The whole thing lasts about five seconds before she opens her eyes. She looks around, hunches her shoulders like she’s embarrassed, and hurries away. Whatever she’s listening to must be amazing to cause her to lose herself right there in the middle of the sidewalk in New York City. The only thing I’ve ever felt that way about is writing poetry, and that can never go anywhere.
I’d give anything to really want the life my parents want for me. Life would be easier if I were passionate about wanting to be a doctor. Being a doctor seems like one of those things you’re supposed to be passionate about. Saving lives and all that. But all I feel is meh.
I watch as she walks away. She moves her backpack to one shoulder, and I see it: DEUS EX MACHINA is printed in big white letters on the back of her leather jacket. God from the machine. I hear the conductor’s voice in my head and wonder if it’s a Sign.
I’m not usually a stalker, and I’m not following her, exactly. I’m maintaining a noncreepy, half-block distance between us.
She goes into a store called Second Coming Records. I shit you not. I know now: it’s definitely a Sign, and I’m serious about blowing with the wind today. I want to know where it leads.
I DUCK INTO THE RECORD store, hoping to avoid the stares of anyone who saw me acting unbalanced on the sidewalk. I was having a moment with my music. Chris Cornell singing “Hunger Strike” gets me every time. He sings the chorus like he’s always been hungry.
Inside Second Coming, the lights are dim and the air smells like dust and lemon-scented air freshener, like it always does. They’ve changed the layout a little since the last time I was here. The records used to be arranged by decade, but now it’s by musical genre. Each section has its own era-defining poster: Nevermind by Nirvana for grunge. Blue Lines by Massive Attack for trip-hop. Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A. for rap.
I could spend all day here. If today were not Today, I would spend all day here. But I don’t have the time or the money.
I’m headed to trip-hop when I notice a couple making out in the pop diva section in the far back corner. They’re lip-locked next to a poster of Like a Virgin by Madonna, so I can’t make out the faces exactly, but I know the boy’s profile intimately. It’s my ex-boyfriend Rob. His make-out partner is Kelly, the girl he cheated on me with.
Of all the people to run into, today of all days. Why isn’t he in school? He knows this is my place. He doesn’t even like music. My mom’s voice rings in my head. Things happen for a reason, Tasha. I don’t believe that sentiment, but still, there has to be a logical explanation for the horribleness of this day. I wish Bev were with me. If she were, I wouldn’t have even come into the record store. Too old and boring, she’d say. Instead, we’d probably be in Times Square watching tourists and trying to guess where they were from based on their clothes. Germans tend to wear shorts no matter the weather.
As if watching Rob and Kelly try to eat each other’s faces weren’t gross enough, I see her hand snake out, snatch a record, and then slip it between their bodies and into her very bulky, perfect-for-stealing jacket.
No. Way.
I’d rather burn my eyes out than keep watching, but I do. I can’t actually believe what I’m seeing. They devour each other for another few seconds, and then her hand sneaks out again.
“Oh my God, they’re gross. Why are they so gross?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. Like my mom, I have a tendency to say my thoughts out loud.
“She’s just gonna steal that?” asks an equally incredulous voice beside me. I quickly glance over to see who I’m talking to. It’s an Asian boy wearing a gray suit and a ridiculously bright red tie.
I turn back to watch some more. “Doesn’t anybody work here? Can’t they see what’s happening?” I ask, more to myself than to him.
“Shouldn’t we say something?”
“To them?” I ask, gesturing at the little thieves.
“The staff, maybe?”
I shake my head without looking at him. “I know them,” I say.
“Sticky Fingers is your friend?” His voice is slightly accusatory.
“She’s my boyfriend’s girlfriend.”
Red Tie turns his attention away from the crime in progress and onto me. “How does that work, exactly?” he asks.
“I mean ex-boyfriend,” I say. “He cheated on me with her, actually.” I’m more flustered about seeing Rob than I realize. It’s the only explanation for me volunteering that piece of information to a stranger.
Red Tie shifts his attention back to the petty larceny. “Great pair, a cheater and a thief.”
I half laugh.
“We should tell someone,” he says.
I shake my head. “No way. You do it.”
“Strength in numbers,” he says back.
“If I say something, it’s going to look like I’m jealous and messing with them.”
“Are you?”
I look at him again. His face is sympathetic.
“That’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it, Red Tie?” I ask.
He shrugs. “We were having a moment,” he says.
“Nope,” I say, and turn away again to watch them. Rob feels me watching and catches my eye before I can look away.
“Jesus Christ bleeding on a Popsicle stick,” I whisper under my breath.
Rob gives me his patented stupid half smile and a wave. I almost give him the finger. How did I date him for eight months and four days? How did I let this accomplice hold my hands and kiss me?
I face Red Tie. “Is he coming over here?”
“Yup.”
“Maybe we should make out or something, like spies do in the movies,” I suggest.
Red Tie blushes hard.
“I’m not serious,” I say, smiling.
He doesn’t say anything, just blushes some more. I watch the color warm his face.
Rob’s there before Red Tie can pull himself together to respond.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is a deep, reassuring baritone. It’s one of the things I liked about him. Also, he looks like a young Bob Marley, only white and without the dreadlocks.
“Why are you and your girlfriend stealing things?” Red Tie cuts in before I can say anything to Rob.
Rob holds his hands up and takes a step back. “Whoa, dude,” he says. “Keep your voice down.” He pastes the stupid half smile back on his stupid face.
Red Tie gets even louder. “This is an independent record store. That means it’s family-owned. You’re stealing from real people. Do you know how hard it is for small businesses to survive when people like you just take stuff?”
Red Tie is righteous, and Rob even manages to look a little chastened.
“Don’t look now, but I think your girlfriend just got busted,” I say. Two store employees are whispering furiously at Kelly and tapping the front of her jacket.
Rob’s stupid face finally loses its stupid smile. Instead of going over to rescue Kelly, he shoves his hands into his pockets and walk-runs out the front door. Kelly calls out to him as he bolts, but he doesn’t stop. One of the employees threatens to call the cops. She begs him not to, and pulls two records from her jacket. She has good taste. I spot Massive Attack and Portishead.
The employee snatches them from her hand. “Come back in here again and I will call the cops.”
She bolts from the store, calling after Rob.
“Well, that was fun,” Red Tie says after she’s gone. He’s smiling a big wide smile and looking at me with happy eyes. I get a sudden sense of déjà vu. I’ve been here before. I’ve noticed those bright eyes and that smile. I’ve even had this conversation.
But then the moment passes.
He sticks out his hand for a shake. “Daniel,” he says.
His hand is big and warm and soft and holds on to mine for a little too long.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, and take my hand back. His smile is nice, really nice, but I don’t have time for boys in suits with nice smiles. I put my headphones back on. He’s still waiting for me to tell him my name.
“Have a nice life, Daniel,” I say, and walk out the door.