Part 4 Conclusion
Every few days she came to this one particular Laundromat. It was only two blocks away, a good sign, since she didn't own a car, and bags of laundry created a lot of stress on the arm. Well, Pamela didn't really have all that many clothes. Her closets were filled with articles of wardrobe, yes, but much of these articles were either outdated, outsized, or inappropriate for most occasions, not being one who went to fancy get-togethers. She wore about two or three pairs of jeans a week, five or six shirts, six or seven pairs of socks, and assorted undergarments per week. Not really a lot, when you think about it. She rarely looked untidy, but she wasn't particularly stylish. She washed and dried her hair, washed her face, forewent most cosmetics except facial cream, and went out into the world. That was it. Today was a rather empty day. She woke up late; about 10 am, and knew that she had to arrive for work by 4 pm. She made a show to her own conscious that she had to get all these things done before the end of the day; but in reality, she didn't have the energy to finish, or even start, anything. Six hours would go by, and at 3:30 she would moan to herself that her entire block of free time went down the toilet. She's only been aware of such feelings over the last two weeks or so. She became a little more lethargic, less motivated. Most days she spent in the house -- she'd spend her time on-line or on the phone, but never bothered to go out, unless prodded severely. The muscles of her cheeks and around her eyes tightened arbitrarily. She wasn't sure what occurred; was this a precursor to sobbing? How pathetic, she thought. All this over some guy? There's more where that came from! Where, she wasn't exactly sure. Not as if she made a habit of going out to bars, to pick up guys or anything. Her outings were usually more cerebral -- an experience at a play, or at a movie. Most of her experiences were in solitude, but she was used to it. So used to it that she rarely attempted to change her situation. A rut was where she stayed. And perhaps it was all for naught. Her eyes felt the sting of tears. Why? Why? She knew that she couldn't have been upset because of him. No, it was more than that. She felt, sitting here in this humble Laundromat, its walls dirty and its paint peeling, its atmosphere stuffy and bland, that this was the best she could do. Drying cheap clothes in the middle of a weekday, while waiting to go to work at a video store where most of the people's taste were elevated only to the point of crappy Hollywood films or scary pornography. A long, long, long way from the stages of London, or even the stages of Charlottetown. She did a few university plays around here, but that didn't help pay the bills. Nowadays, the closest she can get to a prestigious stage is by watching some old videotaped performance of an old British play, populated with many aging or long-dead greats who she was not ready to replace yet... or maybe ever. Her dream was noble, but waking up was the nightmare. Maybe it would be better just to cry. That was about as theatrical as she was going to get..... As she hid her face from sight, her eyes squinted through the wet blur and noticed that she only had twenty minutes before work. The nightmare continued. But her clothes weren't finished. She wasn't ready. She was going to be late. * She had her clothes in a garbage bag, which tugged mercilessly on the tendons of her arm until she thought it was going to fall off. Nevertheless, she had to carry it with her to work, not having any time to drop it off at home. She felt a bit embarrassed, but shrugging it off was necessary. They were only clothes, after all. For a too short moment, she let go of the garbage bag at the corner of the street, waiting for the light to turn green. Others gathered around the corner waiting impatiently to cross the street, while others, brazen folks that they were, crossed the street anyway, unconcerned about the possibility that an errant car, or worse, an errant police officer, might strike them down in the criminal act of jaywalking. Ten seconds later, the walking light turned green. The heavy garbage bag was to be carried again. Grrr!! As she crossed the pavement, she noticed from the corner of her eye a very recognizable color. A mild shade of pink to her right. Pamela turned her neck slowly, attempting not to appear conspicuous. The pink shade was from a jacket, and the woman wearing the jacket was the very same Pink Jacket from the video store. Pamela felt bold enough to initiate a conversation. "Hey....", she said. The girl in the pink jacket squinted and slowly looked at Pamela's direction, unsure of whether she should look in that direction. "Are.. are you speaking to me!", the stranger said. "How are you!", Pamela said. "Ahhh.... alright, I suppose.", the pink jacket girl said, suspiciously. It seemed apparent that she was pondering on who exactly this redhead was. "Oh...", feeling embarrassed, "I suppose you don't recognize me... now that I'm not in the store." The pink jacket girl stared at her, as they approached the other side of the street. "Ah, yea, I know you now!", she said