly.
"Why don't you ever do anything around here?" she squawks in a Brooklyn accent. "You're always out hanging out with those stupid mice of yours. Why can't you find some real friends?"
"But I'm all cleaned up now! I've taken responsibility!" the Cinderella puppet squeaks in return. "Why can't I go to the ball?"
"Hey, my voice isn't that high pitched!" I object, my voice rising an octave at the end. I giggle nervously.
He ignores me and continues on, figuring out what to say next.
"You can't go until you get straight As, like Missy!" the stepmother says nastily.
"But I've graduated! I can't go back to high school!" pleads my puppet.
Ignoring the Cinderella doll, the stepmother says in that horrible accent, "And that store! Only my dim-witted brother would be dumb enough to entrust his stupid toy store to someone as reckless as you!" thunders my mother's puppet, a sentiment I've heard come from her mouth far too many times.
I feel tears welling up in my eyes unwillingly. I'm breathing in short, shallow, stuttery breaths. What the hell?
Daniel must hear me because his head jerks up suddenly. He catches a glimpse of my face and his breath seems to catch in his throat.
He stands staring for a second and then gasps, "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean, I didn't want to hurt you. I was trying to make fun of her, you know?" he stammers.
He comes behind the counter, which I'm now unsteadily supporting myself on. I put my chin on his shoulder and sniffle.
"No, no, you were spot on. She'll always think of me as the 16-year-old near-dropout," I say, swallowing back tears.
"But you're successful now, you don't have to worry about her," he says, his voice calmed, soothing. He puts an arm around my shoulder.
"Yeah, I shouldn't care, but I do anyway. Every day I feel like I've got to prove to her that I'm not going to crash and burn. But I think that she'll think that no matter what happens," I say, removing myself from his embrace and backing up. "Five years I've worked here, five years! Two of those as general manager and one owning it and she still thinks I'm going to fail miserably any time now," I say, sighing and shaking my head.
"But your uncle obviously trusted you enough to give you this place," he says, still attempting reassurance.
"Yes, and thank God for that. He saw that I loved the store the way he did and he wanted to keep the business in the family. But he was the only one who ever trusted me," I spit out, pacing in front of the counter.
Daniel looks up from the countertop and looks me in the eye.
"I trust you," he says quietly but firmly.
"Thank you," I grumble. "Good to know someone does."
He swallows and turns away from me. Dammit, what did I just do?
I sigh and walk up to him, putting my hand on his shoulder.
"Look, you know I didn't mean it like that. I'm just pissed off," I say, my voice softening, drifting off. "I'm sorry."
He turns around and half-smiles. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry too," he says and sighs to himself. "Sometimes families really suck. I shouldn't have even mentioned her in the first place."
"Well, I know why you did. I know you aren't taking her side."
"Yep. Hey, want to get some lunch?"
"It's only 11, and there's no one to cover for me."
"Eh, it seems like you need it. And what is that "out to lunch" sign for, if not an occasion like this?" he says, his voice having just a hint of playfulness in it.
"I guess," I say, shrugging and still feeling crappy.
"How about we go to the bagel place down the street?" he volunteers.
I nod and we leave, me following him. We step out into the sweltering July humidity.
He suddenly stops short and turns to me on the sidewalk.
"I know this is random, but do you ever think about the future?" he asks, cocking his head.
"Well, I guess occasionally. Why?" I respond, wondering where this is going.
"Having graduated from college, trying to get my graphic design business going, seeing you running the store…" he drifts for a second and then continues, "It's something I've thought a lot about lately," he says, shrugging.
"I dunno. I guess I see myself running the store, maybe getting married somewhere down the line," I say.
"I thought you didn't want to get married?" he says.
"Eh, that was high school, when I didn't like anything vaguely mainstream. A lot has changed since then." Now we're both looking at each other's feet. He's still wearing his ratty old skateboarding shoes even though he's never skateboarded a day in his life.
"Yeah, I don't know why I asked," he says, turning towards the bagel place.
"It's okay," I say and turn too. I run a few steps to catch up and then slow down to match his pace.
For some reason, I take his hand in mine. He says nothing, but smiles. We entwine fingers and keep walking down the sidewalk.
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