drily. "Why do you want to talk to me!", she says curtly but not cruelly. "Oh.. ah, well, I just wanted to say hi. You're a valued customer!" Pink Jacket chuckled darkly. "Sure!", she says sarcastically. "Do they pay you enough to accost customers on the street, or what!" "No, I'm just a volunteer!", Pamela giggles. "Anyway, what are you doing out here.", she asks hoping for improved conversation. "Just walking....", she replies egnimatically. Mysterious one. "Ah, I see, I see....", trails Pamela. "So, did you like your last movie", picking up the words again. "Yea.....", said Pink Jacket, before pausing. "You know what... Jennifer Lopez is hot!" Pamela grinned, baffled. "... but,", Pink Jacket continued, "that was the only thing good about that stupid movie." The movie was The Wedding Planner. Natural that this cynical sort would frown at the movie, but what was up with the Lopez is hot bit. "So you don't go for these sorts of things, then.", said Pamela, who frowned on such romantic tripe as well. Especially in light of her own personal situation. "No, not really.....", she droned quietly. "it's all just silly. All that love stuff is fake...." "Well,", gulping. "it's not so bad when you're actually in love....or at least in like." She knew all about truth and falseness in relationships, and Pink Jacket's words were threatening to slant Pamela's beliefs into a far more deeper and darker pit of pessimism. "....and,", Pamela continued, "it would all depend on what sort of person you would go for...." "I don't go for anybody.", she laughed, shaking her head. "Why would I. It's better to watch TV, then at least you don't get hurt." "Ha!", Pamela laughed, believing this to be a somewhat tongue in cheek comment. "But after a while, I'd suspect you'd get bored!" Pink Jacket glanced her way again, her dark brown eyes both penetrating and sad. "Better to be bored than to be hurt.", she said. "Well, give people a chance, huh.", Pamela said, still grinning, unable to react any other way at the moment. "Why.", she asked. At this point, the two women passed by one of the more popular bars on Kent Street. "All the people I see around here are all Islanders!" Pink Jacket's usage of the term implied something more sinister than mere geographical location. "Well, except for the tourists, mind you.", Pamela said, not quite understanding. "you know what I mean!", she said. "Everybody around here likes to drink until they drop and practice the fine art of inbreeding." Pamela no longer grinned. She was too shocked to continue with any form of animated expression. This pink jacketed lady was ignorant toward things more tangible than the trivialities of film. "It's not all that bad....", Pamela said, wounded inexplicably. Pink Jacket brewed in her own resented before she went up for breath. "All I see is people getting drunk and high and hopping into bed with one another -- it's disgusting!! All that gross stuff in your stomach! All those germs touching you!!" Pamela didn't want to look at this woman. She was disturbing. "If people want to do certain things.... that's their right." "It's their choice, but it's stupid!", said Pink Jacket, no longer the image of healthy humanity, according to Pamela. If she were to look again at this figure of misanthropy, however, it would be correct to say that those brown eyes would be glazed even more with the stain of sadness. "Don't knock life now.....", Pamela said quietly, trying not to swat this almost stranger across the head. "Sure, watching TV can be ... entertaining, but that stuff will fry your brains! Do you want your whole world view to be defined by what the TV tells you?" "Oh, I know that it's all.... junk.... but I have to have something to fill my nights.", she said. "The world is filled with people i don't want to talk to; people who just act stupid." Pamela looked to the opposite direction of Pink Jacket, which was just as well, since the two found themselves at the next street corner, and the video store was to the left of her. "Well, I... better get to work.", Pamela said, her eyes averted from the pink girl. She dared not look at her face before she walked away, in case her discovery was that Pink Jacket was just a heartless little thing, who hated everything for no good reason. But Pamela didn't want to find out, as well, that this angry girl masked her sorrow by using all these vicious words. No, Pamela would rather not know. The pink jacket girl had a soul that avoided actively the intricacies of people, and retreated in to fantasy. Fantasy -- a component of fiction -- was interesting, maybe too interesting for someone like Pamela, but it ought not to poesess one's entire being. There's more to the world than the world that you narrow yourself into. You can't go through life fearing or hating those unlike yourself. You can't mold them your way. You have to mold yourself to them, if you ever wanted to be a part of this world. And that's when it struck her. * "Hello... is this Jim?" A numbingly obvious question, but it was either that or maintain a silence which would have been a waste of the quarter she inserted into the pay phone. "It's me, Pamela.", possibly another silly question. The silence introduced itself again. "I...wish that we could get together sometime." Pause. "Yea, I think it would be nice... I've been pretty lonely lately. Feeling pretty rotten -- over all the stuff I said to you. I know it's potentially unforgiv...." Pause. "That's okay. I never really thought about the stuff you said to me." She lied about that. Of course, she thought about it. She felt so rotten, ambiguous about her sense of self. Was she really a snob? Or was he the snob? Who knew? Jim said something to her, that made her heart jump. "Really?", she chirped. She almost felt that she would cry. "I can do that.... I won't be off until ten p.m. Is that...." Pause. "Great, I'll be there. See ya....." She hung up the phone, quietly. She was already very late for work, but she was still rattled from the emotions flooding her being. The weight of those feelings slowed her down through the entire walk to work. She showed up twenty-five minutes late. But being the kind of store it was, a local, close-knit operation, it didn't create a major disruption. * "Hello.... ", she droned lightly. "As I said, I "m here after work...." "Ummm... yea, hello. ", Jim responded awkwardly. The two stood, unsure of their next move. "Oh, ah...... come in. ", he said. She walked past him. His hand grazed her left elbow, as if to cautiously guide her, before it flinched away. "You "re okay, are you? ", she laughed nervously. "Well, I.... I didn "t know what to do. ", he muttered as he went to the sofa. "I guess I "m under the impression that you don "t want me to touch.... your elbow.... " "What makes you believe that? ", her lips smiled, while her heart chilled at the possible response. "Well, you did tell me that I was beneath your station.... ", he glared with apprehension. "Apparently, my lower class hands were too dirty.... " "Now, now, don "t be putting words into my mouth. ", she sighed. "We "re really the same kind of people I realize that now. Sure, we have our separate interests, but we "re not exactly alien to each other. We "re both fairly young.... we "re out on our own, trying to get by with a meager living.... we both have crappy jobs, puny apartments to live in ..... we "re both in the same boat. It "s not as if we don "t have anything to talk about that the two of us can understand. " "True..... ", Jim figured this was her way of apologizing, but she really didn "t have to do it. He started to agree with her. "Exactly! ", Pamela chimed in. "And don "t you think that two people who have something in common ought to stick together...... in some capacity? " "In some capacity! ", Jim smirked. "What are you getting at?" "Oh, nothing..... ", her right eyebrow curling upwards. "It "s just that we've utilized a few different skills over the past few weeks. " "And, what skill do you prefer? ", hinting around. "Anything, my friend.... ", she whispered. "..... but maybe we should take it slowly. " She gets up from the couch. "Why so.....? ", he asked. "Well, we sort of saw each other as types, not people. " She looked nervous. "We have to get to know each other...... ", she rearranges items on the table. "....you know, like sitting down on the couch, apart about four or five feet, just watching a movie. And only thinking about the quality -- or lack thereof-- of the movie! Nothing else! " "Yea ", he pauses. "I suppose that's possible. " "Of course it "s possible! ", she gleams, picking dirty glasses from the random areas of the apartment. Hey, you don't have to do that.... ", he spoke. "Or are you a clean freak when you visit other people "s houses? " "Hey, I "m just trying to be helpful... ", she laughed. The laugh felt more nervous inside her stomach. She was trying to repair what she had damaged, although it perhaps wasn't "t entirely necessary. "...... I think I can be helpful. It "s not as if we had some one night stand..... where we didn "t exchange names and what not. We do know each other..... we got along otherwise. " "I was your best customer. ", he jibed. She gives him a stern glance. "Funny stuff! ", she said dryly "Well..... I mean, I was always an honest customer! ", he stammered, correcting himself. Pamela's face warmed, revealing her humor behind her mannerisms. She settled down physically, now just quietly pacing the kitchen area. She felt that the wall had been broken. "I always paid my late fees, you know. ", Jim continued. "You told me yourself that most people would try to weasel out of any late charges.... " "Mmmhmm ", she concurred. "You "re probably the first person I know who actually gets ahead of the associate; you tell them that you have an outstanding late charge on your account! " "You make me sound pathetic! ", he grinned. "Not necessarily.... ", she grimaces with affection. She continued striding along the floor, feeling almost ready to settle down here for a few hours. Feeling almost ready to be able to pretend that little confrontation never occurred. Feeling almost ready to return to their little fling. "Hey, ", she began again, her voice calmer. "Would I be able to go to the washroom.... " "Yea, ", pointing the way. She enters the washroom, shutting the door behind her. The room fell silent for a moment. Jim became a bit more comfortable on the couch, anxious to know what was about to happen. It seemed as if things were back to normal, at least for now. "Hey.... ", she bellows from behind the door. "....anything that you want to see tonight in particular? I rented a bunch of videos; I brought them in that bag over there.... " Jim scans the room and notices a strange package near the door. He went over to pick it up and returned to the couch. Inside were three videos. Damn, he hasn't heard of any of these films. Last Tango in Paris. Looked like some cheesy 70's film, although it did have some famous old guy, Brando, or something. Man, he must be really ancient by now. Like Water for Chocolate. Geez, it was about food, for Christ "s sake! Who wants to watch a film where people eat a lot. The last one caught his eye. He thought his senses were deceived. A Pornographic Affair???? Was that the actual title? Interesting. He laughed like a ridiculous schoolboy. Pamela rented a porno! Finally a secret has been revealed! "So, what do you want to watch first? ", she asks, opening the bathroom door. Jim looks up to his guest. Another small shock to his system. Pamela stood by the bathroom door, wearing a tight fitting red bra, with underwear equally striking in color. "Umm....", quietly started. "It matches your hair, anyway..... " She laughs at his shy comment as she approaches the couch. .....well, all I see is people getting drunk and high and hopping into bed with one another -- it's disgusting..... Random pulses of memory danced in her head as she, wearing little, approached Jim. Only twenty minutes ago, she didn't even know whether or not he was truly willing to approach her in any capacity ever again. "Hey,", Pamela said, "I'm often like this when I just want to sit down ..... ", squeezing in beside him, placing her arm around him, "..... and relax at the end of the evening. I just want to be comfortable. " "Hey...", Jim asked, sneakily, "I thought we were going to get to know each other like friends. What's with.....", admiring her, ".....this!" .....if people want to do certain things, that's their right..... Pamela's retort, imagined again. Pink Jacket would never understand the instinctive desire of just being close to a person. Or maybe she thought herself too proud to succumb. "Ahhh..... It's just me....just because I'm wearing this ....and sitting this close to you... doesn't mean you have to have your mind in the gutter!" Her voice tried to fake resentment, but she gave it away with a wink. "Anyway, ", Pamela continued, "You didn "t tell me what you wanted to see first. " You, Pamela, was his first thought, before he quickly repressed his wish. "Well...... ", holding up the risqu� title. "I was looking through the bag and noticed..... that you seem to have forgotten to leave this one in the car..... that is, if that was your intention to leave the knowledge of this to yourself!" "Hmm.... I don "t get you. ", Pamela asked, puzzled. "I never pictured you as a porn shopper! ", he grinned, like a mischievous brat. "I "m not! ", frowning. "A Pornographic Affair! A Porn movie! ", he smiled, poking her gently in the stomach. "No, it "s not a porn! It "s a French movie about two people who meet through a personals ad, and the relationship they have. " "And.... they have lots of sex! ", he replies. She makes a grunt of a laugh. "God, you "re so North American "What? It "s not as if you "re exactly a sophisticated European." "Jim, it's all a state of mind!", she proclaims mockingly. "Come on....let "s watch the movie, just so I can prove to you it "s not some sick bout of perversion. " Pamela took the video from Jim's hands, and held it for about three seconds, or maybe it was three years. She saw this peculiar moment, frozen in her mind, as the essence of their relationship. it was her right to persist in engaging in this rather frivolous bond. With rights came responsibilities, and consequences..... She turned around, leaving Jim with a reassuring smile after he quizzically asked what she was pondering about. Nothing special, was her reply. She inserted the tape into the VCR, and pressed play. My God, she wanted to scoff, i,m going to have to teach this boy a thing or two about culture. But, (as she turned back to approach him, in her sensual persona) she wasn't going to be able to teach him anything. All he was going to learn was that French movies were chatty and blaze. And all she was going to learn was that bars were full of drunks and cigarette smoke. They were incompatible as personalities. They brushed that aside with the erotic, or with just being within the presence of the other. She had the right to follow her needs for companionship. Nobody wanted to be alone. Nobody in their right mind wanted to wander through life, wading in one's bitterness because the rest of the world didn't fully satisfy one's ego. Pamela didn't want to find herself face to face with the girl in the pink jacket, only to discover that she was looking into a mirror. Even if it left scars that were impossible to heal, it was the only option -- to break the glass. END
Copyright © 2002 David MacDonald |